A Dirge for Sabis

by C. J. Cherryh

  "I do not appreciate script which scorches my grazing land, sir. Had you a message for me, a simple letter would have done."

  "This is well known, sir, but last night's message was not for you."

  "Oh? For whom, then?" Wotheng asked, guessing well what the answer was.

  "Why, for the rest of our guests, here." Folweel nodded politely toward Sulun's huddled quartet. "Having no other contact with the House of Deese, and no time to create any, we sent the message by the swiftest and most visible means. My regrets concerning the brief stretch of grass that was scorched, but the missive was urgent and could not wait."

  "What message?" Sulun asked. As if I couldn't guess.

  "Why, simply this." Folweel spread his hands again. "'Tis written in ancient tomes that the Sukkti wizards were often . . . careless . . . with their art—"

  "Careless!" Zeren snorted. Sulun restrained him with a quick touch on the arm.

  "In this case," Folweel said, flicking an eye toward Eloti, then away, "you folk have been most profligate with your knowledge. You have given out spells, and knowledge thereof, to any who asked—taking little care for these folks' magical ability or moral condition. Who knows to what ill uses such unfettered knowledge might be put? We received from the god the message that the Lord of Storms was displeased by such carelessness—most particularly your, hmm, stealing his thunder, as it were, in your new magical device—and that his displeasure might soon be made manifest. That is the warning we tried to send."

  Folweel bowed politely, and waited.

  The reaction was not long in coming. "'Stealing thunder?'" Sulun yelped.

  "The spells we've sold are damned harmless, even beneficial!" Zeren growled.

  "Do you claim my folk are unfit to learn common figures and letters, sir?" barked Wotheng. Eloti said nothing, only rubbed her shoe thoughtfully at the edge of the nearest carpet.

  "Peace, peace," the high priest intoned, raising his hand as if in blessing. "I but report what the god revealed. Surely you know that Yotha has some divine agreement with Vona; elsewise, why do so many fires start from lightning strikes, despite the presence of rain?"

  "Clever," Zeren snorted.

  "We received the god's warning that Vona was displeased with the carelessness of Deese House, and we sent on the warning as clearly as we could. Had we but sent a letter by common -messenger . . ." Folweel paused to smile blandly at each of Sulun's people in turn, "would you have believed it?"

  "No," Doshi admitted, then plucked up his courage to add, "for that matter, why should we believe it now?"

  "Why, then, that is your privilege." The high priest rolled his eyes heavenward. "We but reveal the word of the god. Men, in their willfulness, may refuse to believe, but we have done our part."

  "At the expense of my grazing land," growled Wotheng.

  "A narrow strip, no wider than your hand, easily regrown: hardly damage worth complaint, Lord Wotheng."

  "And the fires that danced along the hills, when first you folk came here?" Wotheng's eyes narrowed. "You claimed you were following the god's trail."

  "And so we were." Folweel remained bland as ever. "The god did point out his track to us, and where he wished his temple built. We lit the track to show people where he had passed and where he alighted. Again, we but illustrated the god's work."

  "And what of the folk who were moved out of the old manse where you wanted the temple built?"

  "Not we, Lord Wotheng, but Yotha himself. Had he not sported there long before ever we came here?" The high priest shrugged eloquently. "As for the folk living there, we did offer to take them into Yotha's household. Many chose to do so, as you recall. Others did not, which was entirely their will."

  "And not to be wondered at, considering the famed capriciousness of your god, Sir Priest."

  "The god does as he wills; we can only interpret his will."

  "Yet you cannot deny," said Wotheng, slamming his fist down on the table, "that it was your fire that burned Poddil's cottage!"

  Why just that one case? Sulun wondered. No witnesses to the others?

  "But I can, Lord Wotheng." Folweel clasped his hands calmly. "We knew from the god that Poddil's cottage would burn. We sent him warning, several times byword of mouth, and finally by the running fire. The first warnings he ignored, the latter came too late; his chimney had already caught fire when the running fire reached him."

