by Gary Gygax
With grim satisfaction, the bard went on with his magickal singing. Setne seemed to be getting sloth-like, the long fingers of one coppery hand gradually disappearing inside his short jacket. "I . . . reject . . . your . . . heka. . . ." Inhetep was saying slowly as he fought to break the weight of the casting, which was enfolding them in its magick. He had just managed to grasp the energizing form of his golden ankh and had the amulet partially withdrawn from his garment as the bard finished the second quatrain.
Rachelle too was trying to break the power of Aldriss' singing by sheer will force. In truth, the amazon was moving more quickly than the ur-kheri-heb, rolling slightly away from the bard and about to come erect. The sword she had picked up was still in her hand, and Rachelle's arm was drawing back as if to hurl the blade at Aldriss.
"Useless!" the man shouted in triumph as he drew forth a figurine. "I call upon—" But that's as far as Aldriss got. Two red beams were issuing from the statuette when a Kelltic symbol of power manifested itself in the air directly before the unsuspecting bard. The bright fire of the wheel met the bloody rays. The spoked torus blazed and grew to twice its potency even as the deadly beams rebounded and struck the bard full in the face. Aldriss uttered a horrified cry that turned into an awful, rising shriek of agony, then his head exploded, and the fire of the raging magickal sign roared out and consumed him utterly.
= 12 =
MISTAKE
"Are you two all right?" It was Tallesian's voice.
"But I thought . . ." Rachelle began. Inhetep's touch caused the warrior girl's words to fade.
"We are well enough, thank you, but what did you do to Aldriss, druid?" The question had a sharp edge, and Setne's hawk nose seemed aimed at the man.
"Good—excellent! I feared the worst there for a second," Tallesian said with some heartiness and warmth. "I'd have acted far sooner, I assure you, Magister, save for doubt."
"Doubt?"
"Well, to be forthright, sir, I thought you a most dire enemy." He looked squarely at Inhetep. "When you came strutting into the festivities here, I was set to do my best to lay you by the heels. You knocked me down, stunned me in the process, too, I might add." Tallesian made a wry face and rubbed the back of his head, flinching a little from his own hand. "Quite a goose-egg there. Anyway, when I finally came round and managed to figure out what was going on, I saw you, and your amazon companion with a sword at Aldriss' throat. For a second or two, it was a near thing—going to use the last resort against you rather than that blackguard, who was supposed to be the Gwyddorr and my peer, you know."
Inhetep raised a hand, and the druid looked at him inquiringly. "I do appreciate your explanation, Lord Tallesian, but something you said . . ."
"What was that?"
"You referred to a 'last resort,' I believe. By that do you mean the sigil of energy you sent at the bard?"
"None other," the man confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Not at all sure what happened to it, though. It went all wrong at the end and—"
"Never mind. I thought it rather strange, too, for the thing went from one grade of power to another and seemed a nonesuch. Do you suppose it was an interaction with whatever Aldriss was trying to use against Rachelle and me?"
"Unquestionably," Tallesian concurred.
Rachelle couldn't understand why the druid had come round so suddenly to their side. "You were here celebrating with him, and you have evidently favored the ones who dared accuse my lord Inhetep of some crime—and after you yourself induced him to this island, too!"
"Come to the point, please, dear girl," the Magister urged.
"What made you blast your countryman and peer?" she demanded of Tallesian.
"Why, he was the one responsible for all this— he was the Master of Jackals!"
"Was he?" Rachelle demanded. "I never heard him admit to anything like that."
Tallesian seemed a little flustered. "He most certainly was about to try to kill you both, and he as much as admitted that he was the mastermind behind all this terrible business when he said he wouldn't allow the pair of you to foil his plot!"
"He asked if we thought the Master of Jackals would allow Rachelle and me to interfere in the plan he was part of," Setne said forcefully, picking up from where his companion had left off. "He neither admitted to being the mastermind— boastfulness was something Aldriss was known for, too, I think—nor claimed he had spun the web. But he did mention warning others."
"Others? Did he now . . ." the druid said reflectively. "Wish I'd have overheard that bit better. No help for it now; the blighter has gone beyond even your questioning, Magister Inhetep. If you ask me, though, I'd say that with his death we've heard the last of the Master of Jackals!"
