There was a stranger in the house, a tall, thin man in a dark blue tunic and black wool breeches, his black beard trimmed to a point, his raised hands wielding a black and silver cane like a club. As Emmis took this in, a wooden cap fell from the end of the stick, revealing a sharp steel blade at least six inches long – the weapon was now as much a sword as a club.
Emmis dived at him, keeping his head down, below that sword-stick, and butted the intruder hard, sending them both tumbling backward onto the bare wood floor. They landed with Emmis on top, and he reached out his left hand, fingers spread, and grabbed his opponent's face, shoving it back so that the stranger's head hit the floor hard.
Then he scrambled over his dazed opponent, got back to his feet, and ran toward the back of the house.
He was not here to fight; he didn't know how to fight, not really. He had been in a few brawls in bars or on the docks, but he was no fighter, not really. The one thing he knew which had stood him in good stead here so far, was to do the unexpected – if someone came at you, go at him as well, don't retreat. Don't hesitate – better to do the wrong thing quickly than the right thing too late.
And the other rule he used in fighting was that when you get the chance, put anything you can between yourself and your foe – doors, furniture, or just distance. Don't try to beat anyone, just try to get away.
With that in mind, he didn't look for a weapon, or turn to face the man with the stick; he just ran to the back door and out into the courtyard.
A few of the neighbors were there, and glanced at him as he ran out of the house, stumbling across the little back porch and down the single step onto the hard-packed earth. A half-formed thought of shouting for them to call for the guards crossed Emmis's mind, but he let it go unheeded as he sprinted toward one of the narrow passages leading out of the courtyard to the streets.
Lar was not dead yet, he was sure. The assassins wouldn't have been lingering in and around the house if they had already murdered their target. He wouldn't have been hiding from them. That meant he hadn't yet returned home. The assassins had been lying in wait, expecting him any moment, expecting their unprepared victim to walk in, completely unaware of any danger.
At least, Emmis hoped that was what it meant.
And they had gotten Emmis instead, a younger, stronger, more prepared opponent, and he had survived their initial attack.
But that meant that the would-be killers would be more prepared now, as well. It was more important than ever that Emmis find Lar first, and warn him.
The more heroic thing might be to stay and fight, to try to take the assassins out of action somehow, but Emmis was no hero. He had no idea how he might single-handedly defeat two men, especially not when one of them had that diabolical sword-stick.
He didn't even know whether there were just the two. After all, neither of them was Neyam of Lumeth. There might be a whole gang lurking around Through Street.
Emmis squeezed through one of the narrower alleys and emerged onto an unfamiliar street; he paused for only a fraction of a second to get his bearings, then turned and headed for Arena Street, hoping that he had enough of a lead that the two assassins would not be able to follow him to the Wizards' Quarter.
Chapter Eleven
Emmis saw no sign of pursuit. He attracted a few stares as he ran headlong down Arena Street, but no one seemed to be following him, or taking more than a casual interest.
Still, when he reached the Arena district he turned left onto Camp Street, as if he were heading for Camptown to fetch guardsmen. Once he was around the corner he slowed to a walk and straightened his clothes, trying to look like an ordinary townsman out on business, rather than a fleeing lunatic.
He was not going to Camptown, though; he turned right on Hawker Street, past the Arena, and picked up his pace, hoping as he did that Lar was not walking down Arena Street, a few blocks to the west, as he did. He was assuming that the ambassador was still in the Wizards' Quarter, that his business there had taken longer than expected, or he had decided to do something else after Kolar's spell was done. Emmis he was hoping he could find him before he went home and ran into the assassins.
It was a good thing that Lar was so easy to spot, with that red coat and big hat.
Emmis turned right again, across the entry plaza at the south side of the Arena, past the notice boards – and no, Lar was not there reading the notices, nor was he visible in the crowds on Arena Street.
Emmis frowned, and then ran and jumped, pulling himself up on a cornice on the face of the Arena so that he was hanging from the stone three or four feet off the ground, his feet braced against a pillar, as he peered up and down Arena Street.
