Tournament of Witches

by Jack Massa

  “I took the queen at her word,” she said. “That she had uttered those words seemed beyond chance or accident. Because, by its nature, the Mirror required a sacrifice commensurate with its goal—in this case, the death of a queen in exchange for the death of a queen.”

  The chamber stood hushed, the faces of the Councilors at rapt attention. Below her feet, the panorama of the sky had grown still.

  “I knew that I was invoking evil power,” Amlina confessed. “But the rightfulness of the goal seemed to outweigh that price. And in achieving that goal I was successful. With the aid of my friends and by the noble queen’s sacrifice, I was able to rid the world of a bloodthirsty tyrant, as well as return the treasures she stole from Larthang.”

  Her eyes rested on Drusdegarde. The Archimage spoke after a moment’s silence.

  “We are thankful for both of those achievements,” she said. “Though officially we cannot condone how they were achieved. But let me ask you this, Amlina. Do you feel it was worth the cost?”

  Amlina’s gazed dropped to the floor, where the clouds were drifting again. “I do not regret my choice. I do not feel I could have done otherwise. And yet, the cost has been high. I was prepared to give my life in the attempt to overthrow the tyrant. I did not expect that long after, I would be twisted, ravaged inside, possessed by the evil I had invoked.” Tears misted her eyes. “I have told my story. You nobles must judge what should be done with me. I will accept your decision without complaint.”

  Another silence came. Once again, it was the Archimage who presently spoke.

  “These are weighty matters. My Lord Tuan, sisters of the Council, what are your thoughts on Amlina’s petitions? First, on her request that we endeavor to heal the affliction she suffers?”

  “That seems a small and rightful request,” said Crandora, Keeper of the Books. “Surely, we would grant the same to any honorable witch who suffered sickness of the soul.”

  “True, but this sickness results from abominable practices,” Clorodice pointed out. “Strictly from the laws of this House, it could be argued that punishment rather than reward should be our proper response.”

  Clorodice, Amlina knew, belonged to a faction known as The Thread of Virtue, which favored the strictest interpretations of laws and the harshest punishment for offenders.

  “That is debatable,” Melevarry said. “Surely punishment rather than healing would be merited only by the most blatant disregard of moral precepts. That is not the case with Amlina.”

  “I agree with the Mage of Randoon,” the Tuan spoke up for the first time. “I am informed that, even in times when the interpretation of law has been most strict, wisdom has always required exceptions be made for extenuating circumstances.”

  Drusdegarde made a slight frown, perhaps annoyed at the Tuan’s unusual appearance at the Council. Also, by using the ritual phrase “I am informed,” the boy was citing his mystic authority as avatar for all preceding Tuans.

  Kanshilia, Mage from the province of Dai-Shan said: “I also agree on that point. But the question is: what healing we can offer? There may be designs or rites in the ancient texts for curing afflictions caused by blood magic. But such have not been practiced here in centuries.”

  “If I may,” Melevarry replied, “there are records of a purification rite used for exactly that purpose. I have been consulting with my sister, Keeper of the Books. It will take some study, but I see no reason why I cannot perform the rite in accord with the tradition. That is, if Amlina will agree to the necessary preparations and to my guiding her and working the designs.”

  “I will,” Amlina said with surprise. “Gladly and most gratefully.”

  Drusdegarde looked around at the Councilors. “Since the Mage of Randoon has kindly volunteered this service, and the Keeper of the Books lends her aid, I see no reason for the Council to deny Amlina’s first petition.”

  Heads nodded, some grudgingly Amlina thought. She bowed and uttered her thanks.

  “As to the second petition,” the Archimage continued, “if the purification is successful and Amlina is proven free of contamination, I again see no reason why she should not be granted the opportunity to stand for examination and—if successful—be given her gray mantle. She has certainly proven her capabilities . Do any of the Councilors disagree?”

  Amlina scanned the semi-circle of podiums. She was heartened to find no opposition.