The tall Egyptian gazed at the ash-strewn place where the energy of the magickal wheel of force had devoured Aldriss. "You are likely to be correct about that, druid, although I think I will try to learn what I can anyway."
"By all means, Magister, by all means. While you and your assistant are checking on that, I believe I should settle things here," Tallesian said, walking back toward the hall. "Bound to be a frightful commotion after all this row. Important folk to reassure, guests to placate, rumors to squelch, and all manner of things to set straight."
"Such as Magister Inhetep's guiltlessness?" Rachelle called after the druid.
"That, too," he called back, and then he was off to find the staff and guests who had taken refuge when the battle began.
"You think that Aldriss was actually the Master Jackal?" Rachelle asked when Tallesian was gone.
"Hmmm . . ." the wizard-priest responded vaguely, without turning to look at her. He was stooped over the place where Aldriss had stood, palms outward, fingers spread as if to catch vibrations. His green eyes were fixed in an odd stare. "As I suspected."
"Suspected? You suspected Aldriss of being the Master of Jackals?!"
Inhetep turned then and looked at the lovely face framed in its disheveled mop of dark curls. "I can't recall you ever looking more beautiful, Rachelle," he said with a smile. "I trust you weren't despairing of rescue."
"Oh, Setne, I'm sorry!" She stepped up and hugged the smiling Egyptian with sufficient force to drive the wind from him. "There!
That's to let you know how grateful I am. And no, silly old shave-pate priest, I never once thought you'd fail me."
"I never did, of course."
"I didn't accuse you of failing, let alone—"
"Never thought Aldriss was the leader of the pack of jackals, I mean," Inhetep interrupted. "Too bad he was so totally destroyed, obliterated by some raging flux of entitative origin so as to make it impossible to gain anything here."
"That sounds very like the circumstances of the murders we were trying to solve, Setne."
"Yes, Rachelle, my dear amazon warrior, yes it does." He was about to say more, but just then a number of servants began to straggle back into the salon, the more important ones immediately beginning to fuss and direct the lesser staff in the clearing, cleaning, and tidying. "Never mind now. Let's go and find the druid and see what he has in mind."
Rachelle shook her head. "You do as you wish, great wonder of the ages," she said acidly. "Perhaps you haven't noticed it, but I'm barely clothed, and it's chilly in this draughty old pile. And I'm tired and hungry, too!" Rachelle turned and began walking away. "I'm going to find some suitable attire, and then I'm going to sit in the most comfortable chair I can find and eat as much food as those lazy servitors have left lying about and will bring to me."
Setne had to laugh. He hadn't noticed that she was clad only in very skimpy undergarments. Partially because of the pressure of the situation just past, partially due to having seen her often in the nude, Inhetep had been guilty of a gross error. Worse still, he hadn't inquired if she were in need of food and rest, assuming her to be the iron amazonian guard, forever ready for anything. "Again, my dear Rachelle, I find you all too correct. I believe you're now safe enough here, even half-dressed, as long as you flourish
that sword a little should any varlets come too close." He chuckled again. Rachelle made a face at him, a familiar and reassuring act to Setne, and stalked off. Setne thought one of the female guests at the villa would soon have yet more to complain of regarding her visit to Aldriss's retreat when she discovered her clothing missing. He was about to go in search of the archdruid when Tallesian came back into the salon.
"There you are, Inhetep. Manage to learn anything?"
"Did you see Lady Rachelle?" Inhetep asked offhandedly.
"Well, yes, of course. She passed me in the main hall just a minute or so ago. Heading for the staircase and muttering something about a gown, I believe."
"Fine. After what's happened, I don't want her getting into trouble again," the wizard-priest said, as if explaining.
Tallesian's face drew into a long expression.
"Understandable, Magister. I queried you about another matter, though."
"Did you?"
"The bard . . ."
Inhetep had a bland easiness in his voice as he responded. "Ah, that's what you meant when you asked if I'd found out anything. Not much, I fear, good druid. So little, in fact, that all I can do is make a note of it and hope that something discovered later will fit—this whole business is very much like those interlocking-piece puzzles the purveyors of amusements are touting these days!"
