The Spell of the Black Dagger

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Luralla would know, though; she had the warlock called in, and asked her to take a message to the chairman of the Council.

  Those groups were the important two, but for the sake of thoroughness, Lady Sarai considered the others.

  Only a minority of theurgists had any connection with the Hierarchy of Priests; Sarai wasn’t sure whether that would have made them more or less suspicious under other circumstances. As it was, though, Okko happened to be the High Priest, and Sarai simply couldn’t take seriously the idea that he might be behind some fiendish conspiracy.

  Still, she did go so far as to question him briefly while a witch by the name of Shala of the Green Eyes sat concealed in an adjoining room, watching for lies or any sign of guilt. Shala had been hired almost at random, after a walk down the western portion of Wizard Street—Sarai wanted to avoid using anyone Okko might recognize or might have had any chance to subvert.

  Shala found no evidence that Okko was concealing anything, and assured Sarai that the old theurgist was telling the truth when he swore he knew nothing about the murders he hadn’t told Lady Sarai.

  Of course, there might be another organization of theurgists—but really, theurgists committing murder? The gods didn’t approve of that sort of thing.

  That brought Sarai to the witches.

  Witches had two organizations, segregated by sex—which made no sense that Sarai could see, since she hadn’t come across any differences between how witchcraft worked for men and how it worked for women. Neither of them was very structured—the Sisterhood generally chose their leaders by lot at erratic intervals, while the Brotherhood elected them annually, and there was no permanent hierarchy in either group. Between them, they included perhaps a third of the thousand or so witches in the city. The Sisterhood was somewhat larger than the Brotherhood—but then, Sarai had the impression that there were more female witches than male.

  Of the witches she had dealt with, Sarai knew at least one was a member of the Sisterhood—Shirith of Ethshar, who had tried unsuccessfully to heal Lord Kalthon. There were no annoying delays while meetings were arranged; Shirith and her apprentice came when invited, and met with Lady Sarai in the Great Council Chamber that same evening.

  Sarai had chosen the council chamber, rather than one of the innumerable smaller rooms in the Palace, to impress upon the witches just how important this was—and also because the chamber gave an impression of great privacy, even while Okko would be listening from a concealed room adjoining, and Mereth of the Golden Door would be watching by means of a scrying spell.

  She dressed for the meeting in a nondescript tunic and skirt. She not only didn’t wear the impressive robes of the Minister of Justice—she had had a set altered to fit her when first she found herself forced to act in her father’s place—but she dressed far more simply than was her wont, to add to the air of secrecy.

  The thought struck her as she straightened her skirt that she was probably entitled to some sort of formal costume as Minister of Investigation; she had never worried about it before, since it was not in the nature of the job to make public appearances.

  Perhaps this plain black skirt and dark blue tunic would serve. Her mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile at the thought.

  She could hear her father’s labored breathing as she crossed to the door; Kalthon the Younger was asleep in his chamber, but their father was awake, lying on the couch—or at any rate, as awake as he ever was any more.

  She took a moment to kiss his brow, then left the apartments and hurried down the corridor.

  She found the two witches waiting in the council chamber, looking very small and alone in the two chairs they occupied of the hundred or so that the room held. Three red-kilted guards were standing watch, one at each door; Sarai dismissed them.

  “Shirith,” she said, when the doors had closed behind the guards, “I’m so glad you could come.”

  The elder witch rose and curtsied. When she stood again she smiled wryly, and said, “Perhaps, Lady Sarai, you have not yet realized just how unlikely any citizen of Ethshar is to ignore a summons to the Palace from the Acting Minister of Justice, especially one delivered by a member of the city guard in full uniform, including sword.”

  Sarai had not thought of it in those terms. She had sent a soldier because he was handy—most of the officials of the overlord’s government used the city guard for their errands outside the Palace.

  To an ordinary citizen, though...

  Well, she saw Shirith’s point. And perhaps it was just as well; she had wanted to impress the witches with the severity of the situation, after all.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” Sarai asked. She knew the more skilled and powerful witches could hear the thoughts in people’s heads, if they tried, and Shirith was undoubtedly skilled.