  “Good.” Drusdegarde was also pleased. “Now, as to the third petition—”

  “There I must object,” Clorodice announced. “Amlina is plainly talented, and if she can be purified she deserves the rank of adept. But that is a long, long way from earning the right to hold one of the great treasures of the Land and to sit on this Council. Certainly, there are many witches in this House who must be considered more worthy.”

  “I dispute that,” Amlina answered with an anger that surprised her. “I - I do not make this petition lightly. But I have possessed the Cloak, and used it—”

  “Used it without authorization,” Clorodice snapped.

  “Used it by necessity and with success,” Amlina answered more calmly. “I have come to know its power. In deep trance, I have felt that power knitting itself into my being. I have developed an affinity for the Cloak, and that is why I aspire to be Keeper.”

  Now the silence was profound, as the Councilors seemed to weigh her words.

  “Affinity or not, I cannot support such an improper idea,” Clorodice declared.

  Two of the Councilors echoed her sentiments.

  “If I may make a suggestion,” the Tuan said. “Of old, I am informed, that when there was competition for appointment to specific posts in the House of the Deepmind, the matter was often settled by the Tournament of Witches, the post in question going to the tournament champion. Perhaps that venerable custom would serve now.”

  The witches on the dais frowned and shrugged, plainly caught off-guard by this suggestion. The sky image in the floor had grown gray and threatening, as before a looming storm

  Drusdegarde harrumphed to clear her throat. “That is an interesting solution, August Ruler, and perhaps one we ought to consider. At this time, I believe we can postpone the decision. Amlina and Lady Melevarry have much work and preparations ahead, and I am sure arduous workings to perform. If, as we all hope, these workings succeed and Amlina finds healing, she will then have to pass her examinations for the grade of adept. Should those two goals be accomplished, we can consider her third petition at that time. Is that agreeable to the Council?”

  “That will mean serious delay in appointing a Keeper of the Cloak,” Clorodice pointed out.

  “True, but I see no need for haste,” the Archimage said. “The requirements for the post will need to be reviewed, and any candidates would need time to understand them and prepare.” She turned to Melevarry. “How long will the purification likely take you?”

  Melevarry considered. “The ritual requires one full cycle of Grizna for preparation. Then I think four or five days to complete the work.” She eyed Amlina, who nodded. “Forty days total should be more than enough.”

  Drusdegarde pursed her lips. “The Tournament of Witches is nearly three months away. That should give Amlina ample time to take her examinations as well. Therefore, I propose this in regard to the post of Keeper of the Cloak: My Lady Keeper of the Books will research and publish the requirements and duties by the end of this month. Any witch aspiring to the post will solicit a member of the Council to act as her sponsor. The Council will consider all sponsored candidates. Whether we decide to use the Tournament or other means of selection, we will be able to name the new Keeper by the start of First Winter.”

  She looked down at Melevarry and Amlina. “Does this decision satisfy your petition, Amlina?”

  “It does, My Lady.” I am most grateful.”

  “Then unless there are any other objections …?” Drusdegarde scanned the podiums right and left. “No? Then I declare the Inner Council adjourned.”


  

  In a mood of elation amounting almost to disbelief, Amlina walked with Melevarry down the long, polished corridor outside the council chamber.

  “Well. That went about as well as we could have hoped,” the Mage said quietly. “Are you pleased?”

  “It is all I could have asked,” Amlina said. “I am most thankful. And I am also curious as to why you chose to go so far in helping me.”

  A half-smile creased the Mage’s face. “As I told you in Randoon, I have found you worthy.”

  “No. There must be more to it.”

  The smile broadened. “You are perceptive. Let us say then it is because you are both worthy and unusual.”

  “So?”

  “You insist that I explain myself? Very well. If I am to lead you in the purification rites, you must trust me absolutely, and so I will explain.” She stopped and looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. Then she stepped close to the wall and gestured for Amlina to follow.