"Yet you did get a clue?"
"I said so, yes. No sense in talking about that now. What's your own view of things, Lord Tallesian?"
The druid shook his head. "Like you, Magister Inhetep, I have too little knowledge at this point in time to hazard a guess—save to reaffirm my conviction that you two are absolutely blameless, and that Aldriss was up to his neck in treasonous killings and extortions."
"So what is our next step?"
"That is quite easy. A barge will be calling for us here in a few hours. It will carry us downstream to Camelough for our evening appointment with the Behon and his Royal Highness. I think that in the meantime I'll retire to my bedchamber and get a little rest."
"There is a capital idea!" Inhetep said with a yawn. "Now that you mention it, I must admit I'm near exhaustion from the night's work. Would you be so kind as to find some officer of the house to prepare a bed for me and another for my assistant?"
Tallesian agreed readily. "Of course, sir. Perhaps we should actually delay the return to Camelough a bit under these conditions, eh?"
"As you wish, Lord Tallesian. After all, you are the royal official and we are but guests."
"Guests? Well, now, seeing that the chief culprit in the matter has been found and destroyed, perhaps honored guests might be better used to describe your position," the druid said jovially. "If you will excuse me now, I shall see about locating the proper servants for you and Lady Rachelle."
After some four hours of sleep—certainly not sufficient but enough to take the dull weight of exhaustion from his shoulders—a soft-footed valet awakened Inhetep. "His Venerable Lordship the Archdruid has asked for your presence below," the nondescript fellow murmured. He drew back the heavy draperies to allow morning sunlight into the bedroom on the second floor of the castellated mansion. "The Lady Rachelle?" Setne inquired sleepily. The servant told him that a maid-in-waiting was preparing her bath at the moment, so Inhetep lay back and luxuriated on the down mattress for a bit longer. The valet fussed about, drew a vast cauldron-like tub of steaming water, then departed, adding, "A meal will be served in a few minutes, m'lord."
After some stretching and grumbling, Setne arose and stalked stark naked to the alcove which contained the lavatory, glad that the Westerners had recently adopted indoor plumbing—at least the aristocratic ones. After shaving head and beard, Inhetep tested the water in the huge tub and found it had sufficiently cooled. He like neither hot nor cold baths. This was the temperature of his own pool in Egypt on a warm day, a bit below body temperature. A quick immersion, lathering and shaving the rest of his body, and he was ready for the day. Wrapped in an enormous towel, Inhetep found his clothing and emptied its many little pockets and hidden places. Then he used a cantrip to clean and freshen the cloth. "Magick has its uses," he murmured with a smile as he observed the effect. Even laundresses and valets using similar little dweomers tended to ruin fine apparel with soap, water, scrubbing, and pressing; and recently developed fluids for cleaning were possibly worse when it came to dyes and metallic embroidery so necessary for special apparel. Inhetep seldom trusted his own apprentices with the care of his better garments, and this particular costume was one of his finest.
"Are you still preening, peacock?" Rachelle's voice gave Setne a start. The girl laughed.
"Humph. Very humorous, I'm sure," the man grumbled. "Have you no manners? A lady must knock before entering a gentleman's chamber." He continued to admire his handiwork even as he scolded her. "In fact, I believe that here a lady shouldn't even enter a—"
"You look like a stork caught in someone's laundry." Rachelle exclaimed. "Storks shouldn't preen. Hurry along, slow one. And as you well know, I am no lady but your guard, so I needn't knock at all. As to being a gentleman, I believe it wisest to refrain from further discussion of that topic____"
"Bah! You impugn my noble birth? Well, never mind such foolishness," he said quickly when he saw the glitter in her eye. "You seem most invigorated by your short sleep, Rachelle. Youth is a most wonderful benison in such regard." Then, without so much as another glance in her direction, Setne stalked to where he had dropped his underclothing, uttered another minor casting to restore it to pristine condition, and proceeded to dress himself. "Have you managed to learn anything from the staff?"
Rachelle shook her head. "No. The lot of them are very close-mouthed this morning. Someone has certainly instructed them to keep silent."
