Chapter Three
The small, carefully nondescript man sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes as the flickering glow died in the heart of the water-clear gramerhain crystal on the desk before him. His name was Varnaythus, or that was the one he most commonly went by among those who knew who (and what) he truly was, at any rate. He looked to be no more than in his mid-forties, yet he was actually well past eighty—there were some advantages to being a wand wizard willing to manipulate blood magic—and no one had learned his true name in at least the last sixty years. It was safer that way.
Of course, “safe” was a relative term.
He climbed out of his chair and began pacing back and forth across the small, luxurious (and carefully hidden) room. There were no windows, and the light from the oil lamps was dim, despite the highly polished reflectors, to eyes which had become accustomed to the grammerhain’s brilliance. He could have flooded the room with clear, sourceless light, but black wizards who wanted to stay alive in Norfressa avoided that sort of self-indulgence. Wizardry was outlawed upon pain of death in virtually all Norfressan realms, and however much Varnaythus might resent that, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand it. That reaction had been inevitable after the Wizard Wars destroyed the Empire of Ottovar and turned the entire continent of Kontovar into a blasted wasteland which had needed a thousand years to recover. It was actually quite useful to Vanaythus’ Lady and her fellows, in many ways. It certainly reduced the opposition’s strength and ability to respond to arcane attacks, at any rate.
There were wizards here, but most of them tended to be at best a dingy shade of gray. The fact that they were already outlawed and condemned made it far easier for the Carnadosans to recruit them, as well, and not even the ones unwilling to actively serve the Dark themselves would be interested in calling attention to himself if he happened to notice that another wizard was practicing the art in his vicinity. Unfortunately, if Varnaythus didn’t have to worry about being turned in by another wizard, he did have to worry about magi.
He puffed his lips in familiar frustration as he paced. The wizard lords of Kontovar still didn’t understand how the mage talents worked. Varnaythus himself had picked up far more about the effects and consequences of their various abilities, including some interesting . . . intersections with the art, but he’d gathered that information very cautiously indeed. Much of it had been gleaned by picking the brains (in some cases literally) of other nonmagi, while the rest had come from wary, circumspect observation with the stealthiest scrying spells he could command. And all of it, unfortunately, remained largely theoretical, since he had absolutely no desire to risk his own personal hide in order to test his conjectures. Quite a few wizards who’d done that sort of thing had never found the opportunity to report back on their success, for some reason.
Still, they did know at least a little about them. For instance, it was obvious the talents themselves were products of the Wizard Wars, the result of some deep change in the very being of the current magi’s ancestors, although it had never manifested in Kontovar even after the Fall. He suspected there’d been very, very few of them in the beginning, when refugees from all of Kontovar first flooded into Norfressa. There couldn’t have been many, since no one had really recognized their existence at all for over seven hundred years, and they’d only become sufficiently numerous to begin organizing their mage academies in the last three or four centuries.
The Carnadosan lords of Kontovar hadn’t even noticed them at first, and by the time they’d begun to realize just how . . . inconvenient they might prove to their own ultimate plans, the magi had been too firmly entrenched to eliminate. Efforts to acquire live magi for study hadn’t worked out well, either. The bastards were slippery as fish and even more elusive, and trained magi had a nasty tendency to die, often taking any wizard unfortunate enough to have been interrogating them at the moment with them, if they were captured. Not to mention the fact that many of them could call for help telepathically over even lengthy distances. Varnaythus knew of at least three expeditions to capture magi which had come to unfortunate ends when the magi in question managed to guide cruisers of the Royal and Imperial Navy to intercept the ships carrying them to Kontovar. The effort hadn’t been abandoned, but it was one of those tasks to be approached very, very cautiously, and he was more than happy to leave it to someone else, like Tremala. Or even better, now that he thought about it—however serious a rival Tremala might be, he actually liked her, after all—someone like that insufferable, egotistical, irritating pain Rethak.
