“I find that hard to believe.”
“As you will. I do not question your skills in this regard; I will trouble you not to question mine. However, since you have, I will point out that the resources of those who might consider the departure of Sigurne from the Order for the afternoon of significant import are probably stretched greatly; they hunt you.
“I will also remind you that I consider this enterprise unwise.”
Rath nodded. “The stone,” he said at last. “Is rather obvious.”
“That was the intent, I assumed.”
“What will they hear?”
“Silence, if they use no magic. As this is obviously magical, and assuming that they will trouble themselves to use magic, they will hear a conversation that is not entirely unlike the conversation we are now having.”
“And if they are careful?”
“Silence,” Meralonne replied. “There are only so many games that one can play. What we actually say, they will not hear.”
Rath was uneasy. Stones that blanketed a conversation in silence were used, frequently, by the canny and the political who could afford them; they were not considered a forbidden magic. More subtle stones could be found or made, and these would broadcast conversation to those who listened for it. Both stones radiated a similar magic. This stone radiated magical silence, and beneath that silence, magical conversation. It was unusual, and it had been made at Rath’s request.
If, however, a mage listened, he might penetrate the layers of the magical conversation—or the silence—and listen, at last, to what was said. It was a dangerous game, because that intrusive a magic was detectable if the conversation was being conducted by mages.
And this one was.
“The conversation they will hear is interesting enough,” Meralonne said at length, “that I do not think they will delve further. They will hear what you want them to hear.”
Rath nodded.
Sigurne, silent until that moment, reached out and touched his arm. “It is not wise, Ararath.”
“No.”
She nodded and withdrew her hand, placing it in her lap. She looked as tired, and as frail, as he felt.
“You have had no further success with Cordufar or his associates.” It wasn’t a question.
Meralonne, however, nodded. “We have had, as you say, no success. The fact that magic is used, and in quantity, on his estates, we have determined—but the nature of the magic is largely protective. There is some element of illusion involved, but in private estates, and in private homes, illusion is in and of itself not forbidden.
“We have, however, at your request sifted through the Order’s records. We have,” Meralonne added darkly, “undertaken this task on our own time, and without assistance, at Sigurne’s insistence.” He cast a glance at her, which she failed to notice. He lit his pipe. Which she also failed to notice.
“Sometime in the year 368, Lord Cordufar—the present Lord Cordufar’s father—hired a member of the Order of Knowledge. He entered into a contract with the Order for the services of Davash AMarkham, a mage of the Second Circle.”
Rath frowned. “What need had he of a mage of that level of power?”
Meralonne shrugged. “Davash AMarkham was not a First Circle mage, and not Magi.” He spoke as if the Second Circle was of no consequence. Rath was often impressed with the depth and certainty of Member APhaniel’s arrogance.
“Meralonne.” Sigurne’s voice was gentle. She turned to Rath. “Many of the Houses, The Ten among them, will undertake the hire of a mage of import within the Order as a symbol of status. The duties the mage owes the House are not onerous.” She paused, and then added, “In the time of the Blood Barons, when mages were also rulers, mages could be called upon in emergency to defend their House. This custom is seldom invoked now, but it is still in effect in older families. Cordufar,” she added, “has some pretensions.”
“And this Davash?”
“He worked for three years out of the Order upon the Isle, and after those three years, he accepted a more exclusive term with the Cordufar family, and removed himself to the Cordufar estates.” She hesitated, and then added, “The last time he was seen was in the year 375; there was a row about it, in the Council chambers, and a very furious Lord Cordufar demanded compensation for the abrupt—and under-negotiated—departure of his mage.”
“What did Davash AMarkham study, Sigurne?”
“Our records indicate that he had some interest in fire, and in the manipulation of earth. He was also interested, in some fashion, in the ancient branches of magical lore, which are not studied now.”
“Demonology?”
“If we had records of his study in that school, we would know when, and where, he died,” she replied firmly.
“You think he died.”
“Yes.”
“He did not leave the City?”
“If he left, he left in secrecy. We are well aware that this would not be the first time this has happened,” she added, “but our informants in the South do not indicate that he traveled to the Dominion; our informants in the Western Kingdoms have likewise failed to unearth information about a new mage in their demesnes. Some searching was done,” she added softly, “to placate Lord Cordufar.”
Meralonne lifted his pipe, and studied its stem for a moment. “I do not mean to alarm, Ararath,” he said softly, “but I believe we now have an eavesdropper.”
Rath nodded. He glanced at Meralonne but did not otherwise look around the room; if their interloper was a mage, the room would surrender nothing to Rath’s vision.
“Can you see him?”
“No. But he is not demonic.”
Rath nodded again. “Continue, then. Davash AMarkham died in the year 375. His disappearance was investigated at the instigation of Lord Cordufar, on whose estates he had been living and working.”
“That is correct,” Sigurne said.
“And you now believe that he met his death on Cordufar lands?”
Sigurne’s lips thinned. “It would seem likely. We have less information about Lord Cordufar and the Cordufar family than you can access through your other sources.”
