by Jean Johnson
“... As subtle as Haidan magics?” Mita asked, lifting one brow.
“Perhaps.” The Chief Librarian eyed the tome in her hands, then sighed and waved it in a negligent circle. “I’m hardly the level of mage that my colleagues Sheren and Tipa’thia are. Powerful, yes, but both ladies are decades ahead of me. This is going to cut into my allotted studying time for today, and that makes me feel rather vexed.
“If Lord Stelled’s spy network is as efficient as his scrying spell, then he’ll have heard of the aborted attack on that Aurulan ship you were on, Guardsman Ellett,” Callaia stated, turning a corner and entering a new row of shelves. “Captain Mita, inform the City Council that they need to call the good Aurulan ambassador to a meeting. Jetta Freeport is dropping anchor and giving up her cargo. We want peace between ourselves and Aurul, and are willing to discuss the honorable ambassador’s recommendations on how to secure it permanently with his people. That should make his avaricious lump of a heart thump with joy.”
She paused and looked Ellett up and down, sliding her nose-perched viewing lenses partway down so that she could peer over them all the way to the toes of his boots. Ellett realized belatedly that the inner sides of the lenses, the sides closest to her eyes, had been lightly silvered.
“Hm. That outfit will never do. I trust you brought something impressive enough to wear as an envoy of your people? In that bag you dropped off at Mita’s house, on your way up here?”
“I left my armor at home, since it’s too distinctive, but I did bring a set of etama to wear, as befits my station, milady,” Ellett reassured her, wondering how she knew what he had brought ashore.
The answer hit him in the very next breath. How very clever. I’ll bet the cost of all my court silks, both here and back home, that she uses those silvered lenses as her personal scrying mirrors. Just enough silvering to reflect when needed, plus the gray tint to cut down on any distracting incoming light, without getting in the way of actually being able to see through them. It takes a talented glazier’s hand to make a half-silvered mirror, never mind such tiny ones . . . but then Jetta is rumored to be a wealthy freeport, and she’s their leader.
“Well, go and don them then!” the Chief Librarian ordered him. “Mita, don’t forget to tidy your own appearance, too. And reassure the council that naturally their secretary will be on hand to record the proceedings for posterity.” A graceful half bow from the petite woman somehow managed to simultaneously introduce herself as said secretary and dismiss the two of them from her presence. Diary-sized book in hand, she opened it and skimmed through its pages as she strode down the aisle, her attention clearly no longer on either of them.
Sighing, Ellett turned and followed the captain of the Jetta’s Pride out of the library. Only when they were descending the steps outside the huge building did he speak. “... Is she really as young as she looks?”
“If by that, you mean twenty-three? Yes. She was picked to be the next Chief Librarian at the tender age of sixteen and took over the position two years ago at the age of twenty-one, when the previous Librarian decided he was more than old enough to retire. But it isn’t a bad thing. Callaia is very smart, very observant, very wise in knowing when to listen to the counsel of others, and thus takes her academic duties very seriously,” Mita replied. “She’s done well enough for us in managing her duties.”
Her words were carefully couched to avoid the real topic of Callaia’s identity and station. There were plenty of students crossing the grand courtyard in front of the library, walking from building to building. There were several of them nestled within the walled campus of the university grounds, which perched on the best hill in the city. The greatest was the library, a full six times the size of the next-largest structure, and three times as large as any single such library Ellett had seen in Aurul. Mita had reassured him on the walk up through the city that the Jettan library was only a fraction of the size of the Great Library of Mendham far to the east, but it was still impressive on its own.
As was the rest of the campus. The walls of each structure had clearly been whitewashed several times and decorated with black-painted knotwork at the corners and along the edges. Windows gleamed as if frequently cleaned, and summer flowers bloomed in the garden beds lining every path, as well as around the bases of half the trees. The other half, he noted idly, were ringed by students with books and tablets and shrunken slates in their laps, studying between classes. Much like a few of the Academies he himself had seen in Aurul, including the Academy of the Royal Guard, just on a larger scale.
