The Spell of the Black Dagger
Page 29
“Have they tried?” Mereth demanded.
Tobas turned up an empty palm. “Whether they have or not,” he said, pointing at Telurinon, “it’s a little late to turn back now, isn’t it?”
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Chapter Thirty-Five
Sarai winced, eyes closed, as she slit the dog’s throat. The animal thrashed wildly, and hot blood sprayed on Sarai’s hands, but she kept her hold.
And as it struggled, Sarai felt a surge of heat, of strength, all through her; without meaning to, she tightened her grip on the dying dog and felt the flesh yielding beneath her fingers. Her heart was pounding, her muscles tense.
Then the dog went limp, sagging to the ground between her legs, and the world suddenly seemed to flood in on her; her ears rang with strange new sounds, and her vision seemed suddenly sharper and more intense, as if everything was outlined against the background of the Wall Street Field—though for a moment, the colors seemed to fade away, as if drowned out by the clarity of shape and movement.
Most of all, though, scents poured in. She could smell everything, all at once—the dog’s blood, her own sweat, her sex, the dirt of the Field, the sun-warmed stone of the city wall, the smokes and stenches of every individual shop or home on Wall Street or the blocks beyond. She could tell at once which of the empty blankets and abandoned tents of the Field were mildewed or decayed, which were still clean and wholesome; she could smell the metal of the Black Dagger itself.
For a moment she stood over the dead dog, just breathing in the city, marveling at it all. She had known that dogs could smell better than mere humans, of course, everyone knew that, but she had never before realized how much better, she had never imagined what it would be like.
Her attempts to find Lord Torrut had so far been unsuccessful; she had found no one in the barracks or the gatehouses. Now, though, she wondered if she could locate him by smell, track him down by following his scent. She had heard about dogs doing such things, and had always dismissed the stories as exaggerations, but now, she had to reconsider. She could smell everything.
She was stronger now, too; she could feel it. The dog had not been particularly strong or healthy, just a half-starved stray scavenging in the almost-empty Field, but she had felt the power in her grip as she held it while it died.
Tabaea had killed a dozen men—Sarai tried to imagine just how strong that made her feel, and couldn’t.
And Tabaea had killed several dogs, as well, Sarai remembered—she, too, had experienced this flood of scent and sound and image.
Scents—that explained some of Tabaea’s mysterious abilities. It wasn’t magic, not in the way Sarai and the others had assumed; she could smell people approaching, could hear them, like a watchdog. People said dogs could smell fear, as well, could tell friend from foe by scent—could Tabaea?
Until now, Sarai had viewed Tabaea as a mysterious and powerful magician, her talents and abilities beyond any ordinary explanation, her mind beyond understanding; now, suddenly, she thought she understood the usurper. Sarai had assumed that Tabaea had created the Black Dagger deliberately, knowing what she was doing; that she had studied magic, had set out to conquer Ethshar. It was the Black Dagger that gave her her physical strength and immunity to harm, the wizards had told Sarai that, but now Sarai began to believe that all Tabaea’s power came from the dagger.
Without it, did she have any magic?
Well, she presumably still had her warlockry, and maybe witchcraft—Teneria and Karanissa had said that Tabaea had the talent, as they called it, but didn’t know how to use it properly.
And she had her canine sense of smell, and her accumulated strength and stolen lives.
Sarai remembered the dead cats, the dead pigeon; could Tabaea have stolen the bird’s ability to fly? What had she gotten from the cats?
Well, Sarai thought, holding up the bloody dagger, there was one way to find out, wasn’t there?
The first cat came as a revelation; the addition to her strength was nothing, smell and hearing got no better, but the increase in her speed and the intense sensitivity to movement were as big a surprise as the dog’s sense of smell. That was how Tabaea could react so quickly when she fought!
The pigeon was a waste of time; that explained why dead birds hadn’t littered the city when Tabaea was building herself up.
