The Mage Wars

by Mercedes Lackey

  Shalaman’s baritone voice and steps were full of the vigor and energy of a man many years his junior, and he had donned robes this morning that were a complement, in their color scheme of deep brown, amber, and gold, to Winterhart’s. He took a seat beside Amberdrake with the ease of a long-time friend.

  “We’d counted on that, Serenity,” Amberdrake replied, pleased by the King’s casual manner, especially around him. It said a great deal—

  It tells me also that Shalaman was not exactly in love with Winterhart; he was in love—or at least desired—what she represented. That’s rather different from being in love with the person, and easier to get over. Evidently Shalaman had gotten over both his desire for Winterhart and his disappointment in a remarkably short time. That is an old lesson of the kestra’chern; often, one can be in love with who they think someone is, while being blinded by their own desires. And just as often, instead of being in love with a lover, one is in love with love.

  “Another murder—” Shalaman shook his head, grimacing, but as if he were discussing the death of a complete stranger. Perhaps he was—his Court was enormous, and there was no reason to assume he knew everyone in it personally. “It is interesting that all of the victims have been rather outspoken people with both powerful and disagreeable personalities. They all had—or had at one time—considerable influence, they all had great wealth and personal power, and they all collected many enemies. And—this is not the sort of thing that one wishes an ally to know, but I fear that assassination has been something of a way of life in the Haighlei Courts of the past. Not in my Court, or not until this moment, but it still happens in the Courts of some of the other Emperors. If all the signs did not point so forcefully to you foreigners, it might have been accepted as the result of acquiring too many enemies.”

  “In the case of at least two, there is very little mourning in the gardens of the women,” Leyuet said dryly, regaining some of his composure. “They were hardly popular. If the rumors were that one of their enemies had rid the world of their presence, I think this might have been little more than a matter for quiet investigation. One simply cannot have this sort of thing go on in a civilized Court.”

  Amberdrake suppressed the urge to laugh at the prim look to Leyuet’s mouth as he made that last statement. Shalaman caught his eye at that moment, and the two of them exchanged a look of private amusement that flashed between them like a signal between two mischievous small boys.

  “Nevertheless, because the evidence points to the foreigners, it now becomes a case of Haighlei against the wicked outsiders,” Shalaman said, as his expression sobered. “How did the last die?”

  “Clawed to death, it would seem—but look here!” Once again Leyuet displayed his bit of carved wood. The King bent over his outstretched hand with interest, but did not offer to touch the thing. “This was found in one of the wounds. Now we have proof that someone is trying to force us to take action against the folk of White Gryphon.”

  “But I want this kept secret,” Amberdrake interjected. “For now, at least.”

  Shalaman straightened, and his mouth twitched with distaste. “I do not like this idea, my friend,” he said. “It greatly troubles me. How can I keep you safe when the hand of every person in my court is against you?”

  Amberdrake licked his lips and chose his words with care. “We have an enemy, Serenity,” he said. “This enemy is very clever, very cunning. He is intelligent enough to learn from his mistakes—so we must not let him know that he has made any. At the moment, the evidence is only that the victim was clawed to death, and any number of supernatural horrors could have been called up or created, or even imported, to have done this thing.”

  Shalaman pondered Amberdrake’s statement, as the sounds of the garden provided an ironically soothing background.

  “But magic is no longer functioning—” Leyuet protested. “All men know this.”

  “Someone could have found a live makaar somewhere,” Skandranon pointed out suddenly. “It doesn’t take much magic to coerce them. They fly, they’re intelligent enough to obey orders, they have claws and fight with them, and they’re absolutely vicious. If I hadn’t seen that bit of wood, that’s the first thing I’d have thought of. In fact, when you bring an accusation against me, that’s what I’m going to claim—that Ma’ar must have had an agent with a flock of makaar lurking down here, and now he’s using them to make me look like a murderer.”

