“Probably just to know why I’m here. It will be all right if I tell the truth. A renegade Coven sorcerer is the last thing she’ll want running around. Bykoda will be very happy with my offer to remove Levannue from her lands.”
“As long as Bykoda’s not in league with her.”
“Unlikely. She’d have to trust Levannue not to usurp her empire, and Bykoda hasn’t survived this long by trusting anyone.”
The steward led the way through another set of gates. The top of the hill was a field of rock, devoid of grass. Crouched at the summit was an immense round building, obviously styled on the straw huts but dwarfing them in scale. It was carved from the same black rock as the city walls. Flying buttresses ringed the hall like articulated legs. It gave the impression of a huge black spider, brooding and waiting. Stairs swept up to the entrance in a domed extension of the main building. It looked like a head and added to the spider effect.
The interior of the anteroom was lit from an unseen source that cast more shadow than light over walls and floor of polished black marble. Tall guards stood on duty. Straight ahead were huge double doors of embossed silver, which swung open of their own accord. Jemeryl strode forward, clearly unworried. Tevi hesitated at the thought of what might await, but despite her confusion and distress, she would not let Jemeryl face it alone.
The scale of the main hall was breathtaking. The perimeter circle of pillars faded into the gloom on the far side. Interspersed alternately were black-clad guards and silver tripods holding burners. Plumes of incense billowed in shafts of milky daylight. The centre of the hall was empty except for a dais where the silver statue of an elderly woman sat on a simple throne.
The steward halted by the pillars and indicated that Jemeryl should carry on alone. When Tevi began to follow, the steward reached out to stop her. She threw off the restraining hand but was then swamped by uncertainty and settled for merely taking another three steps. She watched uneasily as Jemeryl walked on alone.
A dozen paces before the dais, Jemeryl stopped and looked around. She appeared intrigued rather than impressed. A faint sound, like a sigh, came from the statue’s lips. Slowly, joint by joint, a tremor of articulation rippled through the silver figure.
With the most deliberate of movements, the statue raised its head. “Greetings, sorcerer. I am a projection of the Empress Bykoda, ruler of these lands from the Barroden Mountains to the Gulf of Czeskow. Might I be privileged as to know your name?”
“I am Jemeryl, oath-bound sorcerer of the Coven of Lyremouth.” She gave a formal bow.
“From Lyremouth?” The statue’s voice held the suggestion of a question. “I hold the Coven and its Guardian in high regard, and trust we may always maintain the convivial relationship between our two lands. Do you come from Lyremouth as an envoy?”
“No. In fact, when I left Lyremouth, it was not envisaged that I would come here. Yet I know the Guardian would want me to express her appreciation of you and your courteous dealings with the Coven, that has been to our mutual benefit.”
The words of both sorcerers, while not exactly insincere, reminded Tevi of the initial exploratory parries of fencers.
Bykoda’s next question was more direct. “May I enquire about the reasons that have brought you to my lands?”
“One of our sorcerers has turned traitor. I think she may have fled here.”
“How disconcerting for you. What do you intend to do once you find her?”
“Capture her and return with her to Lyremouth.”
“If you wanted to take her by surprise, you made a rather conspicuous entrance to the citadel.”
For the first time, Jemeryl looked off-balance. “It’s unlikely she will have reached here yet, but I admit my behaviour was unwise.”
“Upsetting me was certainly not a good first move.”
“Please accept my apologies.” Jemeryl paused but then her enthusiasm broke through in a blatantly genuine outburst. “I’m afraid I forgot myself when I saw your warders. It was an inspired use of the upspin currents. I’ve never seen anything like it. The idea was elegantly simple, yet very effective. I was impressed, really deeply impressed.”
The statue’s laughter echoed around the hall. Tevi could tell that the atmosphere had changed, as if a decision had been made or a truce called. Jemeryl stood more easily.
“Spoken like a true Coven sorcerer. Too busy playing with magic to keep sight of your goal.”