“Well, our own version of a ‘Chief Librarian’ was selected by Ruul at the tender age of twenty-four, and has done well in managing our own academic interests, too—with his brother’s counsel—so I can hardly protest,” Ellett replied mildly. Thinking of the Seer King reminded him of his duty to his king, and the fact that his quest would soon come to an end. Which wasn’t an entirely happy thought, though the hope of securing a solid peace between their people should have been happy enough on its own. “Mita ... once we confront the gentleman in question ... I am authorized to represent my people here on several matters for a short while, but eventually I must return to my own duties.”
The smile she attempted to give him wasn’t a very good one and didn’t suit the generosity of her mouth very well. “I know. I’ve been enjoying your company quite a bit, even though I know it’s only temporary. You probably won’t get everything settled for at least a couple of weeks, though, surely?”
“Probably not, but with grace and agreement on both sides, it shouldn’t take more than a couple weeks at most. At least, the preliminary agreements. The court would no doubt send a more official representative than I could ever be and won’t be sending me back. Plus, it’s still summer, and the royal court is tucked up in the cool air of the mountains at this time of year,” he said, studying her for her reactions. “However, from late autumn to early spring, we’re down by the coast in the winter palace. I was wondering if you’d consider finding the time to come visit me on the coast in the winter months. At least, once in a while? Tucked in among your own duties?”
This time, her smile was a little more natural. “I’d like that. I’ll see what can be arranged. A pity we’ll be far apart for half the year, but I like your company, and I’d like to think of you as a friend. A close friend. If you don’t mind?”
Ellett chuckled and tucked his arm around her waist. “Far better a friend than an enemy.”
“Well, I certainly don’t sleep with my enemies,” Mita pointed out dryly.
“Thank the Gods,” he muttered and got poked in the ribs by her elbow for his teasing. They approached one of the academic halls near the gates of the university; the summer sun gleamed across the windows, half blinding him for a moment. The reflected light was bright and therefore painful, but it did give him an idea. “Here’s another question.”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Do you have a glazier’s guild in the city, or a glassmaker’s shop?”
“Of course. Actually, we have a Glazier’s Academy, which teaches both common and spellcrafted glassmaking techniques.” Twisting against his arm, she pointed off to the side at one of the buildings to their left. “It’s located over there. It’s set back from most of the others so that if anything burns up, it won’t cause problems with the other facilities. The Spellsmith Academy is not too far from it, either, and both are as far as one can get from the university library.”
“Good. I’d like to drop by and see if I can purchase a pair of linked palm-mirrors.” He gave her a lopsided smile of his own. “It may not be that long before the court packs up and heads west on its semiannual tour of the kingdom, but it’s still going to be a long set of months before I’ll be back on the coast again. Scrying mirrors can travel the aether a very long way when they’re linked, and I’d like to be able to keep talking with you, if I may. When our duties allow it, of course.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “And I’d like tha
t, too. In fact, I’ll buy my half of the mirrors—or even both of them, if you’d like.”
“Only your half,” Ellett countered. “I may dress like one at the moment, but I am not a pauper.”
“Does this mean you’ll offer me the position of ‘kept woman’?” Mita teased him.
He grinned. “And here I was hoping you’d offer me the position of ‘kept man.’”
She elbowed him again. He kissed her on the cheek.
SEVEN
Lord Stelled looked like Lord Stelled, to the point where it deeply disconcerted Ellett ... but he didn’t act like Lord Stelled.
The man portraying him was late middle-aged, with the right hazel brown eyes and the right shade of dark brown hair streaked at the temples with silver, which he had plaited in a proper, waist-length Aurulan braid. He even wore the right shades-of-brown silk robes which the real Lord Stelled had favored, long, pocket-sleeved layers of floor-length jacket which, wrapped by the gauzy sash of nobility, made it an etamana ensemble.
