“I agree with you,” Talbot told her. “Erevis is unquestionably loyal. Still, perhaps he confides in someone else who isn’t. Perhaps it would be wise to obey Father’s instructions to the letter. The gods know, I have no idea what to do next. At any rate, I’m sure we haven’t heard everything yet. Our sire wouldn’t bother to communicate simply to reassure us that he and Mother are alive, not in the middle of a crisis when security is an issue. He’s too canny and calculating for that.”
“You’re right,” Wyla said. “He also told me to tell you—”
A hiss sounded from overhead.
Startled, they all looked up. Jester, a brindled cat and one of the household pets, glared down through the marble balustrade that bordered the west gallery with pure malevolence in her yellow eyes.
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Tamlin, peering up at the agitated feline. “It’s as if she senses a threat.”
Wyla’s left arm twitched upward. Perhaps, Tazi thought, she had a recurring twinge in her chest, felt an urge to press her hand against the sore spot, but was too proud to let anyone else see she was in pain. That would be like her.
“No!” Talbot rapped. “I mean, Jester’s been acting strangely for the last day or so. Going into heat, probably. I’ll get a servant to remove her.” He rose and strode to the door. “Ho, somebody! We need a little help!”
When Jester had been carried off yowling, writhing, and scratching, Tamlin said, “Now, what else did Father say?”
“Do you know a tavern called the Drum and Mirror?” Wyla asked.
“I do,” Tazi said.
“Good,” Wyla said. “Your parents want you to meet them there at midnight. I gather they mean to explain how you’re to help them put an end to the current threat. As you’ve no doubt surmised, they want you to come alone, and without telling anyone your destination.”
Tamlin frowned. “I don’t much like the thought of going anywhere without Vox and Escevar.”
“If you insist on keeping Erevis in the dark,” Tazi snapped, “then you can damn well dispense with your little retinue as well.”
“I suppose,” her elder brother grumbled.
“Good,” said Talbot, “but I must say, this seems odd. I never would have expected Father to summon us out into the night unescorted when he knows someone wants to kill us.” He smiled crookedly. “After all, he thinks we’re a trio of helpless idiots.”
“Speak for yourself,” Tazi said.
“I only know what he told me,” Wyla said.
“I’m sure he reasoned that if no one knows we’re going,” said Tamlin, “no one can ambush us, and he’s right, so we’ll go. Anything to put an end to this unpleasantness and get things back to normal.”
“All right, I agree,” said Talbot. He grinned. “Of course, if she still wants to be contrary, our sister may insist on staying home this time around.”
Tazi threw a slice of bread at him.
As there was little of consequence left to say, Tamlin and Tal took their leave of Wyla shortly thereafter. The factor started to struggle up from her chair, and Tazi put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “You’re more than welcome to stay and rest for a while,” she said. “You seem tired.”
“No,” said Wyla, lurching upright. “I must go. I have matters I must attend to.”
Thazienne smiled. “Are you worried about what Magnus and Chade might be doing, or not doing, during your absence?”
For a split second, Wyla looked blank, then said, “Magnus and Chade, yes, exactly! Excuse me, Mistress, please.” She turned and hurried away as quickly as her uneven gait would allow.
Tazi shook her head. Talbot was right, things did seem strange. Father’s summons. Jester throwing a fit. And Wyla’s manner as well. Why was she so ill at ease, and why, when the two of them were alone, had she called the noblewoman “Mistress” instead of “Tazi” as she normally would?
Abruptly feeling impatient with herself, Thazienne snorted her misgivings away. Father desired secrecy, the cat craved a mate, Wyla was ill as well as upset over the troubles that had overtaken her employer’s House, and none of it was anything to fret over. The important thing was that Father and Mother were alive and well and evidently had conceived a strategy to unmask and defeat the unknown enemy.
Tazi stuffed a piece of apple in her mouth and filled a cup with warm, spiced wine.
CHAPTER 19
When Nuldrevyn and Ossian reached Marance’s shadowy suite, the wizard was lounging on a velvet-cushioned farthingale chair. Bileworm was limping about the room in a fantastic, frenetic manner, lengthening, shortening, and altering the form of one leg from moment to moment.
