Lorin stepped in quietly behind him and held still too. The form in the bed turned over, snored, paused, snored again—
And woke up, looking straight at them. All Reswen got was a glimpse of terrified eyes—
He threw himself at the bed, snatched for a pillow, and stuffed it down over the wide-mouthed face just a breath before the yowl of terror came out. It came out muffied, if at all.
“Sorry,” Reswen breathed. He felt around for the vase full of nightflowers on the bedside table with one paw, took the pillow away with the other, and smashed the delicate vase on the mrem’s head. Water and flowers went everywhere, but the unfortunate snorer was unconscious a second later.
Reswen tossed the pillow away and looked at the mrem with resignation. It was Maikej.
“We’d better find something down there,” he said softly, “that’s all I can say. Get me one or two of those tunics on the chair. I’ll tie him and gag him.”
Reswen worked quickly, ripping the expensive cloth with a sort of bizarre cheerfulness. After all, he thought, if he’s going to get me executed, at least I’ll have destroyed a couple of his best shirts....
He finished. Together he and Lorin padded out of the bedroom of the ambassador’s suite, toward the door into the hallway. There they paused and looked around them. Everything was darkness and quiet; nothing else. Reswen knew the layout of the place, and led the way toward the stairs. Coming to them, they looked down and saw a hint of light, uncertain, wavering, somewhere below.
“Come on,” Reswen said, “and let’s see what we can see.”
•
Laas held very, very still, holding a rough wooden door shut almost against her nose, and trembling. The corridor of rough stones had some rude storage rooms cut into it, tiny places perhaps meant for wine at one time. Now they seemed to have nothing in them but old moldy rags and ancient broken scullery tools that hadn’t been used for years. And one of them had Laas in it. She was not a brave mrem, no matter what other people might think, and the sound of a voice seemingly repeating something over and over, in angrier and angrier tones, frightened her badly enough to make her jump into one of the filthy little cupboards as if it were lined with silks.
Slowly, slowly her thudding heart began to stop trying to shake its way out of her chest. Laas breathed in and out very softly, very purposefully, trying to find her calm again. The voice down the hall seemed to be getting angrier and angrier. Or was it just increasing in volume? The way the corridor carried echoes made it hard to tell. And what was it saying, that voice? Laas leaned a little against the door, pushing it ever so slightly further open—
The sound of footsteps shook her as violently as if she had been stepped on herself. But she had enough presence of mind not to move the door any further, to stay perfectly still. It was possible she hadn’t been noticed. Laas held her breath, and wasn’t even aware of it. Not three inches from her nose, a large shape walked hurriedly past the door and off down the hall to where the other voice chanted. She felt the air of the mrem’s passing brush against her eyes. Laas closed those eyes, just for a moment, breathed, gasped air in again, and tried to recover.
But there’s no use in my being here unless I find out what’s going on, for Reswen, she thought, and ventured to push the door just the slightest bit open. It made no sound. She took courage, slipped out of the little cupboard, and went stealthily down the hall in the path of the mrem that had walked past her. There were other cupboards to hide in if she needed one, and besides, the bend at the end of the corridor would hide her—
“About time you got here.”
“You’re a fine one to talk.” Laas drew shocked breath at the sound of the voice, for it seemed to her that it was someone she knew— She came to another cupboard much nearer to the bend in the corridor, tried the door to make sure it wouldn’t squeak, and secreted herself in it. She could hear much better here.
“Ah, leave off. I was with someone.”
“Our little Laas, hey? That heat-crazed little piece, I should have her—well, never mind. She had no idea we two had business, and I suppose she’s due a little skarking on her own time. No matter. I just wish you’d been where you were supposed to be when I wanted you there. I had to start the idiots looking before you even actually had the things. Here, take them. Let’s be on with it.”
“Are you sure they’re distracted?”