The next step, Sarai decided, was an ox, for the raw strength it would provide; Tabaea had used people, but Sarai had no intention of committing murder.
Unfortunately, there were no stray oxen wandering in the Wall Street Field. Buying an ox was not difficult—if one had money. Sarai had no money to speak of, just a few borrowed coppers in the purse on her belt. The family treasure had gone to sea with her father and brother, while the family income was gone with Lord Tollern and the overlord.
Perhaps she could borrow more money somewhere, she thought. The obvious place to go would be the Guildhouse, since that was where the richest and most powerful of her nominal allies were, but she still did not care for the idea of walking in there with the Black Dagger on her belt. She thought she could trust Mereth, and Tobas seemed like a reasonable person, but Telurinon and Algarin and the rest...
Tobas was not living in the Guildhouse, though; he and his wives were staying at the Cap and Dagger. Lady Sarai sniffed the air, without consciously realizing she was doing it. She stretched, catlike, then flexed her shoulders in a way that would have fluffed a pigeon’s feathers out nicely. Then she wiped the Black Dagger clean, sheathed it, and headed out of the Field, up onto Wall Street and toward Grandgate.
From the market, she turned down Gate Street; the Cap and Dagger was six blocks down on the right.
As she walked, she soaked in the odors and sights of a city turned strange and rich by her augmented senses. She could, she found, tell what each person she passed had eaten for his or her last meal, and how long ago that meal was; she could detect the slightest twitch of a hand or an eye. She spotted rats foraging in an alley, and knew that she would never have seen them without the Black Dagger’s spell.
She saw someone glance oddly at her, and realized that she was moving strangely, her gaze darting back and forth, her nose lifted to catch the air. She forced herself to look straight ahead.
Then she was at the inn; she stood in the door until the innkeeper came to ask what she wanted.
Sarai was sure she had not seen the man before, and wondered where he had hidden himself when the wizards held their meeting in his establishment.
“I’m looking for a man named Tobas of Telven,” she said. “Or if he’s not here, one of his wives.”
The innkeeper frowned, then directed her to a room upstairs. Sarai thanked him, and was about to head up, when the man reconsidered. “Maybe I’d better come with you,” he said. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want any trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble,” Sarai said, but the innkeeper insisted. Together, they ascended the stairs and found the door of the room Tobas, Karanissa, and Alorria shared. The innkeeper knocked.
“Yes?” a woman’s voice called. Sarai had not entirely adjusted to her new hearing, so much more sensitive to high-pitched sounds, so at first she didn’t recognize it.
“There’s a woman here to see your husband,” the innkeeper called.
Sarai heard footsteps, and then the door opened; Alorria leaned out. “Tobas isn’t here,” she said. She spotted Sarai, and said, “Oh, it’s you, La ... it’s you, Sarai. Is there anything I can do?”
“I hope so,” Sarai said. “May I come in?”
“Oh. All right, come in.” She swung the door wide.
Sarai stepped in, and Alorria closed it gently in the innkeeper’s face.
“Thank you,” she called to him as the door shut.
Then, for a moment, the two women stared at each other, Sarai unsure how to begin, Alorria unsure she had done the right thing admitting anyone when she was alone and so clumsy and helpless with her swollen belly.
Sarai looked around the room, at the three beds, the table that held basin and pitcher, the two large trunks, while Alorria studied her guest’s face. “Why do you want to see Tobas?” the princess asked.
“Well, I probably don’t need to,” Sarai said. “I really just need to borrow some money. I’ll pay it back as soon as things are back to normal.”
Alorria blinked, slightly startled. “Why do you need to borrow money?” she asked.
“To buy an ox.”
Alorria stared at Sarai. “Why do you want an ox?”
“To kill,” Sarai explained. “As part of a spell.”
Alorria frowned. “You’re doing magic now? Isn’t there enough of that already?”
Sarai shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “Is there?”