More to the point, however, the accursed magi could sense the use of the art. Some were more sensitive than others—in fact, some of them were damned bloodhounds where sorcery was concerned!—but all of them had at least some sensitivity to it. And unlike Norfressan wizards, they had no reason not to report any sorcery they detected. In fact, the mage academies’ Oath of Semkirk required magi to fight dark wizardry and blood magic, and the bastards had been growing steadily into ever more of a pain in the arse for the last two hundred years.
Nor was their ability to sense wizardry the only threat they posed to Kontovaran ambitions. They had other talents as well—from the ability to speak mind-to-mind across vast distances, to healing, to distance-viewing, to the ability to unerringly detect lies, plus Phrobus only knew what else. Thankfully, none of them had more than three or four such talents each, but groups of them could combine their abilities into the sort of threat which had to make any wizard wary, and they were oathbound to use their abilities to serve others, which made them disgustingly popular with the very people who most hated and feared wizardry. Many rulers welcomed them into their realms, often relying upon them as agents, investigators, and representatives, and King Markhos of the Sothōii had opened his arms even more broadly to them than most. There was no mage academy in his kingdom—Sothōii magi were trained in one of their Axeman allies’ academies, usually at either Axe Hallow or Belhadan—but there were dozens of them wandering around Markhos’ capital of Sothōfalas, and all it would take was for one of them to stroll past when Varnaythus was using the art, at which point all manner of unpleasant things would happen.
A soft, musical tone sounded out of the empty air, and Varnaythus turned towards one of the office’s featureless walls. Nothing happened for a moment; then the outline of a doorframe appeared in the middle of the wall. It glowed dimly, seeming to quiver a little around the edges, then solidified.
“Enter,” he said, and the glowing door swung open to admit two other men.
One of them looked to be about the same age as Varnaythus, and he was even more nondescript and bland looking. The other was younger, with red-blond hair and gray eyes. At just over six feet, he was also considerably taller than the other two, and his clothing was much richer, that of a mid-level functionary at court, perhaps. Looking through the door by which they’d entered the office, it was as if that single door had opened into two totally separate locations . . . which was fair enough, since that was exactly what it had done.
“You’re late,” Varnaythus observed brusquely, waving the newcomers to chairs in front of his desk. He waited until they’d seated themselves, then sank back into his own chair, leaned his elbows on the blotter on either side of his gramerhain with his fingers interlaced above it, and leaned forward to rest his chin on the backs of his raised hands. “I don’t want to belabor the point,” he said then, “but using the art is risky enough without having our timetable screwed up.”
“I couldn’t get to the portal,” the older of his two guests said. He shrugged. “Someone decided to choose today to drop off two dray loads of tea. Somehow I didn’t think you’d want me activating it from my end with half a dozen warehousemen carrying crates of tea in and out.”
“No, I don’t suppose that would have been a very good idea,” Varnaythus acknowledged. He straightened, then leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “I never was very happy about that location. Unfortunately, moving it at this point would be too risky. As a matter of fact, it would be safer to build an entirely new portal somewhere else.” He raised one eyebrow. “Would you happen to have a more convenient—and safer—spot in mind, Salgahn?”
“Not right this minute, no,” Salgahn replied. “I’ll think about it. There aren’t really all that many options, though. Not unless I want to risk letting some of the other dog brothers find out about it.”
His final sentence ended on the rising note of a question and he raised one eyebrow.
“Not yet.” Varnaythus shook his head quickly.
“With all due respect, Varnaythus,” the younger of the two newcomers said, “we’ve been saying ‘not yet’ for over six years now. Are we ever really going to move at all?”
Varnaythus regarded him thoughtfully. Unlike himself, Magister Malahk Sahrdohr truly was as young as he looked, but he’d proven himself to be smart, ambitious, and capable. As his title indicated, he ranked well below a master wizard like Varnaythus in both training and raw strength, but he’d risen high and quickly in the service of the Church of Carnadosa through a combination of the intelligent use of the skills he did possess and a degree of absolute ruthlessness Varnaythus had seldom seen equaled.
“You do remember what happened the last time we ‘moved’ here in the Kingdom, don’t you?” he inquired mildly.