Nuldrevyn viewed the wizard and his familiar with the usual mix of hope and anxiety. “Ossian says you want to see me,” the old man said. “I trust it’s important. You’ve called me away from a conference with the fellow who runs our most profitable marble quarry.”
“Then I apologize,” said Marance, rising, staff in hand, from his chair. “But I also promise you won’t be sorry you came.”
“From that,” said Nuldrevyn, “I take it you’re finally ready to share the details of your new scheme.”
“I am indeed,” said Marance, his white eyes shining in the gloom. “Please, sit down and be comfortable.” He waved his kinsmen to the cluster of chairs where they’d sat and palavered before.
Nuldrevyn kept an eye on Bileworm as he seated himself, making sure the spirit couldn’t pop out and surprise him. The familiar leered at the nobleman, and just for an instant, stretched and twisted himself into a sinusoidal form suggestive of a snake. Nuldrevyn went rigid but managed to avoid flinching outright.
The old man scowled and returned his attention to Marance. “All right,” he said, “tell us.”
“Of course,” the wizard said. “I hit on this plan by pondering what went amiss with the previous ones. How did the Uskevren cubs escape? By outfighting me? No. By running away. So this time, I intend to deny them the opportunity.”
“Didn’t you already try to do that,” Nuldrevyn asked, “by placing a barrier of ice behind the heir, and stationing some of your conjured creatures at the door in the rear of the Wide Realms?”
Marance’s lips quirked upward. “In point of fact, yes. But in the former case, I didn’t reckon on Master Selwick being such an accomplished wizard, and in the latter, I didn’t anticipate Thamalon’s allegedly invalid daughter turning up and fighting like a lioness. This time, nothing will go wrong. I’m going to trap our prey in the center of the High Bridge. With our forces sweeping in from both sides to catch them by surprise, and other warriors sealing off each end of the bridge just in case the Uskevren should somehow get past the first lot, it’s inconceivable that the youngsters will survive.”
Nuldrevyn nodded, envisioning the snare. “It is an interesting idea,” he conceded. “Once in a while, you hear of someone diving off the High Bridge and surviving, but never in winter with the river so icy cold. However, the scheme only works if you have a way of luring the Uskevren to the killing ground at the right time.”
“That’s already taken care of,” said Marance.
“I deserve most of the credit,” said Bileworm in a husky contralto voice. His body shortened and thickened until it became the silhouette of a stocky woman with a long ponytail, except that his wide, gray, fanged grin split the inky shadow-stuff of the face. “Master said it would be easy, but it wasn’t. Since I failed to catch Wyla’s memories, I didn’t get the limp right, and my presence drove a cat wild. But still, I convinced everyone! I should be acting in the Wide Realms myself!”
“What Bileworm is trying to explain,” Marance said dryly, “is that cloaked in the flesh of a trusted family friend, he persuaded the Uskevren to come alone to a tavern at the center of the bridge for what they believe will be a secret meeting with their missing parents at midnight.”
“Not bad,” Nuldrevyn said, “but what about the guardhouses on the bridge? There are some, you know.”<
br />
“Only a couple,” the wizard said. “I wish I still had some sleep dust left, but I fancy that even without it, I can quietly eliminate the sentries in advance.”
“It’s a good plan,” said Ossian hesitantly, “but you alluded to ‘warriors.’ I hope you didn’t mean the bravos I obtained for you, because most of them are wounded, slain, or have decided your service is too dangerous and decamped. I doubt I could find you another such group by tonight.”
“You needn’t bother trying,” said Marance. “I don’t want you to think I’m unappreciative of your efforts, nephew, because I’m not, but I am tired of trying to work with the scrapings of Selgaunt’s gutters. If any of those clods had known how to aim a crossbow, or had possessed the modicum of nerve necessary to fight alongside conjured creatures that I had explained were magically constrained from harming them, our campaign would be farther advanced than it is.”
“So you’re simply going to rely on your summoned beasts?” Nuldrevyn asked.
“No,” said Marance. “If you recall, I explained why that isn’t a sound idea. Actually, I’ll require a number of your household guards, and I’d like to enlist the aid of one of your wizards as well. A nice brace of destructive spells, blazing unexpectedly out of the dark from either side, may well slay the Uskevren before they even have a chance to reach for their swords.”