“Well, I certainly thought so,” Alorria said, settling awkwardly onto the edge of the nearest bed. “That’s where Tobas and Kara are—the Wizards’ Guild is trying some horrible spell on Tabaea, with the help of the warlocks, and Karanissa and the other witches are all standing by to help, at the Palace or the Guildhouse or places in between.”
“What kind of a spell?” Sarai asked, seating herself on the next bed over. She berated herself for not realizing that the wizards would still be trying their spells on Tabaea, even without knowing the Black Dagger had been removed, and she suddenly wished that she had gone straight to the Guildhouse when she had first stolen the dagger. She didn’t like it when things went on that she didn’t know about, particularly anything as bizarre as wizards and warlocks working together.
And how could warlocks help with anything, when Tabaea was a warlock herself? Warlockry didn’t work on warlocks.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Alorria said, flustered. “I leave all the magic up to Tobas and Kara, and I take care of the rest of it.”
“Oh, but...” Sarai began.
Alorria interrupted, “It’s called the Seething Death; Tobas got it from that horrible old book of Derithon’s, and nobody’s used it in about five hundred years.”
Sarai’s mouth twitched. “I thought you didn’t know anything about magic.”
“I don’t,” Alorria insisted. “Not really. But I do know about my husband.” She smiled weakly.
Sarai smiled back, but it was not a terribly sincere smile. “The Seething Death” sounded dangerous, and she had never heard of it before. Maybe building up her strength with an ox could wait; watching this spell might be more important. And some high official of the overlord’s government ought to be there when Tabaea died. The overlord himself had sailed off to Ethshar of the Spices with Lord Tollern and Sarai’s own father and the rest, and Lord Torrut was in hiding; Sarai knew she was probably the highest-ranking official available.
That assumed that the spell would work on Tabaea, but with the Black Dagger gone Sarai thought that was a reasonable assumption. And if it didn’t kill her, Sarai wanted to see that, too, to see how Tabaea defended herself without the knife.
“The Seething Death,” the spell was called. Where had it come from, anyway?
“Who’s Derithon?” she asked.
“Derithon the Mage,” Alorria said. “Karanissa’s first husband—or lover, anyway. He’s been dead for centuries. She had his book of spells when she first met Tobas, and she couldn’t use it, since she’s a witch instead of a wizard, so she gave it to Tobas, and that’s where he got most of his magic.”
“Centuries?” There was obviously even more of a story to this threesome than she had realized.
“Derithon put a youth spell on her. How much does an ox cost, anyway?”
“About three rounds of silver, I think. So Tobas is working this Seething Death spell?”
“Oh, no!” Alorria said. “He thinks it’s much too dangerous, that it’s really stupid. Telurinon did it before Tobas could stop him.”
The last remnants of Sarai’s smile vanished. She stood up.
“I think I better go,” she said. “Forget about the ox; I need to see what’s going on at the Palace.”
Alorria smiled up at her. “Be careful,” she said.
Sarai didn’t answer; she was already on her way out the door.
Tobas was a sensible person, despite his peculiar domestic arrangements, but Telurinon—Telurinon was an over-educated idiot who wanted to prove to the Inner Circle how powerful he was. What’s more, he was an over-educated idiot who still thought Tabaea had the Black Dagger protecting her.
Whatever this spell was, Telurinon expected it to overpower the Black Dagger. Sarai was sure of that; Tobas or Heremon or Algarin might have found some way around the dagger’s magic, but Telurinon would have just thrown more and more magic back at it. Unchecked wizardry could do an amazing amount of damage, and there was no Black Dagger in the Palace to blunt this Seething Death.
Sarai had to force herself not to draw attention by running as she headed for the Palace.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Everyone knew that there were things in life that stayed interesting, and things that got dull fairly quickly; this was no revelation to the Empress Tabaea, who considered herself to be an intelligent person, and who thought she had a pretty good idea of how the World worked.