“Of course I do.” Sahrdohr shrugged. “I read all the reports before I even left Trōfrōlantha. And I understand why we had to let things settle back down. But it’s been six years. Forgive me for pointing this out, but the original plan indicated we were rapidly approaching one of the critical cusp points, and it’s only gotten closer since. If we don’t do something soon, it’s going to be right on top of us!”
Varnaythus nodded. Sahrdohr had a valid point, although Varnaythus suspected his impatience had more to do with his current role here in Sothōfalas than with approaching “cusp points.” In his alter ego as Mahrahk Firearrow, Sahrdohr was a mid-level bureaucrat in the Exchequer. His position gave him access to all sorts of sensitive information, but it was junior enough to keep him from attracting unwanted attention, and he did his job well. Unfortunately, it restricted him to a much less luxurious lifestyle than the one to which he had been accustomed in Kontovar and required him to be civil to and even take orders from men without so much as a trace of the magical ability which would have given them authority there. That had to be irksome enough by itself, yet his very position inside the Palace meant he dared not employ the art at all. The King kept at least two or three magi at court permanently, and the magister would have been promptly detected if he’d done anything of the sort.
Varnaythus felt an unwilling ripple of sympathy for the younger man. Being forced to restrict his use of the art was hard for any wizard; renouncing it entirely, even if only temporarily, as Sahrdohr’s role had required him to do, was the next best thing to intolerable. All questions of power and ambition aside, there was a splendor to the art, a glory no wizard could truly resist. He had to reach out to it, for better or for worse, and Sahrdohr had been denied the chance to do that for over four years, ever since his own arrival here in Sothōfalas. No wonder he was feeling impatient.
“If you’ve read the reports, Malahk,” the older wizard said after a moment, “then you know I’m the only one of the senior agents originally assigned to this operation who’s still alive. Salgahn here and I did our jobs just about perfectly, and I still barely got away with my skin. Jerghar and Paratha were less fortunate, and Farrier is . . . still laboring under the Spider’s disapproval, shall we say?”
He grimaced at the thought of how the Twisted One had chosen to express Her unhappiness with Dahlaha Farrier. He’d never liked the woman, but seeing what had happened to her made him uncomfortably aware of what could happen to him. And that was with Shīgū’s decision to be “lenient” with the servant who’d failed Her.
“Worse,” he continued, “our last little escapade almost certainly warned the other side—Wencit, at the very least—that we’ve become far more interested in the Sothōii than we ever were before. Don’t you think it makes sense to proceed with a modicum of caution when all of that is true?”
“Caution, yes,” Sahrdohr agreed. “But we can’t afford to allow ourselves to be paralyzed, either. Especially not if we really are coming up on one of the cusp points.”
“And would you happen to know why it’s a cusp point?” Varnaythus asked mildly, extending his thumbs and tapping them together. He raised both eyebrows and cocked his head, and Sahrdohr looked back with a stubborn expression for several seconds. Then the younger man shrugged irritably.
“No,” he said shortly.
“Neither do I,” Varnaythus told him. It was Sahrdohr’s eyebrows’ turn to shoot upward, and his eyes widened with surprise. Surprise that turned into skepticism almost instantly, Varnaythus noticed.
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I realize that’s a novel approach, but we’re in rather an unusual situation here. They haven’t told me why They want us to do what They want us to do. All They’ve told me is what They want us to do. Now, to me that suggests this may be even more important than They’re prepared to admit even to us. Either that or They don’t know everything that’s involved here. Either way, there’s no way I’m going to rush in and blow this operation a second time. Is that understood?”
Sahrdohr gazed at him for at least a minute. Then he nodded slowly, and Varnaythus nodded back just a bit more emphatically. Both of them understood the subtext of what Varnaythus had just said. He’d avoided the Dark Gods’ displeasure because, unlike his deceased associates, he’d carried out his own portion of the operation almost flawlessly. Perhaps even more importantly, he’d covered his backside by carefully sending very complete reports—including reports of the several times he’d warned those associates that things were slipping—back to Kontovar. Coupled with the years of successful service he’d given to Carnadosa, that had sufficed to protect him from divine wrath. It was unusual for one of the Dark Gods’ minions to survive the failure of a single mission remotely this important, however; it was unheard of for one of them to survive a second failure.