There was a laugh, and no mistaking it. Oh gods, Hiriv—“Distracted? They’re crazed. All Haven is astir with their spies and constables. And just as well, since that way, no one will be bothering us here. Come along, let’s finish the business. I want to get out of this foul place, and the sooner the better. We have other work to do.”
There was a pause, some shuffling around, the sound of something heavy being pushed somewhere. Laas was burning with confusion, and terror, and an odd sort of rage. What in the world is Hiriv doing here? With Masejih, for pity’s sake? Hiriv isn’t a—
“Have you got the book—”
“Yes, here. Come on, come on, this makes me nervous.”
—at least I didn’t think he was a magic-worker—
A laugh, loud and self-assured and insulting. “You? I thought you were older in power than that, priest. Can’t you deal with what we’re doing, even now? It’s not as if we’ve never done it before.”
The anger was building in Laas, and for which cause, she could hardly make up her mind. That little heat-crazed piece, hm? she thought. This from the mrem she had served well and faithfully? And now who knew what filthy work he was about. She wanted to find out—not just for Reswen: for herself. She pushed this second cupboard door carefully open—and gratefully, for the place was reeking with a smell of vegetables dead of extreme old age—and stepped out, silent-footed. There was one more, very near the bend. In fact, she could look around the bend itself for a moment, perhaps. Torchlight fell there from the room around the corner, where Hiriv and Masejih worked, but it was very faint. Perhaps she wouldn’t be seen if she kept quite still. Light blinds those who’re standing in it, after all—
The sounds of some kind of preparation went on down in the room, as Laas stepped softly closer. “By the way, I talked to our friend this evening. The police were around his place, it seems. Snooping around after something.”
“Sent them on their way, I hope.”
“He wasn’t there at the time. Found out about it later.”
A snort. “Not that it matters. By the time they figure out what’s been going on, we’ll be long gone on our way to Vezoi ... and they won’t give us so much trouble about the same trick, I’ll warrant. No police there. ‘A peaceful city.’ ”
There was laughter from both the voices: not particularly cruel, just as if they found the thought of peace rather a funny thing. Laas paused in shadow, held her breath, and looked around the corner.
The room was rather bare, except that she could see a couple of upstanding braziers, full of some sort of sticks or twigs ready to be ignited. A rushlight burned on the floor, its little yellow star of light seeming bright and steadfast despite the draftiness of the place. Hiriv was there, in his robes, but they were tied up out of the way, and he appeared to be sprinkling colored chalks on the bare rammed dirt of the floor, in a very steady and businesslike manner. Laas shook her head to herself. She had seen Hiriv all kinds of ways—drunkenly jolly, hilariously pious, serious when he was being made fun of and couldn’t tell—but “businesslike” was no word she had ever thought to apply to him. Masejih was there too, in his nightgown, but stepped out of sight almost as Laas got a clear glimpse of him. He was working with another jar of powder, in another corner. “Looking forward to this one,” he said. “I always prefer to work with two. The results are a lot better.”
“Mmrnf,” said Hiriv, and straightened up for a moment from his sprinkling to rub his back. He had always had trouble with it. And how many times have I rubbe
d that back, for kindness’ sake, Laas thought, now for the first time feeling angry about it. What’s going on—
“It does work better,” Hiriv said, as he bent to his work again. “You get more than twice the reaction: You get about four times, for some reason. And it’s going to be more fun than usual, watching it happen. These damned pagans, anyway. And these two deserve each other. Damned posturing, noisy Niauhu with their little toy army, and the blowhard Lloahai—” There was a pause. “Damn. Out of yellow. Do we have another one?”
Laas saw some small objects in one of the two corners of the room that were within her view. There were two little bottles of water, and two rocks. “I had to start the idiots looking before you even had the things—”
Laas repressed a growl. Did that mean that he’s told the police that the stone and water were stolen? When all the time he had them himself, in fact brought them here to Masejih? And that means Reswen is with all those people he mentioned at Haven—oh no!—
She breathed deeply again, calming herself. And where did this other stone and water come from? Lloahai? What are they doing??