“Meaning?”
“You tell us.”
“Lord Cordufar the elder, the man who appeared in the Order demanding the return of either his contractual fees or his mage, was not an overly ambitious man in his middle years. He became more subtle, more canny, and more dangerous in the years that followed.”
“Starting in the year of Davash’s disappearance?” Sigurne raised her head, and glanced around the near-empty room. From the far wall, a neatly and demurely dressed man appeared, and he walked directly—and quietly—toward the table they now shared. Sigurne ordered, to Rath’s surprise, a glass of a red wine that Andrei would not have consumed for money. She also ordered something more refined for Member APhaniel, who couldn’t be bothered to remove the pipe from the corner of his lips to ask for something as insignificant as drink.
The man both left and returned, placing glasses in front of both Sigurne and Meralonne APhaniel; the utter silence at the table during this procedure caused him to withdraw instantly once he had finished.
Rath, accustomed to these small breaks in conversation, began again only when he had returned to his position by the wall. “Starting perhaps a year later. The exact time cannot easily be traced. Could he have studied forbidden arts?”
“Davash?”
Rath nodded.
“Anyone with talent and the ability to find information is capable of it, yes. Understand that it is something we watch for, and we watch closely.”
“It is understood. This would, however, be before your tenure.”
“Not before my involvement in the Order,” she pointed out. “But he would not be the first mage to make that choice. Nor would he be the first to flee the Order.”
“But he went only as far as Cordufar, no farther.”
“Ararath, will you not tell us why this does not surprise you?”
“Not yet, Sigurne,” he said softly. “Not yet, but the time is coming when you will know everything I know.” He paused, and then added, “The hands of those in control of the demons must be forced.”
“And how are we to force their hands when we cannot discern either their identities or their motives?”
“Does it matter? The Kings and the Exalted have, in your estimation, some ability to defend the Empire against the kin. We are decided that the kin are involved; there is no question in any of our minds, and no room at all for doubt, however comfortable doubt might be.”
She nodded.
“Both you and Member APhaniel feel that the kin that are involved are not trivial in nature, and that they are not, lamentably, few. And no sane man can assume that the kin do not mean danger, grave danger, to the Empire, even if we cannot discern the use to which they are being put. Cordufar, we are agreed, is at present the most likely source of danger.”
She nodded again, this time more stiffly.
“Yet we have not brought the Kings into play because of the subtle discouragement of The Darias in what he considers internal affairs.”
Sigurne glanced at Meralonne, who smoked his pipe in a moody and uncharacteristic silence. “I understand the degree to which this pains you,” she said softly. “But The Ten have jurisprudence over their own affairs, and until one of The Ten seeks intervention, the Kings’ hands are tied.”
Rath cursed The Ten in bitter silence. “They play foolish, political games, and it will be costly. Do the Twin Kings know?”
“They know some of what we know, but the avenues we have taken to feed them information are not, in any way, direct.” She hesitated and then added, “You must also understand that magery as it exists in the Empire exists at the whim of the Kings; were it up to the Astari, no power of any note would be left standing that could theoretically pose a threat to the Kings they protect.
“We are loath to be more heavily scrutinized than we already are.”
“Then we are left, again, with the problem of intervention, and again, with the problem of motivation, if we must prove beyond a doubt that the demons who plague only the darkest reaches of the City are a threat, not to Darias, but to the Empire itself.” Rath attempted to cool the heat in his words; it was difficult. He understood, better than most, the necessary political dances by which the Houses gained, and shed, power. But to play those games now . . . He closed his eyes.
“Let me return to more recent history,” he finally said. His wine had grown warm in the still air. “You are both aware of my difficulties with Patris AMatie.”
They were. Meralonne watched him thoughtfully while he smoked. “He did not cause you so much difficulty that you are not now with us.”
“No. But not for lack of trying. He was capable, he used what you have both agreed is magic, and in the end he revealed himself to be demonic, rather than human.”
“Continue.”
“Patris AMatie, as far as the rest of the City is concerned, was a merchant who owed allegiance to Lord Cordufar. His sudden disappearance failed to be either noted or investigated, to the best of our knowledge, which, at the very least, implies some knowledge on the part of Cordufar.”
She nodded again. “Agreed.”
“But AMatie’s concerns were not obvious, demonic concerns; I encountered him the first time because he sought historical artifacts that existed long before the founding of Averalaan. We do not know why. But he was known throughout the Order and the Common for both his interest and the depths of his pockets in procuring such items.
“So. We have mages, served by kin,” he continued. “They are interested in the ancient, they have access to very large sums of money, and they have access, as well, to a seemingly endless supply of demonic names. Given these things, Sigurne, can you not discern some part of what they intend?”
“Mages are men, Ararath. Their motivations are complex, and often self-delusional. But the Kialli value power, and the knowledge that will grant them power. If the mages themselves are careless in their arrogance, the Kialli can act, with subtlety, for their own purposes, not their master’s.”
“To what end?”