Varnaythus understood that, and he had no intention of failing, yet he wished passionately that his mistress had explained more about the reasons for this operation. What he’d said to Sahrdohr was nothing but the truth, and he hated operating blindly. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to do it, but he’d never liked it. It was difficult—and risky—to improvise or modify strategies when he didn’t even know what the ultimate motives of and reasons for his orders were.
The orders themselves were remarkably clear and unambiguous, however. That was something.
“All right,” he said after a moment, allowing his chair to come back upright. “Having just told you we’re not going to move until we’re ready, now I’m going to tell you that we are ready . . . almost.”
“We are?” Sahrdohr straightened with a jerk, and even Salgahn’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
“‘Almost,’ I said,” Varnaythus cautioned, raising one index finger. “There’s been a certain degree of . . . discussion back and forth, and I’ve convinced Them we need a narrower focus this time. One of the reasons we failed last time was that each of Them had His or Her own objectives and strategies. This time our Lady is in charge, Sahrdohr, and we’re going to avoid the kinds of distractions that got in the way last time.”
Both Sahrdohr and Salgahn nodded in understanding. The Dark Gods’ greatest weakness was their unwillingness to truly cooperate with one another. The same weakness afflicted their servants, but it was even worse among the gods themselves.
“That’s good to hear,” Sahrdohr said after a moment, and to his credit, he sounded as if he actually meant it. Which he might, Varnaythus reflected. The mortality rate among the Dark Gods’ servants who had actually faced Bahzell Bahnakson or Tomanāk’s other champions here on the Wind Plain had been effectively total. Sahrdohr could well be analyzing how his own position might be improved if something unfortunate happened to Varnaythus.
Of course, if whatever happens to me is truly unfortunate, it’ll probably happen to him, too. I wonder if he’s factoring that into his analysis?
“I think it’s good news, too,” he replied aloud. “But let’s not any of us start thinking this is going to be simple, because it’s not.”
“If it were going to be simple, they wouldn’t need us,” Sahrdohr said with a grin which made him look even younger.
“A reassuring thought, I’m sure,” Varnaythus said dryly, and Salgahn surprised him with a chuckle.
“All right,” the elder wizard continued. “We’ve been ‘authorized’ to assassinate Bahzell and Tellian ourselves if we can find a way to do it.” He rolled his eyes, and both of his companions grimaced. The Dark Gods had tried that approach more than once now . . . with uniformly disastrous results for their mortal instruments. None of the present trio were in favor of encountering those same results in person.
“Obviously,” he continued, “there are limits to how directly we can approach that sort of thing. I’m, ah . . . doing my best to encourage our good frind Arthnar to organize an attempt, and he’s certainly got more than enough motivation, given what their canal projects are going to do to his own arrangements. Unfortunately, he’s not an idiot, either, so I don’t know how successful I’ll be in getting him to move.” He shrugged. “I think we can probably get him to at least see what a few anonymously hired mercenaries can accomplish, but it would be foolish to expect a high chance of success out of that sort of attempt.”
“I can understand his reluctance,” Sahrdohr said drily. “On the other hand, what about an attempt on Bahnak or Kilthandahknarthas? Killing either of them would probably derail their damned project, as well, wouldn’t it? I’ll admit they could probably survive better without the dwarf than without Bahnak, even if Kilthan was the one who got Silver Cavern and Dwarvenhame to put their weight behind Bahnak in the first place. But losing him would still have to be a major blow. And Bahnak, now . . . he’s the glue holding this entire hradani ‘Confederation’ together, and there have to be enough Bloody Swords who’d love to see him dead.”
Varnaythus regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then glanced at Salgahn.
“Would you care to undertake either of those assignments?” he asked the assassin, and Salgahn snorted harshly.
“Get an assassin close enough to Kilthan of Silver Cavern? Not bloody likely! We don’t have that many dwarven dog brothers to begin with, and the security around any clan head—and especially that clan head—is far too tight for any stranger to get to him. We might be able to manage it the next time he heads out with the trade caravans, but do we have the time to wait that long?”
He looked the question at Varnaythus, who shook his head.