  “You are unusual for a witch of Larthang because of your experience in other lands and with other magical traditions. That is obvious enough. But there is also a wildness about you. Perhaps it comes from association with your barbarian friends, but I suspect it was there already, a deep element of your character that drove you to leave the Academy in the first place and seek your fortunes abroad.”

  Lips parted, Amlina nodded. “I must agree with that assessment. But none of this sounds like reasons you would want to help me.”

  “Oh, that is where you are wrong.” Melevarry again scanned the corridor to be sure no one listened. Now she whispered. “There is a certain, dare I say, stagnation in the Land. It thrives in all three of the estates—the Magistrates, of course, and the Military. And here in the House of Witches, as exemplified by Lady Clorodice and her legalist faction. Now, do not mistake me, I would never advocate disorder or immorality. But too strict adherence to order and law lead to their own kind of evil. The way of the ogo is constant change and rebalancing. That is why I find you—shall I say—refreshing? I have meditated on the matter, and my guidance suggests that your very wildness may serve the House of the Deepmind well.”

  These words struck a chord in Amlina’s heart. No witch of power had ever treated her with such confidence—or kindness. She swallowed a lump in her throat and answered.

  “You do me great honor, Lady. I will do my utmost to prove worthy of your confidence, I promise.”

  Eighteen

  Departing from Ting Ta Roo, Lady Clorodice rode in a carriage northwest across the city. From the central district of the capital, she was conveyed through commercial and residential warrens, which grew more crowded and less prosperous as she neared the canal. Clorodice kept the shutters closed to avoid the sights, but could not escape the bustling noise and unpleasing smells as the carriage jostled down narrow, crowded streets.

  A solemn frown gripped her face and grim thoughts occupied her mind. The Council had not gone at all as she would have liked. Clorodice had developed an intense antipathy for the disreputable Amlina, the more so after learning that the renegade had actually performed blood magic. But Drusdegarde, the weak old fool, had shown the outcast every courtesy—even to the point of entertaining the possibility of appointing her Keeper of the Cloak. That notion was an outrage! Worse, it could make it all the more difficult for Clorodice to add the Cloak to her own power base.

  Contemplating these unhappy thoughts, Clorodice arrived at last at her ancestral home, a four-story mansion on the bank of the north canal. Descending from the carriage, she walked through the front gates to find more irritation. She had intended to pass the rest of the afternoon in meditation and reading the Adages of Law. But as she entered the foyer, her chief steward informed her of a visitor.

  “I wish to see no one for the rest of the day,” she told the man.

  “Pardon, my lady, but it is the esteemed Duke Pheng who awaits you in your study.”

  The Keeper of the Keys sighed, regretting her standing order that Trem-Dou Pheng should have access to her house at any time. No doubt, the Duke wanted to hear the outcome of the Council, and if the matter of the Keeper of the Cloak had been discussed. He would not be happy with the news.

  Mentally preparing herself for the encounter, Clorodice stepped onto an elevation platform. Two servants hastened from the back apartments to work the device, bending their backs to turn brass-handled wheels. From their efforts, the platform rose up the narrow shaft, saving the witch the exertion of climbing the stairs.

  The ivory platform stopped at the top floor of the mansion and Clorodice stepped into her study. Duke Pheng stood with his back to the room, staring out the wide terrace to the city below. Feet wide apart, hands behind his back, he was dressed in plain apparel, the long coat, trousers, and boots of a merchant or gentleman of leisure. He visited the mansion in secret and avoided any dress indicating his identity. On hearing steps, he turned.

  “My lady, how went the Council?”

  When they met in private, Trem-Dou never wasted time on polite conversation. That suited Clorodice. The sooner she could end this conference, the better.

  Still, she would not give the appearance of feeling rushed. She strolled across the study to a table with a pitcher and glasses.

  “Would you care for wine, my lord Duke?”

  He brushed the offer aside. “Thank you, no. What news?”