“All right,” Masejih said, from out of sight, “that should do it for the physicals. Shall we start the verbal preparation?”
“Right. Where’s the book? I had the place marked, what happened?”
“Right there, the mark fell into the roll. Come on, old mrem, I want to get this over with and get back to the ‘piece.’ ”
“Enjoy her while you can,” Hiriv said, sounding unconcerned, and then began to read. He sounded as if he was conducting some particularly boring service. “Hear then, all Powers and Principalities with power to hear and to wreak for good or ill; by the Elements here concatenated and with their will we call your might to hear or to speak, to do or to let be as we command, and we declare ourselves for this time your goodly and lawful masters, saving always the eye and paw of the Name beyond Names, which hears you not and knows you not;”—a long breath here—“wherefore it is good and proper that you own us your one only and most excellent masters till that we let cease this binding upon you, which we bind in the names Diqid, Otej, Elov Nenepu the Flail of the Dark Gods, Chigue and Puzoth and Shacifa Fewchance, Amuej and Chil Thettig, Eshehkegi and Fazmad—”
The list went on for quite a while. It was a spell, no doubt of it, and something about the cadence and the bizarre names made Laas’s nape-hairs stand up. But at the same time there was an odd silliness to it, coming perhaps of the way Hiriv read the spell as if it were a grocery list. Laas inched a little closer, to see what else she could see.
“—and thereby we request, require, and command that you present yourselves in such form as shall do us no harm but shall be proper and fitting to carry out your deeds of power, invulnerable to iron and fire and the holy things of the world, and having so manifested yourself and done service, you shall be well thanked in the ancient ways, and honor be done to you before you be sent to your own place; therefore for your weal and the swift fulfillment of our desires, hear our bidding, and obey. Aratha, aratha, aratha—”
There was a rustle as the book rolled shut, and Hiriv tossed it to the floor. “Fine,” he said then. “Get inside the circle.”
Masejih moved into sight to pick up something from beside the wall: some kind of black wooden stick. “All right, light them—”
Hiriv bent down to pick up the stones and flasks of water, carried them out of sight, then returned and bent down for something else, a common clay fire pot. He opened it and dumped its coals into one of the braziers, blew on them to help them catch, then picked up a burning twig and walked almost out of sight to the other one. Laas waited, almost bursting with impatience. She had seen Usiel do enough magic that she was no longer crippled by the simple irrational fear of it, but she wanted to know what they were doing—
The twigs and wood caught, and there was a smell of scorching, and then a stronger one, the scent of spices burning, a sweet-sharp reek that provoked one to sneeze. Laas restrained herself.
Some shuffling sounds ensued, and a clunk. “Dammit,” Hiriv said, “don’t be knocking things over while I’m spelling, or—”
“Don’t say it. Not now. It’s unwise even to joke about it. “
Hiriv snorted again. “Afraid, are you? Never mind. Just pay attention now, we have to be finished before the burning stops. —Now we call upon you, great Nufiw, master of devourings, ruler and acceptor of all midnight murders, first singer of the song of loss; lord of waste places and despiser of the rank growth that mars the sweet barrenness of the face of the world; be called by us, great Lord Nufiw, Lord of the emptiness before life and the dry sterility after it; who looks forward to the day when all worlds shall be bare stone under the deadly fires of heaven, and the insult of life be gone; hear us now as we cry out upon you. Hear our offer of these fair stones, once yours, now to be yours again; this water, once trapped forever in the ice of the longest night, now soon to be boiled away in the rage of your fires—”
It was getting dark, and cold. Laas thought of what Lorin had done the other night, that petty sorcery, that had still been so overwhelming. If I’m not going to miss anything, she thought, I had better get closer. They won’t be in any condition to notice me while they’re right in the middle of it, and the darkness will hide me—