Nuldrevyn’s throat abrupt felt thick with anxiety, but he realized that this time, he had to stand up to his brother. “Marance, we discussed that, too. We agreed that using our own soldiers would constitute an unacceptable risk.”
“Circumstances change,” Marance replied. “Perspectives change. It’s now clear to me that we must take the chance to assure our victory, and really, if we instruct our retainers not to flaunt the Talendar black and crimson, it’s extremely unlikely that anyone will recognize them in the dead of night.”
Nuldrevyn shook his head. “I’m not convinced of that.”
“My poor brother. I recall when you would not only have endorsed this scheme, you would have demanded to stand in the vanguard and butcher an Uskevren or two with your own hand. Have the years diminished you so much?”
“I don’t feel diminished,” Nuldrevyn replied, “but as you observed, perspectives change. When we were young, I thought only of what could be won. Now, I understand what must be preserved.”
Marance cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”
“If we exterminate the Uskevren,” Nuldrevyn replied, “it will give us satisfaction. In the long run, it may also enrich our House. Yet suppose we fail or even succeed, but are unmasked in the process. What happens if everyone discovers that it’s the Talendar who attempted to assassinate Thamalon’s children, creating mayhem and terror in public places, and trafficking with—forgive me—the powers of darkness?”
“Then you brazen it out,” Marance said, “and spread a few bribes around as needed.”
“That might work,” Nuldrevyn said, “and it might not. We have other enemies besides the Uskevren, foes who, confident that under the circumstances the Hulorn and the Scepters will look the other way, might seize on the incident as an excuse to make war on us. Do you want to see your name dishonored, your ancestral home burned, and your kinsmen slaughtered or driven into exile, just as it happened to Thamalon’s people?”
“Brother, you’re waxing hysterical. It’s inconceivable that such a calamity will befall us.”
“No, it isn’t,” Nuldrevyn said, “and we have to take cognizance of all the possibilities.”
“And let them paralyze us?” the spellcaster asked.
“I just ask you to remember that there’s more to life than vengeance,” Nuldrevyn said. “There’s the pride we feel in the honor, power, and wealth of our House. The joys and luxuries our position affords us. We have a new generation just coming up, Ossian and all the others like him, and I feel an obligation to pass the Talendar way of life on intact to them.”
Marance shook his head. “Brother, I’ll be candid with you. I don’t know if it was the simple fact of death that changed me, or if my years in the underworld are responsible, but the truth is that I don’t entirely remember what it is to take pride in the House of Talendar, or to fret about its future. Oh, I know in the abstract that I once cared about such matters, but only the cold ash of those feelings remains. In contrast, I still retain a considerable yen for revenge, and you must pardon me if I satisfy it without a second of unnecessary delay.”
“But you already have,” Ossian said. “The man who killed you is dead, as is his wife. I promise I won’t rest until his offspring perish, also. So can’t you be satisfied for just a little while, until we devise another plan? I understand that, thanks to Thamalon Uskevren, you passed through pain and horror, but you came out all right, didn’t you? You still exist, you’re a grandee in your Iron City—”
“The highest lord in Hell is still in Hell,” Marance snapped. “Kindly refrain from commenting on what you can’t understand. Nuldrevyn, I’ve heard your objections, and answered them as best I could. Beyond that, I can only pledge to be careful. Now, for sake of the love we bear one another, and the hatred we both hold for the House of Uskevren, I beg you to consent to my plan.”
Nuldrevyn swallowed. “I’m sorry, but I cannot.”
A trace of sadness came into Marance’s face. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. He rose from his chair, and though nothing in his manner so much as hinted at hostile intent, the Talendar lord abruptly sensed that Marance meant to direct some sort of magic against Ossian and himself.
Ossian had apparently come to the same conclusion, for he surged up out of his seat. By a lucky chance, he’d ventured out of the castle earlier today, and was still carrying a long sword. The gold-hilted weapon hissed as he yanked it from its scabbard.
For his part, Nuldrevyn lacked a sword, but since boyhood, had never been without a dagger ready to hand. He rose as hastily as his stiff joints would allow, and silently drew the knife from its well-oiled sheath.