  Declining to pour a drink for herself, she settled into a wide chair. “The news is not of the best, I fear. For the most part, the Council approved Amlina’s petitions.”

  “She is to be given charge of the Cloak, then?”

  “No. At least not yet.” She lifted a calming hand. “The Council granted permission for healing rites to be performed, to purify Amlina. Should this work succeed, she will stand for examination to receive her gray mantle as an adept. Only if both of these obstacles are cleared will she be considered a candidate for Keeper.

  Frowning, Trem-Dou began to pace. “This is ill news. Will Amlina likely pass these two hurdles?”

  Clorodice shrugged. “The examination will likely not be difficult for her to pass. As for the purification, I have no knowledge. Such rites have not been performed for centuries.”

  “But the way is open for her. This troubles me.” The Duke paused, a finger to his lips. “She is a threat to us, a danger to all our plans. My instincts have told me this ever since I learned how she fought off our flotilla in the harbor of Fleevanport. And the tortoise shell oracle consistently validates my concerns.”

  “She is a long way from being named Keeper of the Cloak, I assure you. I have been grooming my own assistant, Elani Vo T’ang for the post. Certainly, other Councilors will also put forth protégés.”

  “That is not good enough,” the Duke snapped. “I warn you, Amlina is a formidable enemy. If it appears likely she will succeed in this purification process, you must be ready to take decisive action.”

  Clorodice sat up straight. “What exactly do you mean, Lord Duke?”

  Trem-Dou’s glance shifted. He resumed pacing. “I think you understand me well enough. When it became apparent that the old Tuan could not be convinced to support the worthy military goals of the Iron Bloc, fortune smiled upon us …”

  Clorodice gulped. His meaning was frighteningly clear. The old Tuan had resisted the programs of the militarist faction as well as the more hard-line legalists. His sudden illness and death three years ago had taken the nation by surprise. When a six-year-old child was designated to replace him on the throne, it had opened the way for many abrupt changes. The magistrates of the Thread of Virtue had enacted strict new laws, and the warriors of the Iron Bloc had moved forward with their campaign against the Tathians. The Duke had just informed Clorodice, in plain but indirect language, that she must be ready to assassinate Amlina if necessary.

  Clorodice rose to her feet. “Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

  The Duke scowled at her. “Yes. Any developments concerning the
complaint against my nephew, Shay-Ni?”

  Clorodice walked over to her desk. With the unsettling events of the past few days, she had almost forgotten the complaint against the Admiral. “There at least I have good news. It seems this Trippany, the drell witch who brought the charges, made a misstep in Randoon. Without authorization, she helped Amlina and her band escape from the dungeon where the Mage had confined them. Trippany is under reprimand and serving a penance in the House of the Deepmind. The incident raises serious doubts about the drell’s judgment, if not her character. Doubts which I and my allies made sure to promulgate. I am now confident the complaint against your nephew will not reach a full hearing by the Council.”

  “Good.” The Duke stroked his chin. “I shall have to find a new posting for Shay-Ni. Unfortunately, his debacle at the South Pole has undermined his reputation among his fellow officers, so it will not be easy. But that is my problem, not yours.” He started for the door. “I bid you good afternoon, Lady Clorodice. Remember what I advised regarding decisive action.”

  When he had gone, Clorodice breathed a sigh of relief. Attempting to settle her agitated mind, she walked to the bookshelf and removed an expensive volume bound in leather and gold leaf—The Pronouncements of the Sage Lo Tang Ho, one of the founders of Legalist thought. But after reading a few pages, her concentration wavered. She closed the book and stepped out on the balcony. The rain had started again, a bleak drizzle. She gazed down at the canal and the barges and hovels along the shore.

  Decades of overcrowding in the city had reduced the once elegant neighborhood to impoverishment. Worse, the area along the waterfront had descended into vice. Taverns, puppet theaters, and music halls occupied the once-fine houses, while gambling barges and floating brothels lay anchored to the wharf. Crime was rampant.