“—take now, we beg you, these offerings, and devour them, and by their joint devouring, devour also the fruit of the lands of these places, to the least blade of grass, to the last drop of water, save where we beg you spare; blast and destroy the livelihood of the fields, and the beasts of the land, and the trees and herbs, and all things that fly and creep and run and move, save only the mrem thereof. And when this is done, let the mrem of these cities be bound by your devouring of their stone and water together, and let them refuse not to fall upon one another in red war such as is pleasing to you, and leave these lands clean for your faithful servants who shall come into them to worship you in after times, after your revenge is fulfilled—”
The darkness grew, The torches in the room quarreled weakly with it, and slowly began to lose the argument. Laas shook like a leaf in a storm of black wind, in the feeling that some other presence was leaning over all these undertakings. So. No wonder they wanted to know who was willing to lose part of their grain crop. Everything will be destroyed, everything in Niau and Lloahai alike, except those small crops necessary to keep the barest few people alive. And then the two will go to war. Easy enough to set it up; probably evidence is being provided right now that the Lloahai are responsible for it. Surely the Niahu will think so, since this is happening in their embassy. I daresay the same evidence will be provided for the Lloahairi, against the Niauhu. The two cities will destroy each other. And the Easterners will move in as they always wanted to, and take these cities for their own ... without having been seen to have done anything but behave properly. In the aftermath of the wars, they’ll move to “protect the interests” of their allies on Niau’s and Lloahai’s borders. After almost everyone in them has died to glut this half-dead god, of course. And if they happen to annex one land, or both, or more ... well, these things happen....
Laas was indignant. There would be no more starving, no more dying that way, not if she could help it, not for gods or for anyone else. But what could she do?
She inched closer—
The whole circle was visible now, as much as anything was visible through the darkness settling into the room like some dark, heavy liquid stirred into water. The torches gave up. Only the braziers glowed unchoked, and the lines of chalk sprinkled on the floor glowed too, a smoldering chilly light pale as corpse fire. Hiriv stood reading from the book with Masejih looking over his shoulder, most concerned. It was a standard practice, Laas knew: In the more dangerous sorceries, a fellow sorcerer could act to say a word properly or turn a page when his fellow celebrant failed, and so save their lives.
“Therefore come, come, o com
e, master of the barren places; come accept these offerings, and make our desires truth; o come!—”
Darkness swirled in the circle. The two wizards backed away from it, staying carefully inside the circle’s confines. Hiriv resolutely refused to look up. Masejih looked up as if he enjoyed it, but shaded his eyes as if gazing into something blinding bright. The swirl of darkness tightened, gathered, the way a dust-swirl gathers and tightens in a closed courtyard, only half seen, but there enough to feel if one walks through it and dares the stinging dust in one’s eyes. And then there was something there, slowing from its spinning. Eyes Laas saw, the same corpselight color of the lines of the circle, but horribly piercing, as if light did not have to be bright to do harm. A shape formed around it, something that stood upright, but crookedly so. Great long arms hung to the ground, gestured vaguely, with slow malice; hunched shoulders, crooked spine, long thin limbs, head fastened to the body by a neck that looked like it should snap under the head’s weight; all these spoke of starvation, but something that enjoyed suffering hunger, with a horrible vitality, and felt all others should too. The eyes looked around. They looked at Hiriv, who stood with eyes downcast, and at Masejih, who bowed as if overwhelmed by majesty.
And they looked at Laas, and her heart froze, and her breath froze in her lungs, and every muscle froze, unable to move. She could not even cry out.
A voice spoke. It did not speak in any mrem language, but Laas understood its meaning. It was all hunger, and pleasure at the sight of a dainty, a treat.
Hiriv and Masejih looked up in astonishment and saw her.
I’m undone. Ah, Reswen!! Where are you?
She could not even cry out. No satisfaction, that, whether or not she had considered herself past crying out for anyone’s help, male or female. Now she would have cried to anyone who passed, but could not so much as grunt.
Exiled: Keeper of the City Page 32