  “Do you want me to?” Shirith countered. “Ah, I see you do, if only to save time. I’m sorry, Lady Sarai, but I’m afraid that ... oh.”

  She paused, then said, “The killings. Poor Kelder.”

  Sarai nodded.

  “If you could tell me more, Lady Sarai...” Shirith began.

  Lady Sarai explained quickly, well aware that Shirith was filling in missing details with her witchcraft.

  “I’m afraid,” Shirith said at last, “that I can’t help you. We in the Sisterhood are naturally concerned, even though Kelder was obviously not one of our members. I can attest that I am in no way involved in these killings, nor is any member of the Sisterhood with whom I have spoken in the past month. Your theurgist will confirm that I speak the truth; I don’t know what the wizard’s spell will show, but if it tests veracity, then that, too, should support me.”

  So much, Sarai thought, for secrecy.

  “Well,” Shirith said apologetically, “once I start listening to what lies behind your words, I can’t always help hearing more than you might want.”

  Sarai waved that away. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “And I didn’t really suppose that the Sisterhood was behind the murders. Can you vouch for the Brotherhood, as well?”

  “Not as definitely,” Shirith admitted, “but I can send their leaders to you for questioning.”

  Sarai nodded. “That would be useful. Do you have any other suggestions? Anything you would advise me to do to track down these killers who use both wizardry and warlockry?”

  Shirith shook her head. “No,” she said, then added, “It’s odd, that combination; wizards and warlocks have distrusted each other since the Night of Madness, and from what I’ve heard, warlockry fits better elsewhere.”

  “What do you mean?” Sarai asked. Then she remembered something Kelder had said, when the two of them were studying Serem’s corpse.

  “Well,” Shirith said, “it appears, from all I’ve heard, that witchcraft and warlockry are much more closely related to each other than either one is to wizardry.”

  “I’ve heard that, too,” Sarai admitted.

  “Do you know who you might want to talk to?” Shirith suggested. “Teneria of Fishertown, from Ethshar of the Spices. The word in the Sisterhood is that she’s made some remarkable discoveries about connections between witchcraft and warlockry—especially remarkable, since she’s still only a journeyman.”

  “Thank you,” Sarai said, making a mental note of the name. “I’ll do that.”

  In the three days that followed Sarai spoke to a four-man delegation from the Brotherhood, and removed that group from suspicion, as well. She sent a messenger by sea to Ethshar of the Spices, to fetch this Teneria of Fishertown. She had notices circulated to demonologists, sorcerers, and other magicians of various kinds that she sought any information they could provide about whoever was responsible for the recent murders.

  But she received no reply from either the Council of Warlocks or the Wizards’ Guild, nor did she learn who had killed those men, women, and dogs.

  Chapter Eighteen

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

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

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

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

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

  “Why not?” Sarai demanded.

  “Because we need it for other things, as well. Oh, I don’t deny that this conspiracy is dangerous, Lady Sarai, I don’t deny it at all, not for a moment, but it isn’t the only danger that old Ederd has to worry about. What good will it do to stop these mysterious magical murderers, if it allows common thieves to run amok, or we let the walls fall into ruin, or the harbor silt up so that no ships can dock?”

  “I’m not spending that much!” Sarai protested.

  “No,” Tollern admitted, “but this isn’t anything we’ve budgeted for, you see. My dear, can’t you find some way to settle this whole matter quickly?”

  “How?” Sarai asked. “I’m doing the best I can, but I can’t even get the Wizards’ Guild to talk to me.”

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

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

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “You’ll have to ask Captain Tikri, my lady.”

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

  It appeared that even if she hadn’t thought of providing an entourage, Tikri had.

  “Are you ready, my lady?” Tikri asked.

  Sarai, smiling, nodded.

  Two soldiers stepped forward and flung open the doors; one of the officials stepped in and proclaimed loudly, “Stand and obey! Behold the Lady Sarai, Minister of Investigation and Acting Minister of Justice to Ederd the Fourth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies and Defender of the Gods! Bow to the overlord’s chosen representative!”

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

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

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

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

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

  At least, for the moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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