There were hundreds of people in sight, male and female, young and old. Dozens of them wore hats, from the bright little caps of the fashionable ladies to the battered, broad-brimmed straw hats of farmers in town for the day, but nowhere did he see a big black hat with a red satin band and a curling white plume.
He also didn't see a tall man in a blue tunic, carrying a black and silver stick; that was a relief. He wished he had gotten a better look at the other assassin, but his only clear impression was that the man had been nondescript, wearing tunic and breeches of some ordinary color like brown or gray.
He dropped back to the ground, hoping he hadn't drawn too much attention, and hurried on along Arena Street.
Ten minutes later he was on Wizard Street, knocking at the door of Kolar's shop.
This time Kolar was wearing a proper wizard's robe when he answered the door, a flowing floor-length black garment with bands of midnight-blue velvet on the sleeves. A rather elegant blue velvet cap adorned the wizard's head.
"Ah, the assistant!" he said, before Emmis could catch his breath. "Did Lar forget something?"
"He was here?" Emmis demanded. "But he's not now? When did he leave?"
Startled, Kolar said, "I don't really know. Some time ago. Is there a problem?"
"Yes," Emmis said. "Did he say where he was going? Because he didn't go back to the house."
"Well, no – he was going to try another wizard first, and if that didn't work out, perhaps a witch."
"What?" He blinked. "Why does he need another wizard?"
Kolar sighed. "Because the spell didn't work," he said. "I performed it twice, with the wording we agreed upon, and both times it felt just fine, but there was no answer to his question."
Emmis frowned. "How do you mean, no answer?"
"I mean, the smoke didn't form runes, just meaningless swirls. It certainly wasn't any sort of writing I know, and I'm reasonably fluent in three dead languages, as well as Ethsharitic. Lar said it wasn't anything he knew, either, and he apparently knows half a dozen tongues."
"But how can that happen?" Emmis asked. "The spell went wrong?"
Kolar shook his head. "I don't think it did," he said. "I told you last night that Fendel's Divination would answer the question if there is an answer and nothing interfered. It didn't answer, so if there's an answer, then something interfered."
"But what? What could have interfered?"
Kolar turned up an empty hand. "How should I know?"
"Because you're a wizard! Knowing these things is your job!"
Kolar shook his head again. "It's not like that," he said. "Knowledge isn't free. Magic interferes with other magic, and trying to find out exactly which magic is interfering can be difficult and dangerous. Nobody's paying me to make the effort or take the risk."
This was frustrating, but Emmis realized it wasn't really important. "All right, fine," he said. "Then you don't know what went wrong, but you sent the ambassador somewhere else. Where did you send him?"
"I suggested he try Imrinira of Sabar, over on Stopped Street," Kolar said, pointing vaguely in a direction Emmis thought was east.
Emmis had never heard of Stopped Street, and its name did not make its location obvious. "How do I find her?" he asked.
"Turn left at the next intersection – well, it's Stopped Str
eet in both directions, but Imrinira's shop is to the left. There's a very long block, then you'll cross Flight Street, and it's the fourth shop on the left."
"Thank you." He turned, and hurried up the street.
Kolar's directions were simple enough, though they hadn't mentioned how much Stopped Street curved, and a few minutes later Emmis was knocking on the shop door beneath a sign that read "IMRINIRA THE MAGNIFICENT: Truths Uncovered & Fantasies Made Real."
Only while he was waiting for a response did he glance at the broad shop windows on either side; he almost wished he hadn't. The creatures milling about in the displays were no part of any fantasy he had ever had, except perhaps in nightmares – multi-colored, many-legged things that flickered and shimmered in very discomforting ways. Some of them were undeniably beautiful, particularly the winged ones, but they still weren't anything he cared to encounter.
He looked up, to avoid watching the things in the windows and to be sure he had not imagined that the lanterns illuminating the sign were still lit, and noticed how big the building was. Four stories high, and wider than most – if Imrinira owned the entire place she was obviously doing well for herself.