“Almost certainly not. And, frankly, it sounds like investing the effort it would take to get to him would be a waste of our resources. Not to mention coming entirely too close to spreading ourselves too thin with the same kind of ‘let’s kill everyone in sight’ stupidity that screwed up Their plans last time.”
“That’s about what I thought.” Salgahn shrugged. “And as far as Bahnak is concerned, his security’s almost as good as Kilthan’s. I’m pretty sure we could get to him, but there’s no way we could make it look like anything except a very obvious assassination . . . and not by hradani.”
“We couldn’t simply . . . assist one of the Bloody Swords who hate him?” Sahrdohr asked.
“There aren’t as many of them as you might think,” Varnaythus said grimly. “He’s actually making this Confederation of his work, and the Bloody Swords who still have enough of a power base to risk going after him and infuriating every single Horse Stealer in Norfressa are smart enough to recognize that they’ve never been as well off as they are now. For that matter, they remember how Harnak’s and Chalgaz’s association with us turned even some of their fellow Bloody Swords against Navahk before the war. They’re not going to be in any hurry to do anything that could make people think they’re signing up with Sharnā and the dog brothers. Besides, Bahnak’s done too damned good a job of training up those children of his. All of them, not just Bahzell. He may be the glue that put the hradani together in the first place, but I think Barondir and the rest would almost certainly manage to hold them together if he were to die suddenly.”
“You’re probably right about that,” Salgahn agreed after considering it for a moment or two. “And, to be honest, hradani are hard to kill under the best of circumstances. You may remember how much trouble we had trying to take Bahzell and Brandark even before Bahzell became a champion! Of course, they’re both special cases, even for hradani, but trying to get through Bahnak’s bodyguard with anything except a full frontal assault would be . . . unlikely. And hradani are damned near impossible to poison with anything except an instantly fatal dose. Considering all the difficulties, taking Bahnak with any normal tactics would probably be at least as hard as taking Bahzell. Our best odds would be with Tellian, frankly, and even that would be a challenge. Not impossible, by any stretch, mind you, but definitely a challenge. Which is the reason Arthnar’s not going to be all that keen on trying it, I suspect.”
“Oh, I agree,” Varnyathus said. “Which doesn’t mean I won’t be trying as hard as I can to talk him into it. In fact, I think we’re going to have to get you involved in that as well, Salgahn.”
“Oh?” The assassin raised an eyebrow at him, his expression wary. “And just how did you have it in mind for that to work?”
“I need someone to help do that convincing . . . and to make sure things are properly organized if we can talk him into it. He’s cleverer than Cassan thinks he is, but he does have a certain tendency towards brute force solutions. We need something a bit more subtle than that. Or, at least, we need it to be something that steers any suspicion towards Tellian’s purely local adversaries, since we”—he met his fellows’ gazes levelly—“are specifically forbidden to make any attempt which could be traced back to us.”
“We are?” If Sahrdohr was dismayed by the restriction, he hid it remarkably well, Varnaythus thought dryly.
“The overall operation is too important, and the odds against a successful assassination are too high, to justify risking it,” he said calmly, not mentioning that he was the one who’d made that argument—successfully, thank Carnadosa!—when he first received his instructions. “If we launch a direct attack that’s powerful enough to have a decent chance of success, the Order of Tomanāk is entirely too likely to be able to prove we were behind it . . . and that would prove They were behind it.” Varnaythus shook his head. “We absolutely can’t risk providing any evidence of that until all the other pieces are in place—not if we hope to succeed in our other plans, that is.”
His fellows nodded gravely, and although it was obvious their approval had more to do with their own odds of personal survival than any tactical constraints, that didn’t make anything he’d just said untrue. If—if—they succeeded in killing both Bahzell and Tellian, they would probably succeed in their overall mission. If they tried and failed, however, and if the effort proved the Dark Gods were trying to eliminate the two of them, it would strengthen Tellian’s position in the Kingdom immeasurably. Sothōii were often impulsive and always prickly where things like honor and family feuds were concerned, but despite the stereotype certain of their enemies nourished, they weren’t stupid. Certainly they weren’t too slow to figure out that if the Dark Gods wanted someone dead it was because whoever they were trying to kill stood in their way, at any rate. That might not bother some of their . . . more self-serving nobles, perhaps, but whatever their internal political squabbles might be, the vast majority of the Sothōii could be expected to close ranks instantly against any recognized intrusion by Phrobus and his offspring.