“I fear you’re right on this occasion. I just had to know how you made it work.”
“You think I could teach the Coven a few tricks?” The statue’s voice was lightly ironic.
“I think you could teach the Coven a lot, if you were willing.”
“And what could the Coven give in return?”
“What does the Coven have that you want?”
“Nothing.”
“Then we have no basis for a trade.”
The statue was silent for a while. “When I was younger, I thought the Coven sorcerers were fools or cowards, serving the ungifted. Now that I’m getting older, it doesn’t seem so clear-cut. Not that I’d change a thing if I had to do it all over again. ‘Empire’ is a wonderful game. You live and die by your own strength and skill. No rules and no boundaries.”
“We all make our own choices.”
“Or maybe not everyone enjoys playing the same game. And some people expend so much effort going round in circles, I suspect they are not bothered about winning.” The statue tilted its head and studied Jemeryl thoughtfully. “I would have said you wanted to win. I wonder what game you’re playing in the Protectorate.”
“Such as?” The initial fencing returned to Jemeryl’s voice.
“You may be motivated by concern for your fellow human beings. Or you may get satisfaction from working for something that will exist long after you’re dead.” The statue’s tone became more pointed. “Or maybe you dream of becoming Guardian one day and having hundreds of powerful sorcerers under your rule, rather than merely ungifted masses.”
“Maybe.” Jemeryl made the word sound more like agreement than equivocation.
“It’s an interesting prize to play for.”
“But not one that tempted you?”
“It’s too restricted a game for my tastes. I never could stomach playing by other people’s rules. I’d have ended up like this poor fool you’re chasing who hasn’t toed the line and is about to be dragged back to Lyremouth like a naughty child. She has my sympathy. But don’t worry; I’m not going to stop you. I’d be a fool to let her stay, and I’ve never let pity cloud my better judgement. I’ll even offer you assistance. My steward will give you a talisman. Show it to anyone in the city, and they will let you pass without hindrance. Although I will be watching you.”
“Thank you.” Jemeryl hesitated. “I suppose you wouldn’t want me to examine the heads again. I really am fascinated to know how you do it.”
The statue laughed. “Capture your traitor and remove her from my lands. Then, if you want, come to me at Tirakhalod, and I will instruct you.”
The laughter drifted away, muted and hollow. The life drained out of the statue, leaving a frozen silver shell sitting on the throne in the empty hall. The audience was ended.
*
Tevi and Jemeryl were escorted to a hostelry in the south of the citadel. The rooms were large and well furnished, to the point of being a gratuitous display of wealth. Even the doorstop had inlays of gold. Stony-faced servants brought their belongings. The same servants prepared the room with clean bedding, water for washing, and wine to drink. Then, without having spoken a word, they bowed and left.
Once they were alone, Jemeryl opened the window and admired the view. Light flowed over the shimmering turrets and delicate archways with a rainbow sheen. Tevi dropped onto a cushioned bench and stared at the walls.
“What do you think of Uzhenek now?” Jemeryl asked over her shoulder. When there was no answer, she turned around. “Are you all right?”
Tevi s
hrugged.
“Tevi, what’s wrong?” Jemeryl left the window. She slid onto the bench and put her arm around Tevi’s shoulder.
“I’m reconsidering my views about sorcerers.” Tevi spoke without turning her head.
“Why? Was there something about Bykoda that upset you?”
“And you.”
“Me?” Jemeryl sounded shocked. “Tevi?”
“I’ve been thinking about the wealth inside the citadel and then what’s outside. Not just the heads. The stinking poverty and the guards with their minds gone. It’s worse than slavery. For the first time, I see the gulf between sorcerers and the rest of us. And you and Bykoda seemed so much a pair.”
“Nearly all of the citadel is illusion. A play with coloured lights. There’s no real wealth here. If you could see this room without the overlay of magic, it’s rather plain and shabby. And I don’t agree with the way Bykoda rules her lands, but telling her so wouldn’t have done any good, and I had to get her support.”