  “That will sound contrived,” the King replied doubtfully, shaking his head. “Surely you see that.”

  Skan shrugged, his feathers rustling. “Can’t be helped, and it’s a good enough suggestion that some people might think about it a little before they jump to any conclusions.”

  “What I am trying to say, is that it is absolutely vital that we make this enemy of ours think that everything is going well, so he has no reason to alter his methods,” Amberdrake said, bringing the discussion back to his original point. “If our enemies are convinced that there are no flaws in their scheme, that we are all falling into their trap, they will have no reason to alter the way they have been working. If we make them overconfident, they may become careless, and make an even bigger mistake than the one that left behind that claw—and a large enough mistake will be fatal for them.”

  Shalaman leaned forward to concentrate on Amberdrake’s words, and he nodded, though reluctantly. “My concern is this; as I pointed out, although there have been no wars-of-assassination within my Court in my reign, the Haighlei are inclined to such things. I do not want your blood on my hands, because relatives wanted vengeance and were not willing to wait for the Spears to bring it to them.”

  “I understand,” Amberdrake said, feeling Shalaman’s very real concern and anxiety for him. He was touched by it; Shalaman had made one of those abrupt internal decisions of many men of great passion and high power—he had decided that Amberdrake was his friend in the moment that Amberdrake forgave him. It was not the first time that Amberdrake had seen such a change of heart in a man of this type, but it was always a little startling when it happened to him personally. “I suggested to Skan in jest that perhaps we should encourage the rumors to spread that one of us is doing this by magic—at least people would think twice about trying to attack one of us, then.”

  “There is another problem,” Leyuet interjected, “One that we had not needed to consider until this latest killing, which points so clearly to Skandranon. We are nearing the Eclipse Ceremony, and we simply cannot make a public decision then on your status as allies while there is such a specter of guilt hovering over you!”

  The King nodded. “Now that is true. We cannot make a decision without either declaring your innocence as determined by the Truthsayer, or finding the real killer.”

  Amberdrake shrugged. “Surely it can wait a little longer than the ceremony—”

  “Oh, no,” Shalaman said forcefully. “And if we do not make the decision then, we cannot do so until the next ceremony. Everything must be resolved by the Eclipse itself, or—well, at the very best, you will all have to remain here as virtual prisoners until we catch the real murderer, and then return to your city, and we will have to make at least a token effort at evicting you.”

  Skan sat up straight at that. “What? No one ever said anything about that! How token?” he asked.

  Shalaman’s expression was not encouraging. “Blood spilled on both sides, to satisfy honor,” he said. “Deaths, perhaps. Obviously, I cannot now wed Winterhart to make you my allies without the declaration; that was the only way the question could have been resolved. As you would not be allies, and would be occupying our land without permission, you would have to pay for your presumption in personal currency. I am sorry, but unless we have instituted a change, we must uphold the old ways. If I do not do this, I have no doubt that some of my courtiers will take their own private armies and do it themselves. We are not a peaceful people by nature; it is only our law that makes us so. Every chance to make war within the law is eagerly se
ized upon.”

  Amberdrake groaned and buried his head in his hands, his heart sinking. In all of his worst nightmares, he had not thought that the Haighlei would react this way! It wasn’t logical!

  Then again, our logic and these people seem to have very little in common. Now I understand why Leyuet and Silver Veil kept emphasizing the Ceremony. I hadn’t realized that it was quite such an imperative…

  Oh, well. I work better under pressure, or at least I can look that way. Calmness in a crisis fosters trust, even if only by contrast.

  He raised his head from his hands, and saw that everyone in the garden looked as discouraged as he felt.

  He took a deep breath and rearranged his own expression. If Winterhart could pretend convincingly to be estranged from him, he could pretend convincingly to be optimistic.

  “We’ll worry about that after the Ceremony,” he said, firmly. “Unless we concentrate on one thing at a time, we’re bound to feel overwhelmed. Right now, the thing to concentrate on is catching this fiend!”

