Exiled: Keeper of the City

by Peter Morwood

  Lorin turned another page and sighed. It was tiring work, this, and he was getting hungry, and he had no guarantees that he was getting closer to anything. Copying these books out had not given him immediate memories of where everything was. There was a chapter on sympathetic magic that he was hunting that could have been in anyone of fourteen different volumes. This was the sixth. Of the purported History of the Old Goddes of the East, said the paragraph on which his eyes fixed. Lorin grunted with vague disgust. Eastern gods, he thought, filthy things can’t keep their hands off each other, always rutting around—

  He turned several more pages, stopping once or twice to indulge his disgust: The stuff really was pornographic, and it rather astonished him that anyone seriously worshiped gods who did anything like that. Then again, heaven only knew whether they did, any more. This might all be ancient history, for all, he knew. There might have been war in heaven, and all the old Eastern gods might have been replaced by a cleaner-living bunch who married out of their families occasionally and let the resulting children live past the age of reason, whatever that was for gods.

  Disgusting, Lorin thought, turning over another page, past several chants intended to draw game closer. Wonder if these even work—

  Of the great Terorr caused by Them that worke Wizardryes from the distance,

  said a paragraph halfway down the page. Lorin glanced at it, started to turn the page, then on a whim stopped, and looked at it more closely, scanning down it.

  —yet truly it be said that no wizard nor Worker of magic may work to death or other great effect from any distance greater than one thousand times theyr Bodie’s length, and it takyth great Power and Puissancie to overpass this Limitt: yet such hath been done, it is said, though not since the ancient times when ye Devills from beyond Desert came often to plague the Mremm of the Common Lands, and walked about the Lands and threw down all who opposed them with their subtile Sorceryes, and with Fires: yet this is long Ago, as the Tale telleth, and whether there be truth in the Telling, it bee not now known. It is said that the Devills, that bee also called Lishkesh in the tales, did go gretely and easily about in the Next World and wreak mickle spells upon them that suspected them not, being in Dreme or otherwise Unsuspecking: and they might Dwell in folke’s Minds in their Dremes, and turn them to theyr Will, and cause them to do Evil: so that Mremm who were under the Glamour of the Devills did betray their towns and cities, and other Mremm who were Slaves and Servitors unto the Lizardes did take those towns, and enslave those withyn them, or kill all they did finde and take all things for their own. And Mremm who knew Magic said, Surely these Lizardes need not be soe Close as our wisdom hath heretofore tell’d us, but are yet far away, and by theyr great and Wicked Sorceryes do do theyr will upon us, to our woe. And it was thought that there was no defence against their Wreaking, so that Mremm speered there was neither hope nor help for them, and many a Prowd city fell to the Devills that were Lizardes to beholde, and great and fell.... Yet on a time did a Wizard come uponn one of the Lishkesh at its Sorceries, when his City was besieged by Mremm of the East: and all thought that the City was lost, for great Magics were done by day and night, and yet it could not be so, for these Mremm had not the Power to do such works: and all said, It is the Devills, that doe kill us so. Yet that could not be so, for no Liskesh were with the Annie, and all that kind of Devill were far away. And Night and Day mremm in that City did die. But this Wizard by chance did one night putt Wardes about his bed, to keep off the dremes that had troubled him: and that night there were none that died. And the Wizard did come to know that the Devill did Use him, and therefore he Layd a trap for the Lishkesh, and it Came to possess him, and he Gripped it to him with magic, and together they died in soul: and that war went awry, and the Mremm that did besiege his city fell away thereat and were beaten off with great Slaughter. And when that Wizard’s friends did seek him, the body of that Wizard was founde empty of him, and lived a while without his soule within, and right so died. And Where the Devill’s body was, none did know....

  Lorin sat very still.

  This is crazy.

  But there was no arguing what he had felt. Something slow, and cruel. Something different. Not mrem—not mrem at all, never mrem, from the very beginning of his sensing of it. It was only his refusal to consider any other possibility that had been blinding him until now.

  But there are no more liskash. They died out hundreds of years ago.

  Didn’t they? ...

  All his common sense rose up in him to take that position. Of course they had. If there were still lizards, surely they would still be overrunning the world, as they had been all those years ago. But the mrem had been victorious over them, at the end of the great wars of which the legends all spoke, and the last lizards had been exterminated off the face of the world. Their bones whitened the deserts for miles, the stories said.

  But those are stories.

  What’s in your dreams, then? Are those stories? Something slow and cruel and subtle. Something hot. Something with an odd smell. Metallic. Something that smells like claws. Like dry skin. Like fire.

  Lorin shuddered all over. This was worse than any mere mremmish wizard, if it was true. And it would explain why sometimes he felt magic-workers around, and sometimes didn’t. If there was a liskash somewhere about, and it was controlling mrem in the area, then sometimes the magic would be obvious ... and sometimes there would seem to be nothing there at all.

  Which was exactly what had been happening.

  Oh, this is worse than anything I could have thought up. Reswen is going to pull his fur out—if he even believes me—

  And how can he? Everyone knows there are no such things as liskash any more—

  ... except me ...