“You were full of admiration for the way she keeps the heads alive. You didn’t see them as people, just an interesting use of magic. It’s evil and callous. I don’t understand you, Jem.”
Jemeryl pulled Tevi’s face around so their eyes met. “They weren’t real heads. They were fashioned from resin. Not that I think Bykoda would have hesitated to use real ones if it was the only way to achieve her aim, but the resin would prevent problems with decay. Bykoda was using a very original way to animate the shapes. That was what surprised me. Nobody was hurt. Wanton cruelty is usually a sign of madness or insecurity, and Bykoda doesn’t suffer from either.”
“You wanted to learn how to copy her. Why?” Tears filled Tevi’s eyes. “To frighten people into obeying you?”
“Partly because it’s so inventive, and partly because I wondered if it might be possible to make artificial limbs. It could be useful to your colleagues in the guild. They’re so good at losing the ones they’re born with.” Jemeryl spoke softly. “Please, Tevi. I know it must be hard sometimes, but trust me.”
Tevi’s distress gave way to confusion. “Why didn’t you say before?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were upset, and I guess I forgot that you....” Jemeryl’s words faded awkwardly.
Tevi shifted around and rested her head on Jemeryl’s shoulder. There was comfort in the contact, although some nasty questions still pricked the edges of her mind. One in particular slivered to the front.
“Was it also true what Bykoda said? You’re only in the Coven so you can become Guardian one day?” Tevi mumbled the question. “And the only reason you want to be Guardian is so you get to order other sorcerers around, because the ungifted don’t count?”
“It was once...to some extent. And I do still want to be Guardian. Bykoda is very astute. But it isn’t the only thing that motivates me, and there are some prices I wouldn’t pay to achieve it.”
“Do ungifted people, the Protectorate citizens, really matter to you?”
“I can’t pretend to care passionately for millions of people I’ve never met, and I don’t believe you do, either. However, I can honestly say that I wish them well and will always try to do my best for them.”
“I guess that’s the best we ungifted can hope for from our sorcerers.”
“I could give you another, more specific thought about me, empires, and one particular ungifted person.”
“What?”
Jemeryl pulled Tevi into an embrace. “How about that I’d happily swap all Bykoda’s empire for one night in your arms?”
*
Tevi rested her elbows on the parapet and considered the view. Just below the balcony, a fountain shot brilliant plumes of coloured spray into the air. The water was luminous in the encroaching dusk. Musical chimes sounded as the breeze stirred trees with leaves of gold and silver.
“Could you create a city like this?” The question had crossed Tevi’s mind several times during the previous six days, while waiting for Levannue.
“I could, but it would be a lot of work for something I’ve no use for. Even Bykoda has it only for show. It keeps the tribes awestruck and submissive. It couldn’t support a population like a city in the Protectorate. No more than a hundred people actually live in the citadel, and they’re here purely for visitors. Only five or six buildings really exist.”
“It’s still very pretty.”
“I find it disconcerting. I keep seeing through the illusions. Even where the basic structure is real, the work is crudely functional. Bykoda just overlays a glamour of luxury, and she doesn’t do it very thoroughly. In the Protectorate, we’re used to working with other sorcerers, so we carry the illusion through and tidy up the edges. Bykoda doesn’t bother. Most of her work looks appallingly slipshod, but then, other bits are breathtakingly imaginative.”
“Like her audience hall?”
Jemeryl gave a yelp of laugher. “Maybe not that.”
“What was wrong with it?”
“Oh, the illusion matches the quality of the rest of Uzhenek, but it was a child’s fantasy of a necromancer’s castle. I’m only surprised she didn’t have a pet griffin by her feet.”
“Well, speaking on behalf of the ungifted, it was overpowering,” Tevi said, grinning. “Is there anything else here that is real?”
Jemeryl moved to an adjacent balcony with a view of the land beyond the outer wall. Farmland and orchards stretched down to the river.