"Perhaps they were instructed," Setne commented, "or perhaps they are merely subdued after the events of last night. After all, their master has not only been slain but also held as the chief culprit in matters of treason, murder, and extortion. While they haven't the real details, you can stake your life on the fact that the staff and servants have a better handle on matters than seems possible. Certainly the officers of Aldriss' household are well schooled in being silent, but the help are gossiping among themselves now as quickly as their tongues can manage."
The warrior girl paused. "But I thought you were suspicious as to . . . well, you know!"
"That was wise," Inhetep said as Rachelle bit off her words and instead used vague generalities. Whether through spy-hole or via magick, whatever the two of them said here might be overheard, and not until the time was ripe should what they actually knew be revealed. "I think my uneasiness about this case has been unfounded. It was seemingly a little too easy and pat, the business with the bard," Setne told her with a slight droop of an eyelid. "But everything points directly to Aldriss, and if the investigation actually uncovers his co-conspirators and their network of petty clerics and thugs, then I'd say that the problem of the Master of Jackals has been laid to rest."
"Oh," Rachelle said softly. "I stand corrected, lord. I will no longer seek other suspects."
The ur-kheri-heb shook his bald-shaven head. "Don't be so quick, dear cohort! I said if all of the rest of this treasonous lot are found and brought to justice. If there is the slightest hint of any cover-up, then we'll be certain that the mastermind behind the murder and plotting still lives!"
"Speaking of living," the girl said earnestly, "I shan't be able to much longer unless we have something to eat. I'm absolutely starved after my imprisonment here—the devil of a bard seemed disinclined to feed me!"
With that the two went down to a smallish room which was a little distant from the kitchens, guided there by the nervous-looking major domo. "The Venerable Archdruid awaits your pleasure in the Oak Dining Salon," he murmured as he directed them to the place. Tallesian was there. Having finished his own repast some time before, the druid sat and sipped a dark brew from a cup, awaiting the Egyptian and his companion.
/> "Will you have food?"
"But of course," the magister responded, helping himself to a small, golden-crusted loaf and a pot of butter nearby. "Some of that coffee you drink, too, good druid, for I miss sorely that amenity here in the West."
"It is rare in Avillonia," Tallesian admitted. "If the Phonecians were less greedy in their profit-taking, perhaps the stuff would be more popular."
Inhetep and the druid began discussing trade and the costs of imports as Rachelle set to with the serious intent of eating everything available.
One day, perhaps, her appetite might catch up with her, but not as long as her physical activity and metabolism remained high. She ate twice what the wizard-priest consumed even when Setne was hungry, but Rachelle's form showed not a trace of excess weight. She ignored Inhet-ep's glare as she ate another plate of crisp bacon and scrambled ducks' eggs seasoned with bits of fresh herbs and a sprinkling of some local cheese. Finished at last, she sat back and smiled at her mentor. "That was a very nice little breakfast," she said sweetly.
"More a noon feast," Inhetep countered with a sarcastic tone. "Is the boat ready, Lord Tallesian?"
"The barge? But of course, and now we should be on our way. Lord Inhetep, Lady Rachelle, shall we depart?"
"Magister will suffice, sir," Setne said as he rose and headed for the door.
— 13 —
ROYAL SCOURGE
The journey back down the Newid took but a short time. There must have been a considerable rain upriver, for today the current was brown and strong. It carried them swiftly to Lake Lhi-annan, and to Camelough on the western shore of the lake. The barge docked at a rather out of the way location, not at the royal piers near the citadel's massive Lakegate entrance, and a closed coach waited at the steps leading up from the landing place. A swarm of armed footmen saw all three into the carriage. Although they wore no insignia, it was easy to see that they were soldiers—the royal guardsmen, undoubtedly. Setne observed that they were escorted most cleverly. A half-dozen horsemen who might be nothing more remarkable than out-of-work mercenaries going for a ride about the city went well ahead of the coach, while only a handful of horsed attendants accompanied the conveyance, two before, two to the rear. The Egyptian looked at Tallesian. "How many agents are stationed along our route?" he asked so softly that none save the three passengers could hear.