  Yet if liskash were involved somehow, then perhaps there was some hope of finding out what was going on around here ... for the sorcery in question would not be merely an Eastern one, as Lorin had thought. Some little was known about the sorceries of the liskash—or rather, some little was reported of their styles of sorcery, in the records of the old wars that had been fought against the “Devills” in the ancient times.

  Hurriedly he grabbed for a piece of parchment, found none, picked up one of the piles of money, shook the cash out of it, stuck the parchment into the book at that spot, tossed it aside, and went burrowing among the boxes for another. I know it’s here somewhere, I saw it before .... Dust clouds rose up; Lorin sneezed heartily, getting excited. For the moment, the excitement was drowning out the fear. Now he knew what he was looking for. Later, when he stopped to think about it all, then he would start shaking in earnest.

  But at least now he had a clue....

  •

  “This place,” said the sleepy voice from the couch as he came in, “is a mess.”

  Reswen sighed and sat down on the couch, brushing Laas’s whiskers gently. “I know,” he said. “I was cherishing some sort of faint hope that you might clean it up while I was gone.”

  “Dream on,” Laas said, laughing, and stretched long and lazily. “I’m a courtesan, not a servingmrem. And from the looks of the place,” she said, sitting up on the couch, “you’re not likely to keep yours long, if you keep leaving it like this.”

  “I don’t have a servant,” Reswen said.

  Laas looked at him mildly. “Well,” she said, “I guess I can believe that. Why not? Too many private papers laying around?” She glanced at the pile in the corner. “But anyone who wanted to read those would have to work their way through the dust first.” She wrinkled her nose, then sneezed at the thought.

  Reswen laughed softly. “I took the day off,” he said. “There were just some things to check into first.”

  Laas sat up, then, and looked at him. It was a cool sort of look, a weighing, assessing expression, and Reswen found himself trying to understand it and failing. “What kind of things?”

  “Business,” he sa
id. And then thought, Gods, why shouldn’t she know? “You know about the Lloahairi ambassador?”

  “The old one was killed the other night, wasn’t she? Strangled. I heard it from a crier.”

  Reswen nodded. “I have reason to believe that the killing wasn’t just another random murder,” he said. “I believe the mrem we were avoiding last night has something to do with it.”

  “I didn’t see him well,” Laas said. “In fact, I didn’t see him at all. Him? Her?”

  “Him. His description matches information given me by the mrem who started the riot the other day. Nierod, that’s the loud lad in the marketplace, said that this other mrem put him up to it. He was certainly well enough paid for it. I want to find out who was paying, and why. For that riot, and for the murders. This other mrem is someone’s agent, I’m certain of it.”

  Laas shook her head, and then shivered a little. Reswen put an arm around her. “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she said, and looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Hungry?”

  “No, no.” The thoughtfulness was turning somber. “Reswen, I’ve been sheltered, I suppose.... I’ve seen enough nastiness, but rarely the kind that causes mrem to strangle each other. At least, it’s never come near me before....”

  He looked at her quizzically. “Somehow it seems strange to hear a courtesan describing herself as ‘sheltered.’ ”

  She leaned back against his arm. “But we are,” she said. “Cosseted, I suppose. Polished like a weapon ... kept away from the wet and the paws of people who might smudge it. Used, then put away safe ....” She looked up at him. “But I’ve never been in a crowd of drunks, until last night. Well, richer drunks. But I’ve never almost been trampled, or had cheap wine like that, or heard people say what they really think about something to each other, and laugh....”

  “I bet you’ve never almost been killed in a riot, either.”

  “No,” she said, thoughtful, “you have a point there....” He looked down into her face, and lost thought. Everything went away but the clear sense of the warmth building in him again. “This can wait,” he said. “Can’t it?”

  Laas looked at him.

  “Unless you don’t want to,” he said.

  “I’ve rarely had anyone ask me that, either,” she said. “They tend to assume that because they want to, I must want to as well.”

  “And so you said,” Reswen said, “ ‘If only they wouldn’t all react to me that way—’ ”

  “I never said that,” she said, looking shocked.

  “You started to,” Reswen said.

  She was silent. “Are there times,” Reswen said, “when you can’t stop ‘working’ on someone?”

  Laas said nothing.

  Reswen put his other arm around her and simply held her for a moment, then let her go. “Are you hungry?” he said, getting up.

  “I could eat something,” she said softly.

  “All right.” He got busy with the grate. It was one of those that was split between the two main ground-floor rooms, the kitchen and the sleeping and entertaining room. Hooks were positioned in the chimney walls at various heights to hold pots and pans, and a large flat plate on a semicircular handle hung down from a long swinging hook to sizzle meats on. Some said the thing was descended from times when only rich mrem were allowed to eat meat, and the poor had to grill it in the fields, in secret, on plowshares, if they wanted it.

  Reswen pulled out dried sods from the basket by the grate, and kindled a splinter from the fire pot to get them started. Lorin’s charm he left conspicuously in among the sods, though later he was going to wish he had just buried it instead; it burnt with a fearful stink. He saw Laas react to the smell, turning to see the last flames run along the burning thong. She glanced at him, a look of concern on her face, another expression he couldn’t understand. He ignored it, rummaging in cupboards and among sideboards in the kitchen for the one decent knife in the place.