And if that let Varnaythus stay far, far away from any direct attack on Bahzell Bloody Hand, that was a wonderful thing as far as he was concerned.
“That doesn’t mean we won’t be invloved, of course,” he continued out loud, “but we are going to have to be as certain as we can that our cutouts will work. I think we’re going to have to send you down to talk to Arthnar, Salgahn—I can arrange an introduction that will get you in to see him—to help move him gently in the proper direction. We don’t want the Guild openly involved. The last thing we need is any suggestion of dog brothers stirring up trouble, so we’ll have to cover you as a mercenary with the right connections. I haven’t decided yet whether or not we want you involved in the actual attempt or only in setting things in motion, and I don’t see any way we can decide until we have a better idea of what he’s willing to do, but I want to keep our options open in that respect.”
Salgahn nodded, and if he looked less than delighted by the prospect, Varnaythus found that understandable enough.
“In the meantime,” the wizard went on, “I’ve maintained my contacts with Cassan, and he’s been kind enough to provide me with an introduction to Yeraghor, as well. Needless to say, neither of them is the least bit happy over what Tellian’s up to, although I’m not positive Yeraghor truly realizes how close to finished that damned tunnel is. Or how profoundly the entire project—assuming it succeeds, of course—is going to change this part of Norfressa, for that matter.”
“How close are they?” Sahrdohr asked, and Varnaythus shrugged irritably.
“I was just watching that unmitigated little pain Chanharsa.” He gestured at the gramerhain. “She’s putting in a forty- or fifty-yard section every day or so now, and she’s only got about another three-quarters of a mile to go. That’s only another two months. And the locks in the Balthar are already finished—they’ve had barges hauling construction materials all the way from from Hurgrum to The Gullet for two months now. The Derm Canal’s taking longer, but I expect it to be finished by next spring, even allowing for construction shutting down over the winter months. In fact, they might even get it done before first snowfall, if the weather favors them over the summer.”
Sahrdohr pursed his lips in a silent whistle, but Salgahn shook his head.
“That’s all well and good,” he pointed out, “but they’ve still got the River Brigands and the Ghoul Moor to worry about. As you just pointed out, Arthnar isn’t going to take Bahnak’s and Tellian’s plans very cheerfully.”
“Neither are the Purple Lords,” Varnaythus agreed. “But exactly how do you think they’re going to discourage a trio like Tellian, Kilthan, and Bahnak? Unless we—by which I’m afraid I really mean you, this time around—can convince Arthnar to try to kill them . . . and he succeeds, of course.”
Salghan snorted in acknowledgment, but he also shook his head again.
“I’m just saying it’s going to be a little more complicated than simply building a couple of canals and digging a tunnel,” he said.
“And that’s exactly what Yeraghor’s been counting on—and Cassan, too, I suspect.” Varnaythus shrugged. “Which, frankly, is . . . shortsighted of them, to say the least. Given the success rate Tellian and Bahnak—and Kilthan; let’s not forget him—have demonstrated to date, how likely do you think it is that they won’t succeed this time, as well?”
It was Salgahn’s turn to shrug, conceding the point.
“As it happens, the Ghoul Moor is going to figure rather more prominently in our plans than I’d thought it was,” Varnaythus continued. “I don’t know that it’s going to give us everything we want, although the chance that it might is actually better than I expected before She told me what resources we’ll have there. Even if it doesn’t work as well as expected”—he grimaced, and the others joined him as they recalled other plans which had failed to work exactly as the people who’d made them had expected—“it’s still going to hurt them badly. It may actually stop the canal project completely, although I expect it’s more likely just to slow them up for a year or two. More to the point, it ought to draw attention to the foot of the Escarpment and away from what we’re really after on top of it. It may well fan the fire under Cassan and Yeraghor, as well, and whether it does or not, nothing that goes wrong for them on the Ghoul Moor is going to suggest any special interference on our part.”