“That is. Bykoda organises the tribesmen to do most of the work; then she uses magic to inhibit weeds, destroy pests, and ensure a bumper crop each year. That’s why there’s an encampment outside. Here, the tribes find safety, food, and water...and they also provide an army, should Bykoda need it.”
Tevi shaded her eyes to study the fields, but any further questions were curtailed when Klara swooped onto her shoulder.
“A wagon train has just reached the encampment. Unless you want to hang around and shake Levannue’s hand, perhaps you should get out of sight.”
The two women hurried back to their room. Jemeryl threw herself onto a couch. “Wait here. I’m going to mind-ride Klara. I want to be sure Levannue is on the caravan.”
“Can’t Klara go on her own?”
“She could, but I’ll feel happier if I’m there myself.”
Bird and sorcerer locked eyes. Between one breath and the next, Jemeryl became motionless, dropping into a state beyond mere sleep. Klara’s head twitched, as if she were trying to dislodge an itch from her neck, then she extended her wings and flew to the open window.
She perched on the ledge and looked back. “Wish me luck.”
“Take care, Jem.”
“I will.”
The magpie departed in a streak of black and white. In the quiet that followed, Tevi paced the room, pausing repeatedly to look at the comatose sorcerer. The shadows slowly thickened. From the distance came voices, the creek of wheels and the clop of hooves. Cautiously, Tevi peered from behind the shutter. Wagons were stopped at the end of the street. Levannue’s nervous gait was not evident among the people who were unharnessing horses and dragging loads from tailboards.
Tevi walked back and sat beside Jemeryl’s motionless body. It was impossible to relax. With each passing minute, the knots in her stomach tightened. Her heart leapt up her throat at the sound of something rushing into the room. Tevi spun about. Klara was at the window.
On the couch, Jemeryl opened her eyes. “She’s here.”
*
“I wish to see the innkeeper.”
It took only a glimpse of the talisman to send the night porter scuttling off across the dimly lit lobby, alarm transforming his bland, youthful face. The patter of his footsteps faded and was replaced by tense silence.
Tevi watched him disappear. “The talisman certainly gets a response. I wonder what its significance is?”
“We’re probably happier not knowing.”
“You sound on edge.”
“Of course I am.”
; “You’ll be all right with Levannue, won’t you?” Tevi wanted the reassurance, but Jemeryl only shrugged.
“She’s far more experienced than me, and I can’t see her surrendering quietly. Plus I feel duty-bound to try to capture her alive, while I’m sure she won’t feel the same restraint with me.”
“But you’ll have surprise on your side.”
“Hopefully.”
“You said she’s returned to her true form. That must mean she isn’t expecting us.”
“Or maybe she now has good reason to be confident.”
Tevi did not want to think about the possibility. She set off on a circuit of the lobby. After pausing to peer suspiciously down several passages, she stopped at the main doorway.
Night was well advanced. The Uzhenek display of sculptured light had softened to a fluorescent glow. The streets were deserted, but above the rooftops, sentries paced the battlements. Tevi wondered whether the bodies and masonry were real or illusory.
Whispers and footsteps announced the return of the night porter, trailing in the wake of an older man—surely his father, judging by the likeness. Both were thickset, with round faces and fair hair pulled back in braids. The main difference was that the son’s muscle had turned to flab on the father. Red, bleary eyes further impaired the older man’s appearance. He was still in the process of tying a long robe over his bulging waist. He wobbled to a halt, eyeing Jemeryl and the talisman nervously.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
“You are the innkeeper?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“An elderly woman arrived this evening. Thin, about my height, with short grey hair. You may have noticed an amulet like this.” Jemeryl held up her arm. “Although she was probably keeping her wrist covered.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know who you mean.” The innkeeper’s anxiety increased visibly. He would have dealt with enough travellers from the Protectorate to know what the amulet meant.
“I want you to lead us to her room.” Jemeryl fixed the man with a grim stare. “But very quietly. It would be best if she didn’t hear us coming. Do you understand?”
The Traitor and the Chalice Page 25