  “Reswen—”

  The name made his fur stand up again. Damn, he thought, but I’m beginning to like it....

  “Something to drink?”

  “Yes, please. Reswen, who gave you that?”

  “A friend.”

  She looked a little nonplussed. “Then there are—I mean, we heard—”

  “The official position,” he said, “is that there are no magicians in this city. Magicians of whatever kind are evil, perverse, and bent on our city’s destruction and that of all mremkind. If someone was found to be a magician, I would be hard put to confine their execution to the spike. There would certainly be a drawing and quartering, with the victim shown his heart after it was cut out. You follow me?”

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, and her laugh was a touch shaky.

  “So. The Chief of Police can hardly be seen to openly employ a magic-worker. All the same, there have been times when he’s come in handy....”

  He found the knife, and went back to the meat safe at the back of the house, a cool-box with an ornate bronze screen portraying the creation of the uxan by the god of herd-beasts. It was a ridiculous antique, overblown in style and hard to keep clean; he wondered for the thousandth time why he’d bought it, but he could not imagine the kitchen without it any more. He pulled down the leg of uxan he’d been hanging from its hook, and sniffed it. By a miracle, it was perfect.

  “It’s just that I have a feeling,” Laas said, “that you might need him.”

  Reswen put the meat down on the chopping block and began the usual argument with himself about how to cut it up properly. “Tell me your thought, if you will,” he said, “and if you feel it’s something you can tell me without your honor giving you trouble.”

  She looked at him with a slightly confused expression from the couch, then got up and strolled over to the other side of the counter to watch him. Reswen caught his breath at the sight of her moving, the grace, the way that sweet body moved—then took a couple of more deep breaths to try to get back to acting normally. “I have to explain,” she said. “It was really the grain that did it.”

  Reswen looked up, confused. “Did what?”

  She breathed out, folded her arms on the counter, and rested her weight on her elbows, watching him. “This business with asking people to sabotage their grain crops,” she said, and was silent a moment. “I grew up poor, did you know that?”

  Reswen shook his head.

  “Very poor,” she said. “My mother, five brothers, four sisters. Mother was a weaver ... there was never enough food. If so much as a measure of grain came our way in an eightday, we counted the kernels, Reswen, we boiled the husks and made soup of the water. Meat ...” She looked at the leg of uxan, which Reswen was attempting to dissect in something like the traditional manner. “We would have ... I don’t know what we would have done for meat. But it wasn’t just us. There were a lot of poor people. To hear that one of the neighbors had starved to death was a common thing. You shrugged at it, it was too bad, but what could anyone do?” Laas breathed out angrily. “Sometimes rich people would come down to the poor parts of town and give us grain, ‘of their charity’ ... it never tasted as good as what we bought ourselves, somehow, but my mother said, ‘You take it, you take it and don’t you ask.’ And we would ... but I remember one of these high-and-mighty people saying to another one, ‘What’s the use of this anyway? They breed like dunghill worms. The ones who survive will just kitten as fast as their sires and dams, and more of ‘em will die. Why bother?’ ” Her voice cracked with rage and pain. “Did it ever occur to the pretty housecat that it wasn’t our fault that we were there, that we didn’t enjoy the fact that our bellies screamed at us at night so that we couldn’t even lie still? That we didn’t want to bother the rich people, that all we wanted was a chance to live and be happy, and not just lie down and die and be out of their way?... “

  Reswen chopped meat and shook hi
s head. “Fools,” he said, “are in no shortage in the world. It would be nice to believe it’s otherwise elsewhere.”

  Laas brooded a moment, then lifted her eyes to Reswen’s, and the gold of them shocked him afresh, not with its beauty, but with its anger. “That’s what this is, again,” Laas said. “There are still hungry people, still poor. In our cities, and in yours. I see them in the street. I can smell it through the curtains of the litters, no matter how they’re perfumed—that stink of hungry mrem. And here are people willing to burn their crops, lose them, for money. While there are mrem lying around their doorsteps who would crawl to the rich mrem’s paws and weep on them for enough grain to keep their kits alive. And believe me, there are plenty of rich mrem don’t care. Either they’ve never been without food for more than a half day in their lives ... or else they have, and they don’t care who else is, just as long as they aren’t any more.”

  Reswen cut the meat and said nothing.

  “I can’t bear it any more,” Laas said. “Intrigue is my meat and drink, but not starving people for gold, no indeed. I did my job ... but I didn’t like it, and I haven’t done it as well as I could have, and if they don’t like that—”

  She broke off, her anger choking off her words for the moment. The fire snapped and sparked to itself under the broiling pan.

  “Where does the magician come in?” Reswen said, severing the shinbone from the leg, and looking at it ruefully. The job was not exactly neat.

  She glanced up at him again, the anger ebbing. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Only, someone said something that I overheard—”

  Reswen looked up, waited; when she mentioned no name, he nodded at her. “I can find out one way or another,” he said. “Said what to you?”