“Ah?” Sahrdohr cocked an eyebrow, and Varnaythus smiled unpleasantly.
“I don’t have all the details yet, myself, but apparently the Ghouls are going to be receiving just a bit of a reinforcement. Quite a sizeable one, actually—possibly even enough of one to give one of those damned champions of Tomanāk pause. And since the Ghoul Moor’s always been a . . . chancy proposition for the other side, let’s say, no one’s likely to be very surprised if this year’s expedition suffers an accident or two, even if the accident is rather more spectacular than most.”
The younger wizard nodded, and Varnaythus nodded back, then leaned back in his chair.
“The only downside in helping the ghouls slow them up is that if it does slow them up, it’s likely to undercut the sense of urgency we’ve been trying to encourage among Tellian’s opponents. One of my jobs is going to be keeping that urgency alive, and that means convincing Yeraghor and Cassan of just how close to success they are at court. Cassan’s had too much personal experience with the ghouls to expect them to stop Tellian’s and Bahzell’s plans unless they succeed a lot more spectacularly than I expect, but Yeraghor will probably tend to overestimate their chances, and even Cassan’s likely to see it as a reprieve. He’ll expect it to give him more time to build opposition in Sothōfalas and on the Great Council, and he may figure the losses Tellian’s about to take will help his own arguments that the entire idea is going to cost more than it’s likely to be worth to the Kingdom in the long run. I need to knock both of those notions on the head, and for that I’m going to want access to Tellian’s correspondence with Macebearer and Shaftmaster. Can you get it for me, Malahk?”
“I don’t know.” Sahrdohr frowned thoughtfully. “Shaftmaster’s, yes. I’ll have to be careful, but I can get to it without too much difficulty. If it will be all right to use a capture spell on it, that is?”
It was Varnaythus’ turn to frown. A capture spell was a very minor working, one that even one of those accursed magi probably wouldn’t notice unless he was right on top of it at the moment it was triggered. It required the use of a very small gramerhain, however, and if that was found on Sahrdohr’s person . . .
“You’re not concerned about carrying the stone with you?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t concerned, but I think the risk would be manageable.” The younger wizard smiled crookedly and held out his left hand, then tapped the ring on his second finger with his right index finger. It was an obviously old piece, set with a rather cheap looking opal. “I’ve been wearing this ever since I got here just for a moment like this one,” Sahrdohr continued. “Everyone knows it has great sentimental value to me, despite the poor quality of the stone—it was a gift from my grandmother to my grandfather—so nobody thinks anything more about it. But—”
He touched the opal itself and it flashed into sudden clarity, like water-clear quartz. It stayed that way until he took his finger away again, when it turned just as quickly back into the milky stone it had been to begin with.
“Very nice,” Varnaythus said sincerely.
The fact that Sahrdohr had put the ring into place so long ago was yet another demonstration of his basic intelligence and foresight. And even at this short range, even after having had the glamour concealing the gramerhain demonstrated to him, Varnaythus could detect barely a whisper of the spell. If that was a sample of Sahrdohr’s craftsmanship, he was further along towards the rank of master than Varnaythus had thought.
“All right, if you’re comfortable using a capture spell, I’ll leave that in your hands. But what about Macebearer?”
“That’s going to be a lot harder,” Sahrdohr replied. “I’ve at least got an excuse to be in Shaftmaster’s office. I work for the man, after all. But I’m not high enough in the Exchequer to be wandering into the Prime Councilor’s office and examining his personal correspondence with Baron Tellian.”
“I really want to get our hands on those letters,” Varnaythus said. “Shaftmaster’s estimates will help—probably a lot—but Cassan’s still keeping his head down, even without our gingering up the ghouls. I need proof of how much ground Tellian is gaining with Macebearer and Markhos to get him stirred back up again.”
“Why don’t we just forge it?” Sahrdohr asked. “It wouldn’t be difficult—I can at least get samples of Macebearer’s signature and his personal secretary’s handwriting, and we already have samples of Tellian’s. We could create correspondence that said whatever we needed it to say, then mix it in with genuine correspondence between Tellian and Shaftmaster.”