“The reaving,” she said, softly. “But beyond that? I do not know. There is much about this mystery that makes no sense to me. You have personally killed almost two dozen of the lesser kin, and two that I consider—from your description—to be powerful. They know that you know, of course, but they sit secure in the knowledge that they will be unhindered by your discoveries. Such certainty speaks of Darias, to me; they are certain that Darias will cover anything that comes to light before it can cause their destruction.
“Our own security has tightened, if that’s possible, but we have not found, within the Order, men or women who could summon what you have faced. Among those who might have taken to the study of the forbidden arts, very few have exhibited the power necessary to summon.”
“Not all who have the power to do so might display it openly.”
“No. There are perhaps two or three who have the will and the focus to both summon and suborn another being in this fashion. To summon and control not one, but many?” She shook her head. “It takes power to exert that level of control over even one such creature.”
“It has been done, in the past. My understanding was that the only immutable requirement was the demon’s name.”
“That is a flawed understanding. The name is required, but simply speaking the name does not call a demon to the plane. A path between the Hells and the caster must be built; such a path is entirely magical in nature. You would not see it at all. The building of such a gate requires no little power.”
“Then let us look at power, and only at power. Let us look not at magery, for they clearly have that. If Cordufar has extended its influence over the past several decades, the mages need political power. How have they gathered it? If, as we now suspect, the Lord Cordufar who first hired Davash AMarkham was a mage—or a demon—it is clear that our enemies have the ability to mimic those they kill and replace them, for he was not always what he is now. Nor was his son. If one could do this, one could rule empires without the messy impediment of an obvious war. One could not replace the Kings or the Exalted; the gods would know, and their followers and children throughout the Empire would bear warning.
“But one could replace other men and women of power, and subvert those Houses from within.”
They were silent.
“Ararath,” Sigurne began, but he lifted a hand.
“House Terafin retains the services of the Magi?”
She nodded, little liking where this was going. He knew, of course, and knew why.
“Whose service, Sigurne?”
Meralonne lifted both pipe and head. He also blew rings of smoke in the half-dark room, each smaller than the last. “My service,” he replied. “The Terafin requested the service of Sigurne Mellifas, and she made the referral.”
“Were your presence to be required immediately, how long would it take you to arrive at the estates?”
At that, the Magi smiled. It was an odd smile. Sharp and cunning as it was, it nonetheless conveyed a very real pleasure, even anticipation. “Terafin is older than the Empire. I could arrive—without exhausting myself—the instant the message was sent. I could not, however, arrive without a summons, and such a summons would not be undertaken trivially.”
“If an incident of a highly magical nature occurred within the Terafin manse upon the Isle, you would be the mage summoned?”
“Indeed.”
“And you could deal with a demon, if so summoned?”
Meralonne APhaniel raised a silver brow. “If what they send is what you have hunted? In my sleep.”
Rath stared at him for a long moment. “If I didn’t know better,” he finally said, “I would say that you almost—almost—look forward to such a contest.”
“Ah.”
Rath rose. “Be prepared,” he said softly. “Be prepared to
move quickly. Be prepared, as well, to launch a full-scale investigation that will cover most of the City—not upon the Isle, but in the holdings.”
“Magical?”
Rath nodded.
Meralonne glanced at Sigurne. “We have done what we can to be, as you say, prepared,” she told Rath quietly, “but it is difficult; preparations are noticed, and the members of the Order are fractious when asked to devote time to something that comes with no attendant explanation.”
“I will send word, if I am able. You will receive word, if I am not.”
Meralonne nodded, and then, tapping ash from the bowl of his pipe, said, “We have just lost our eavesdropper.”
“A pity. I hoped I might notice him when I leave this place. Did he listen for long enough?”
“Long enough that he is now aware that it is you who are hunting demons, and that you are the natural brother of The Terafin. As you requested.”
“Good.” He bowed stiffly to Meralonne, and then, less stiffly, as if it were an entirely different gesture, to Sigurne Mellifas.
Sigurne met his gaze, held it a moment. “Ararath,” she said quietly.
“I will send a messenger to House Terafin. The messenger will not be well-versed in the political, but it is my hope that Amarais will see fit to retain her services.”
Sigurne did not look away from his face, and with Meralonne present, this was awkward, although the gray-eyed mage did not speak. More significant, he did not light his pipe again.
“As you can be, you have been the best of allies, Sigurne.”
“And you,” she replied. “Will you not reconsider?”
He glanced at the stone on the table; answer enough for both of them.
“Keep an eye on her, if you can. Both of you. Keep her safe.”
“The Terafin?”
“The Terafin as well.”
She stood, and taking from her robe a nondescript sack, handed it to Rath. He knew what it contained: consecrated daggers.
“I am not entirely certain,” he said gravely, “that I will be able to uphold my side of our agreement in the foreseeable future.”
“I will take that risk,” she replied, “and I would not see you face our enemies unarmed.” She nodded as Rath slid her small bundle into the backpack he had taken from Jewel.
City of Night Page 24