  Leyuet’s gloomy face brightened as he projected a cheer he did not feel. The King slapped his shoulders heartily, and Skan cocked his head to one side, as if he was holding back a question he’d decided not to ask.

  Like whether or not I’m still sane. Or whether I know something I’m not telling all of them.

  Perhaps he wasn’t sane—but he knew he was right in this. They had to keep their minds focused on catching the murderer, and worrying about the approaching Ceremony would only distract them from that purpose.

  “Like any good commander, you see to the heart of the matter and work from there, Amberdrake,” Shalaman said, his cheer restored. “So—let us plan our next actions, so as to bring this villain to his knees the sooner!”

  * * *

  Hadanelith leaned forward, threw the wooden claw on the kitchen fire, and chuckled as it burned. Noyoki had mentioned this morning when they all met at breakfast that his magics were coming to him with greater ease now—and perhaps that had been in an effort to compliment Hadanelith for his work in creating as much blood-born power as he had. But the explanation might also be that enough time had passed since the last mage-storm that magic power was resuming some of its old pathways, and if that was the case, the Haighlei mages would soon be discovering that fact. While Hadanelith was no mage himself, he had made it his job to find out as much as he could about the spells that “lawkeepers” used to hunt down criminals. No amount of scrubbing would get blood-contamination off a murder weapon; only burning would break the link between it and the last victim.

  So that lovely carving must go, consigned to the flames along with every other souvenir that Hadanelith still had in his personal possession. There was that other carving, of course, but that was not his problem. If Kanshin didn’t take the proper precautions, that was Kanshin’s lookout.

  The cheerful bonfire fit in with his feeling of celebration, though, and did not invoke any kind of sense of loss. Everything was going so well!

  He sat back in the cook’s favorite chair and watched the flames crackle merrily. The cook and all of her underlings pointedly ignored him, but he didn’t mind. They weren’t worth bothering about, and they were all Kanshin’s slaves, so they wouldn’t go running off to tell someone what he’d done. Even if they told Kanshin, the thief wouldn’t care.

  But oh, the pure pleasure he got from hearing the latest news from the court, straight from Noyoki’s own lips!

  Elation made him hungry; he barked an order for fruit into the air, and a slave brought sliced fruit to him directly from the shaking hands of the cook. They might pretend to ignore him, but they didn’t dare ignore a direct order. And they feared him, he knew that, and he reveled in it.

  He stayed in the kitchen, making the slaves nervous, and eating fruit, until the last of the contaminated objects had been reduced to nothing but ashes in the heat of the bake-oven. Then he stood up and left, overturning the cook’s chair with his foot and scattering rinds and cores carelessly before he walked off.

  That would teach them not to ignore him!

  But the morning’s news was too good for a little insubordination to ruin his mood. He strolled back to his rooms, whistling a little, as he contemplated the results of his own genius.

  Amberdrake was in the deepest disgrace, of course, and rumor held he was under house arrest. Now most people believed that Amberdrake and Skandranon between them had contrived the murders of their most outspoken foes in the Court, even though the evidence linking them to the deaths was tenuous at best.

  So Amberdrake is suffering because he is a murder suspect, and suffering twice because his dear gryphon friend is as much a suspect as he is. He may even be suffering three times over, thinking that the stupid beast might have decided to do away with some of their opponents in a more direct fashion than simply arguing them down!

  He giggled, for that in itself was a sheer delight. But there was more, much more.

  Winterhart had broken off publicly with the kestra’chern, declaring that she could not remain bound to one who was tainted with the suspicion of murder. According to Noyoki, her speech before the Court had been short, but passionate, and had taken everyone by surprise.

  It didn’t take him by surprise; Winterhart was a rigid bitch, and proud to boot. She would never stand for even a hint of impropriety, and her own pride would not tolerate a fall in status. He could have predicted this, although he would have thought it would not happen quite this soon.