“Tempting,” Varnaythus conceded. “Unfortunately, Cassan’s almost as good at this game as he thinks he is. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he’s managed to get someone of his own inside Macebearer’s staff. Probably not someone with the kind of access he’d like to have, but he might well have enough access to realize we’re feeding him doctored documents.”
“I might have a solution,” Salgahn offered, and shrugged when both wizards looked at him. “I have a couple of men of my own inside the Palace. One of them’s covered as a stable hand, but the other’s on the housekeeping staff. He happens to be quite a good burglar, as a matter of fact.”
“Does he, now?” Varnaythus considered the other man thoughtfully.
Like most dog brothers, Salgahn was officially a follower of Sharnā, although he was scarcely very devout. In fact, Varnaythus doubted Salgahn had ever seen one of Sharnā’s actual rituals. It wasn’t the sort of thing which would have appealed to him any more than it would have appealed to Varnaythus himself. But every profession required at least some support structure, and the Assassins’ Guild had found its support in the church of Sharnā. Which meant that from time to time, whether they liked it or not, the dog brothers found themselves “urgently requested” to assist the church. Of course, the fact that Salgahn hadn’t bothered to mention his men’s presence in King Markho’s palace until this very moment made Varnaythus wonder just how completely Salgahn had thrown himself into this operation.
And I don’t blame him a bit if he’s been thinking from the very beginning in terms of ratholes to dash down the instant this ship hits a reef, the wizard reflected, then chuckled mentally as he realized how liberally he’d just mixed metaphors.
“Just how obviously could your burglar burglarize the Prime Councilor’s files?” he asked out loud.
“Obviously?” Salgahn raised an eyebrow.
“If everyone knows Macebearer’s office was successfully broken into, then Cassan’s a lot less likely to worry about whether or not we’re trying to feed him forged documents. If we’re going to physically steal them anyway, I’d like to leave enough evidence behind—evidence that Macebearer and the Crown would be able to keep from becoming general knowledge—to prime the pump with Cassan. His need to show how smart he is is his biggest weakness, when you come down to it. So if he knows about the ‘secret burglary’ when I show him copies—or even originals—from Macebearer’s files, he’ll be so smug about knowing how I got them that he won’t even consider whether or not any alterations were made before he saw them. Letting someone convince himself always works better than trying to sell it to him from the outside.”
“It’ll make it a little riskier for my man,” Salgahn pointed out.
“I’ll triple the Guild’s usual fee.”
“Then I’m sure something can be worked out.” Salgahn smiled, and Varnaythus chuckled.
“What about Borandas?” Sahrdohr asked, and Varnaythus frowned thoughtfully.
Borandas Daggeraxe was the Baron of Halthan and Lord Warden of the North Riding. The oldest of the four great barons of the Kingdom, he was also of no more than average intelligence, and he knew it. He was aware of the political power games swirling around at Court, but he was wise enough not to fish in such troubled waters and let himself be drawn into the toils of smarter but less scrupulous players. His son, Thorandas, was sharper than Borandas, and he’d been his father’s primary political advisor for years. He understood the value of maintaining the North Riding’s neutrality in the bitter power struggle between Cassan and Tellian. With Yeraghor of the East Riding supporting Cassan and the wind rider’s representative supporting Tellian, that neutrality allowed the North Riding to effectively hold the balance of power on the Great Council, and Thorandas was unlikely to favor any course which would endanger that situation. On the other hand, he was also one of the hard-line anti-hradani bigots. . . .
“I’m not sure about Borandas,” Varnaythus admitted. “But if Tellian’s correspondence with Macebearer says what I think it says, then showing certain select passages to Thorandas might pay a very nice dividend in the fullness of time. I’ll have to think about that once we see what it actually does say.”
Sahrdohr nodded, and Varnaythus drew a deep breath.
“Now,” he said, “the reason I want to get my hands on all that documentation is that the time has come—or is coming very soon—for us to . . . restructure the Kingdom of the Sothōii. And this is how we’re going to do it.
“First—”