However, he didn’t stand like the late alchemist-mage, with the slightly stooped shoulders of a man who had spent too many years of his life at a workbench, reading grimoires, preparing ingredients, and brewing the potions needed by some of the healers and mages and Artifact-crafters in the winter palace region.
Instead, the man strode into the City Council hall with his shoulders back and his head tilted ever so slightly up, cloaked in a subtle air of arrogance. His voice was strong and smooth, not roughened by years of working with self-tested drafts, and his joints weren’t half swollen and thus stiff-moving from the long-term exposure to steam boiling up from all those bottles and pots.
Lurking in the back of the council hall, in the shadows of the corridor that led to the public refreshing rooms, Ellett watched the impostor greet the collection of men and women politely, unctuously apologize “once again” for all the troubles his “unruly fellow Aurulans” had been causing, and then hint ever so subtly that chasing down the seafaring thieves plaguing Jettan merchant vessels was an expensive proposition which the royal fleet would love to do in full, if only they had more funds.
“... But I understand your council has reconsidered His Majesty’s offer to expend his navy’s budget in chasing down the miscreants responsible? With Jettan coins paying our sailors and soldiers to be diligent in guarding your interests, I’m sure it would be more than sufficient motivation for our people to extend their protection against piracy all the way down to the Isles,” the false Stelled reassured. “I know this isn’t what you’d want, but we are men and women of reason, and we all know such things have a cost. Our ships must carry extra provisions when patrolling so far away, our sailors must brave extra hazards when defending foreign crews ...”
I wonder how the real Lord Stelled would have reacted to his good name being used in a fraudulent case of racketeering, Ellett thought idly, waiting for his cue. He’d probably be tempted to have the miscreants bound over to him for potion-testing subjects.
The Chief Dean of the university, whom Ellett had met briefly before this meeting began, enduring a second round of Truth Stone questioning to reassure the others that he was indeed legitimate, answered on behalf of his fellow council members. “Yes, well, we have indeed reached the limits of our tolerance for piracy against our fellow citizens. And we are tired of the ‘fines’ your government insists on imposing for any and all Aurulan goods brought onto the freeport’s docks, simply because ships who may or may not have been Jettan in origin have pilfered some of your vessels.”
Lord Stelled spread his hands. “The flow of money has long been known to be a far more effective means of leverage, either in encouragement or discouragement, than the might of an army. At least with money, no one loses an arm or a leg.” Fishing a scroll from the inner pocket of one of his thigh-length sleeves, the impostor bowed and stepped closer to the Chief Dean’s section of the U-shaped table hosting the Jettan council. “All this treaty requires is the approval of the council and the signature of your leader to make it binding.”
Ellett narrowed his eyes, squinting at the scroll. A half step to his left positioned it so that the dark, tooled leathers worn by Captain Mita provided a background for the rolled object. He wasn’t completely sure even then, but there did seem to be a faint glow of magic to the document. The Dean reached for it, then withdrew his hand before touching the parchment.
“... There’s just one last reassurance we need,” the gray-haired scholar hedged, tucking his hands back together on top of the council table.
To his credit, the impostor Stelled didn’t scream or growl or flinch at the last-minute gambit. He didn’t even roll his eyes, let alone sigh. “And what reassurance would that be, milord?”
The Chief Dean unfolded his hands and held them out to either side. His fellow council members clasped hands, forming a chain around the table ... and a silvery white shield around the impostor. Power flared up, obscuring the man for a moment, then died down low enough that they could see him from the knees up, though from the knees down, the brilliant glow remained, locking him in place with far more magic than most mages could overcome on their own.
That was Ellett’s cue. Stepping into the light cast by the chandelier of lightglobes overhead, he let the impostor get a good look at his one set of formal robes. The inner two layers of golden and lavender silk matched the golden patches appliquéd on the outermost violet layer, patches that echoed the gilding, and the function, of the enchanted armor he had left back in Aurul. While the silk wouldn’t do as much to stop a purely physical blow, it was the look of his clothes that mattered.