Ossian lunged at Marance fast and hard, trying to dispatch him before he could cast a spell. The wizard parried the chest cut with his staff. Gray steel rang on black wood, and purple sparks crackled at the point of contact. The ginger-haired youth reeled backward, and Marance reached into his mantle to fish out the necessary ingredient for a spell.
That, Nuldrevyn thought, was all right, because to deal with the son, Marance had turned his back on the father. Perhaps the wizard thought the patriarch of the House of Talendar was too ancient and infirm to pose any sort of threat. If so, Nuldrevyn would show him just how wrong he was. One thrust to the spine should end this confrontation and send his wayward brother back to the Pit. He wouldn’t enjoy doing it, but with Ossian imperiled he saw no other choice.
Nuldrevyn took a split second to aim his blade at a specific target, in this case, a point midway between Marance’s shoulder blades. The old man started to step into distance, and a huge black snake reared up in front of him.
Even as Nuldrevyn cried out, recoiled, lost his balance, and fell, he discerned it wasn’t an actual serpent, just Bileworm mimicking one, but the knowledge didn’t help. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t force himself to get back up, not with the spirit’s murky, wedge-shaped head looming over him. All he could do was cower and watch the duel between his son and brother unfold.
Ossian had recovered his equilibrium and was pushing Marance back with a rapid series of feints, deceives, and attacks. The knobbed end of the wizard’s staff sizzled with purple flame, and he held it extended to slow his adversary’s advance. Meanwhile Marance chanted, swept his unweaponed hand in a mystic pass, and tossed a pinch of black dust into the air.
The air turned hot, then cold. For an instant, a bitter taste stung Nuldrevyn’s tongue. Magenta fire blazed from the staff and engulfed the old man’s son.
To Nuldrevyn’s horror, Ossian dwindled in stature, so quickly that the eye could barely follow the process. One instant, he was taller than his foe. Th
e next, small as a mouse.
“That doesn’t look good at all,” said Bileworm to Nuldrevyn. “Don’t you want to go help the boy? You know I’m made of gossamer. I can’t stop you.” He flickered out a forked tongue into his prisoner’s face, and Nuldrevyn sobbed and cringed.
Ossian dropped his pin-sized sword and bolted for the doorway. Marance discarded his staff—the purple flame went out as soon as it left his hand—whirled the cloak off his shoulders, and cast it like a net. The garment fell on top of the shrunken man.
Marance hurried up to the cape, kneeled, groped about for a moment, then located Ossian beneath it. He held the young aristocrat immobile with one hand, reached under the garment with the other, and extracted him.
“I regret it came to this,” Marance said to the squirming mite in his fist. “I’ve grown truly fond of you.”
He picked up the cloak, stuffed Ossian into one of the larger pockets on the inside, then squeezed the opening shut. Nuldrevyn could see the youth struggling inside the cloth for a little while, and then the motion stopped.
Nuldrevyn’s best-loved son had died of asphyxia, and, paralyzed by his dread of snakes, he hadn’t lifted a finger to save him. His eyes stinging with tears, the old man wished that same crippling fear would stop his heart.
“I’m sorry,” Marance told him. He removed Ossian’s corpse from the pocket and set it on the floor.
“You monster!” Nuldrevyn whispered.
“That’s unfair,” the mage said. “I wanted you and the lad for my allies, never my enemies, but you turned on me. Yet even so, I don’t wish to kill you, that’s what a devoted, forgiving brother I am. However, I will need to keep you from interfering in my plan.”
Marance retrieved his staff, put on his cloak, and took a candle from one of the pockets. He held the taper aloft, recited words of power, and turned widdershins. A purple flame kindled itself on the wick, ghostly voices murmured, and a gigantic snake shimmered into existence on the floor.
Marance pointed to his brother, and the serpent obediently slithered in Nuldrevyn’s direction. Its copper eyes, the candlelight rippling on its steel-gray scales, and the cold thickness of its sinuous coils were so overwhelmingly ghastly they made Bileworm’s impersonation of a snake seem ludicrous by comparison. Weeping and whimpering, Nuldrevyn floundered helplessly away from the new and even more intimidating terror.
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