  But once he learned she had made her break, he knew what Noyoki’s next revelation would be. She would either find someone of higher rank than Amberdrake to attach herself to, like any other parasitic, leeching female, or she would turn around and go back to the city.

  So he wasn’t particularly shocked when Noyoki revealed that the King had declared she had accepted his offer of marriage. It had simply fit in with Winterhart’s personality.

  It had delighted him, though. Amberdrake must have been shattered; Noyoki didn’t know his reaction because he hadn’t emerged from his suite. She had moved out, though, into private apartments, which put the stamp of finality on the rift between them.

  He giggled again, as he flung open the door to his room and glided inside, with a grace even Amberdrake couldn’t replicate. Oh, Amberdrake must be reduced to emotional shards, now—for there was nothing he could do to get Winterhart back! Not even if against all odds he proved himself innocent could he get her back! She would never, ever choose to return to someone like him, when she was to be the wife of a King!

  The greedy little status hunter was probably rolling on her solitary bed right now in an ecstasy of pleasure over her coup and her good fortune.

  He would have to find a way to bring her down, too, but without bringing her back to Amberdrake. That would make him suffer even more.

  Now—how to go about that? And what to do to her, I wonder?

  He sat himself down in his favorite chair, the one built into a replica of the little throne he had in his special room back in the settlement. The one with all the delightful surprises built into it…

  But before he could settle himself into a good planning session, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he started to rise, but the door opened before he could get to it, and Noyoki and Kanshin strolled in as though they belonged there.

  He glared at them in outrage, and they ignored the glare to appropriate two of the best chairs in the room for themselves. They sat down without even asking if he minded!

  Anger held him breathless, which in turn made him speechless.

  “You’ve done exactly as we wanted so far, Hadanelith,” Noyoki said, in that supercilious, ever-so-superior tone he always adopted when he spoke to Hadanelith. “The results have been excellent, and Kanshin and I are agreed that you have passed all the tests we set for you.”

  Tests! Tests! These weren’t tests! What is he talking about! The overfed, obnoxious base-born bastard! What does he think he’s doing? Who does he think h
e’s dealing with!

  “We’ve selected your next target, Hadanelith,” Kanshin said—nervously though. Very nervously. Hadanelith quieted his rage and set it aside. This was odd; he’d never seen the scrawny little thief nervous about any assignment ever before. What could be so difficult about this one?

  “Your next victim will be Shalaman,” Noyoki said with such careless casualness that it had to be an act.

  “Shalaman? The Emperor?” Hadanelith was incredulous, and even angrier than before. He jumped to his feet and faced them both with his fists clenched at his side. “What have you been drinking? You know I won’t handle a man, I have no interest in them!”

  He felt his face flush with fury and outrage. Just who did these two think they were? He’d told them he wouldn’t target males—not for that, anyway! There was only one man he’d ever be willing to kill, and only after he’d made Amberdrake suffer a great deal more than he had so far! It would take years, decades, to inflict all the misery he’d planned on Amberdrake’s soul!

  “Now, Hadanelith, we know it’s going to be dangerous,” Kanshin said in a wheedling voice, as if he were a recalcitrant child. “We’re prepared to take care of that. Haven’t we always?”

  Hadanelith shook his head violently, in disgust, his vision turning red around the edges, he was so angry with them. What was the matter with them? Danger didn’t worry him, and they knew it—danger was only a spice!

  “I am not targeting a male!” he spat. “I told you that before, and I’m not changing my mind just because you think you have a way to kill the Emperor and get away with it!”

  “Well, if you’re afraid—” Noyoki began.

  Hadanelith spat on the floor at his feet in a deliberate insult. “Hardly! Why should I fear one fat old man? I won’t take him as a target, that’s all! That was our bargain—I get targets I like!” He narrowed his eyes, and the red of thwarted rage suffused his entire field of vision. “You’re trying to cheat me!”