All the same, she was rather surprised to find that ruling a city was one of the things that got dull quickly.
In fact, by the end of her first sixnight as Empress, she was bored with the whole business, and had begun trying to find ways to make it more enjoyable.
An obvious one would be to appoint someone else to handle the tedious parts of the job, but that would require finding someone she trusted to do it properly, and as yet she hadn’t found such a person. Sometimes it seemed as if there wasn’t a single person in her entire court with the wit of a spriggan.
There were times she wasn’t sure she was much better than the others, at that.
And then there was the loneliness. She had never exactly been popular company, but at least she had usually had friends to talk to, just about everyday matters. She could discuss the fine points of housebreaking with other burglars, gripe about the city guard to anyone in the Wall Street Field—but all her old friends were scared of her now. Not only was she the empress, but she was a magician, with her superhuman strength and all the rest of her abilities. And she had beaten Jandin, and thrown that stupid old woman around.
So everyone was frightened of her.
She could still talk to them, of course, but it wasn’t the same; they wouldn’t dare say anything she didn’t want to hear, or rather, anything they thought that she might possibly not want to hear.
The remaining palace servants were actually better company now; they were accustomed to dealing with powerful people, and they weren’t anywhere near as frightened of her as most of the others—but on the other hand, they didn’t seem to have much to say. They were mostly concerned with clothes and meals and furniture, with how to keep the rugs clean and what tunic went well with which skirt.
And they were all women. Tabaea didn’t understand that. Surely, the overlord had had male servants; where had they all gone?
Wherever they were, she didn’t see them. Perhaps they were still there, working down in the depths of the palace kitchens, or the stables, or any of the other places that the empress didn’t go, but they certainly weren’t bringing her her meals or waiting on her in her apartments.
They might be mixed in with the crowds in the corridors, of course.
And that was another source of her displeasure, she thought as she left her apartments and headed for the throne room. Here she had done everything she could to be an enlightened and benevolent ruler, and nobody seemed to appreciate it. She had freed all the slaves, had emptied the overlord’s dungeons, had pardoned any number of criminals, had invited the entire population of the Wall Street Field to live in the Palace, had in fact thrown the Palace open to anyone who cared to enter—by her order, all the doors were kept open in goo
d weather, and were always unlocked in any weather—and what had it gotten her? Had those people been grateful to her? Had they taken advantage of this chance to improve themselves? Had any of them tried to repay her by helping out, even such little things as cleaning up after themselves, as she had asked?
No. Of course not. All she had to do was glance about to see that. The palace corridors were littered with cast-off rags, with fruit rinds and chicken bones and other remnants of stolen meals, and they stank of urine and worse. Dead bodies were left unattended until they began to stink, if she or one of the servants didn’t happen on them; out in the Wall Street Field someone would have informed the city guard and the body would have been removed, but here no one seemed to know who should be told.
What was worse, not all the deaths were from disease or age; not counting the assassination attempts, there had definitely been at least two murders in the Palace since her ascension, both apparently the result of fights over unattended goods. There were reports of other fights that had not ended quite so badly, and stories of rapes and molestations.
It was just as bad as the Wall Street Field had been. Didn’t these people appreciate the fact that they had a roof over their heads now, that they weren’t outcasts any more?
Obviously not. About the only comfort was that the population of the Palace seemed to be declining; there were clearly fewer people in the corridors now. They might just be moving into the rooms and chambers, or down into the deeper areas where she didn’t see them, but Tabaea liked to think that they were finding places for themselves outside, in the houses her people were taking back from the old overlord’s tax collectors, or with their families, or somewhere.
She frowned. There had been that rumor that some were moving back to the Wall Street Field. She didn’t like that.
And then there were all the complaints from the other people, the outsiders, the merchants and nobles and even sailors and craftsmen and the like, worried about the absence of the city guard, complaining about the loss of their slaves, claiming they had been robbed and the thieves had taken shelter in the Palace, and any number of other things...