From the widening of those hazel eyes, Ellett knew the impostor recognized the distinct design of his garments, marking him as a member of the Aurulan Royal Guard.
He smiled. “The council would love to know how a very dead man can claim to still be alive.”
The false alchemist twisted a ring on his finger ... then paled when nothing happened. He twisted it again, then looked up at the air. The Chief Dean and his fellow Jettans dropped their hands, though their binding shield remained firmly in place.
“Don’t bother looking to your cohorts for rescue, ‘Lord.’ This entire room has been warded against mirror-Gate travel. As we speak, the university’s top magecraft students are working to trace the origin points of any and all scryings upon this building, and specifically centered around your person.” The Chief Dean smiled. “They have been told it is an extra-credit project which will affect their grades for this semester. Naturally, they are being rather diligent in the matter.”
Scraping back his chair, the stout, gray-clad Dean rose, squared his shoulders, and clapped his hands together. A murmured spell released a sparkling green globe of energy. It zoomed forward, penetrated the shields holding the impostor in place, and impacted on the other man’s chest.
The magic vanished inside his body even as the impostor clutched at his robes. An odd look came over his face, not quite bulging his eyes, then the man belched loudly. Green gas issued from his mouth, hovered in midair for a moment, then formed misty lettering in the Jettan alphabet.
Thanks to his sip of Ultra Tongue years ago—a necessary expense for the Royal Guard, so that they could overhear any possible plotting in foreign languages—Ellett could read the characters that formed. Not that there was much to it, just a single word which identified the other man’s nationality.
Haidan.
“It figures,” he heard Mita muttering in disgust. She raised her voice slightly. “You were correct in your assessment of the situation, Mage-Captain. Jetta Freeport wishes to apologize to the Aurulan government for all the troubles that were caused when we fell for the lies of these Haidan scum.”
“As it is said, so shall it be written. Thus it is proved, and so shall it be,” Ellett replied philosophically, ritually. He folded his arms in their hip-length sleeves and shrugged, keeping his gaze on the mage caught in their extraordinary shield. “Had our God wished it otherwise, t
his matter would have been cleared up a lot sooner. The Eyes of Ruul can pierce all disguises and see even into the very heart of darkness. But I have faith there is some greater good to be found in unveiling these matters here and now, rather than earlier or later. We need only grasp it, as true allies, and turn this would-be disaster into an advantage for both sides.”
“Well spoken, good Captain,” the Dean of Spellsmithing stated, rising from his spot at the large, nearly circular table. He fetched a casket from the floor, opened it, and fished out a set of what looked like silk-wrapped manacles. Ellett didn’t have to actually see the metal to know it would be engraved with anti-magic wards. “We’ll make sure there’s enough left of him and his accomplices so that some of them, at least, will be available to face Aurulan justice. Once we’re done exacting our pound of restitution, of course.”
“As I told Captain Mita and some of the other members of your council, my people will be happy to let your people go first,” he allowed, bowing politely to the men and women ringing the room. “My only request is that you consider the possibility of teaching our mages such finely crafted spells. I didn’t even know there was a spell that could force a man to literally belch his true allegiances.”
The Chief Dean chuckled. “It’s a rather popular one among our students, since it can be crafted to belch out any manner of truths regarding its impacted target.”
The sour look on the false Stelled’s face amused Ellett to no end. Unmasked by the equivalent of a student’s prank, of all things. That has to sting the impostor’s pride.
Looking pretty wasn’t easy, anymore. As attentive as he was to his duties, Ellett couldn’t wait for his day to be over. Only at night, when His Majesty and Her Highness had retired for the evening, could the Mage-Captain set aside his vigilance and do what he longed to do: Contact Mita on the linked scrying mirrors they had bought back before he had left Jetta Freeport.