He knocked again.
The door finally opened, and a young man peered out – a youth, really, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. "May I help you?" he asked.
"I'm looking for my employer," Emmis said. "I was told he came to consult with Imrinira of Sabar, at this address."
"Your employer?"
"Shorter than me, red velvet coat, fancy hat? I'm not sure what name he would have given."
"Oh, yes. He called himself Lar the Ambassador. Speaks with an accent?"
"Yes. He's Vondish. Is he still here, by any chance?"
The youth shook his head. "No, I'm afraid he and my mistress went to consult with Zindré the Pale."
Emmis wanted to scream with frustration. He had been hoping that they were in a back room somewhere. "When?"
"Oh, I couldn't say exactly. Less than an hour."
"Where can I find this Zindré, then?"
"In Witch Alley, of course. You go back that way, turn right on Flight Street, then take the first left. I'm not sure which shop is hers, but the alley isn't that long."
"Thank you." Emmis turned and ran – he did not want to give Lar time to look for yet another magician after this Zindré.
He found Witch Alley easily – he had seen it once or twice before, though always entering from the other end – and Zindré's name was plain enough on a signboard, but the shop was dark, the curtains drawn. He stared at the locked door, then stepped back to look up, hoping to see a light in the witch's rooms upstairs.
"If you're looking for Zindré, she's talking to Sella," someone said.
Emmis turned and found a man perhaps twice his age standing behind him, leaning on a stick. Not a slender black-and-silver stick, but a rough wooden one, little more than a tree limb trimmed to the right length.
"Thank you," he said. "Where...?"
The man pointed down the street.
As Emmis trotted farther down Witch Alley, looking at the signs, he took comfort in the fact that Lar had still been alive and unharmed when he and Imrinira left her shop an hour or so ago, and that if he, Emmis, was having this much trouble catching up, then any assassins would have an equally difficult time of it.
"SELLA THE WITCH, Diviner & Seer," he read, and this shop had lamps lit and the door open. He hurried up to it.
Before he could cross the threshold, though, a thin, black-haired girl of fifteen or sixteen appeared in the door.
"Hello, Emmis," she said. "I'm Teneria of Fishertown, Sella's apprentice. Come in, please; we've been expecting you."
Emmis stumbled in surprise. "You have?"
Teneria didn't smile. "We have," she said. "Diviner and seer – it says so right on the sign. Would you like a cup of tea?"
Emmis's mouth twisted wryly. "You don't already know?"
"I'm just the apprentice, not the seer," she replied. She stepped aside. "Come in."
Emmis obeyed, and found himself in a cheery shop that could have belonged to either a witch or an herbalist – dozens of bunches of dried plants hung from the overhead beams, and the shelves along the back wall were cluttered with bowls, mortars, alembics, glass balls, jats, and bottles. A teapot and sugar bowl stood on a small table in the center of the room, surrounded by cups; the table in turn was surrounded by half a dozen overstuffed chairs, most of them occupied.
Lar was sitting in one of the chairs, a teacup in his hand; his hat and coat hung on a coat-rack by the fireplace.
Three women sat in the other occupied chairs. One was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman of fifty or so, in a green tunic and flowered skirt; she was seated facing the door and smiling broadly at Emmis and Teneria. To her right sat a tall white-haired woman in a dark red wizard's robe; to her left was a tiny little woman in black.
These were presumably Imrinira, Zindré, and Sella, but Emmis was unsure which was which, though he supposed the women in red was probably Imrinira.
"Come sit down," the woman in the green tunic said. "I know you don't want any tea yet, but honestly, Emmis, you don't need to be in that much of a rush. Sit down, and we'll explain matters to you. They won't find you here."
"Go on," Teneria said, giving him a gentle shove.
"Don't your feet hurt, after all that running?" the middle woman asked.
Emmis had not allowed himself to notice that, but now that she mentioned it he became aware that yes, his feet were a little sore. He was accustomed to doing plenty of walking and lifting, but not so much running. Reluctantly, he shambled to one of the two empty chairs and lowered himself into it.
This whole performance was exactly the sort of thing he had half-expected from Kolar, and not received. Now that it was actually happening, though, he found it very uncomfortable.
"You know why I'm here?" he asked, as he settled onto the worn upholstery. There was a faint click behind him, as Teneria closed the front door.
"You're here to warn the ambassador here about people who are looking for him," the middle woman said. "They're trying to kill him, I think?" She set down her cup. "I'm Sella, by the way. This is Zindré, and you've already guessed Imrinira."
"It's good to see you," Lar said. "Now, who's trying to kill me?"
Emmis glanced at Sella. "She hasn't already told you?"
"I didn't know," Sella said. "All I know about the matter is what I've seen in your mind. I knew you were coming because every morning I use my magic to learn who will walk through my door in the course of the day, but I can't see every detail of what will happen, only who will come. Until you arrived and I heard your thoughts, I had no idea just what warning you were so eager to deliver."
Emmis gave a nod, accepting her explanation, then turned back to Lar. "The Lumethans hired assassins," he said. "Annis of Ashthasa told me they had, and I hurried back to warn you. Two of them were waiting at the house when I got there, one inside and one outside, but I managed to get away, and I came here to find you."
He might ordinarily have hesitated before revealing all this in front of strangers, but Sella had already made clear that she could hear everything he thought, so there was no point in trying to keep secrets. The other two might not be quite so gifted, but they were magicians themselves, and could undoubtedly find out if they wanted to.
"They hired assassins?" Lar replied, visibly shocked. "Why?"
"Because they believed what you told Ishta," Emmis said. "They think you're sending your grandson to be apprenticed to a warlock. And they think there must be others, as well, and you're going to create an army of warlocks, to replace Vond and expand the empire."
"I don't have a grandson!"
"That's not what you told Ishta, remember? Hagai followed us there, and then went back with Annis as his interpreter and talked to Ishta, and they all believed your story about a grandson."
Lar frowned thoughtfully. "Oh," he said. "Did you tell them the truth?
"
"No! I didn't tell them anything! I didn't know what I was allowed to say. And I only spoke to Annis, the Lumethans weren't there, and they'd already hired the assassins."
"They really hired assassins?"
"They really did. A tall man with a blade in his walking stick, and another one I didn't get a good look at."
"And they're waiting back at the house we rented?"
"They were last I saw, yes."
Lar looked at the magicians. "I didn't expect anything like this! Do you have any suggestions?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the wizard said. "Who is Ishta, or Annis, or Hagai? What does this have to do with Vond the Warlock, or the Lumeth Towers?"
"Does it matter?" Zindré asked. "Obviously, you need to tell the city guards. They'll take care of these assassins."
"And don't go back to the house until after you have spoken to the guard," Sella added.
"But my sword is there," Lar said.
Emmis and Imrinira said in unison, "You have a sword?"
"Get the guard first," Sella told him. "Then get your sword."
"There were just these two?" Zindré asked Emmis.
"I only saw two," Emmis said. He was oddly reassured by how swiftly the witches had accepted his story. Everyone knew that witches could tell truth from falsehood – well, at least the witches who were good at their job – and Sella and Zindré clearly thought he was telling the truth.
"Any sign of magic?" Zindré asked.
"Not that I saw. The outside man pretended to be sleeping, and the inside man had that stick with the blade on the end, but I didn't see any magic. Nothing glowed, or moved in ways it shouldn't."
"Do you think they were Demerchan?" Lar asked.
"What?"
"Demerchan is a cult of assassins that operates in the Small Kingdoms," Sella explained. "I've never heard of them doing anything here in Ethshar of the Spices, though."
"How could I tell if they were this... whatever it is?"
Sella and Lar exchanged glances.
"I don't know," Lar admitted.
The Vondish Ambassador Page 10