  "Chimney?" Wotheng bristled his moustache. "My wife saw your fire run to Poddil's cottage, climb right up his wall and into the thatch of his roof. Are you calling my wife a liar, sir?"

  Aha, reliable witness. Sulun thought, drawing no comfort from it.

  Certainly not," Folweel smiled politely. "I only say, that, when a warning flame runs up a wall to point to a chimney, and the chimney is also, on fire and throws sparks down into the thatch, 'tis very easy to be mistaken concerning exactly which fire set the house alight. You must recall, Lord Wotheng, that witnesses saw sparks shooting out of that chimney and also saw afterward that it had fallen and was burned. The man should never have built his chimney of mere clay-daubed wattle, no matter how thick the clay. Had he not been warned of that before?"

  "Poddil's chimney did indeed catch fire once before," Wotheng said slowly, "but without burning the whole house."

  "Yet it could have done so, then." The high priest shook his head. "That, too, was warning. Poddil simply would not heed warnings."

  "Do you attempt to tell me that Poddil's cottage simply happened to catch fire at the moment that your . . . warning . . . reached him?"

  "Not at all." Folweel shook his head sadly. "In truth, his chimney caught fire a little before our warning reached him. We came too late, for which we pray forgiveness; we are but mortal."

  "Unbelievable," Zeren muttered.

  Don't provoke him! Sulun winced. We want to get out of here alive!

  "And the fire you loosed at Deese House last night?" Wotheng rumbled. "Was that a 'late' warning, too?"

  "How should it be?" Folweel raised his eyebrows, looking most honestly surprised. "Vona has not yet expressed his displeasure at Deese house, has he? Therefore, I trust our warning has reached its goal well before time."

  "By all the gods!" Doshi burst out. "Do you try to tell us that you haven't heard about the poisoning of our workmen yesterday?"

  "Poisoning? Workmen?" The high priest looked perfectly surprised. "Why, what's this? I've had no word on it."

  "I see." Wotheng leaned back in his chair. "Then you wouldn't know that the poisoner has been seized, and has confessed?"

  "You are the first to bring me this news, Lord Wotheng." Folweel bowed slightly. "I congratulate you on the speed of your justice."

  "Then let me also be first to tell you that the man claimed he was paid to poison the workmen's bread—paid by one of your priests, sir." Wotheng pulled a small scroll from his belt pouch and tossed it on the table. "This is the man's confession, as I heard from his own lips."

  Folweel coolly took up the scroll, opened and read it. No more than a righteous frown showed on his composed face. "Indeed a serious matter," he murmured. "This fellow—Bassip? A baker's wagoner?—claims much. Can you be certain he speaks the truth in any of this?"

  "I saw with my own eyes the proof that he did the poisoning." Wotheng tapped his fingers quietly on his belt. "I heard with my own ears his confession that Twoz, under-priest of Yotha, paid him to do it and gave him the poison. I wrote with my own hands what he said, as you may read."

  The high priest smiled, most gently. "Surely you know, Lord Wotheng, that a man found guilty of a serious crime will often try to shift or divide blame by accusing another. Likewise, one put to . . . serious question . . . in such a case will say whatever he thinks his questioners want to hear."

  Wotheng flushed a dull red. He didn't care to have his own reasoning thrown back at him. "There is still the little question of the poison and the money. Bassip told me where in his house he'd hidden the money he got for this task; we searched
and found it there. How came he by the money, pray?"

  "Who can say? It might have been a long-saved treasure, or the result of robbery, or some windfall prize he did not care to report at tax time." Folweel raised a knowing eyebrow. "He could well have mentioned his secret hoard purely to convince you of the truth of his story."

  "And the poison, Sir Priest? There was over a pint of it to poison that barrel of flour. Where came he by that?"

  "He could have had that from any patch of mould-tainted rye, field grown or wild seeded. A wagoner who deals with bakers, millers, and farmers would have much opportunity to recognize such." Folweel flicked a long nail at the relevant line of Bassip's confession. "Who can guess his true reasoning for this? Perhaps the man has some grudge against the baker, or this under-priest, or someone who works on the new walls at Deese House. Perhaps, knowing that the houses of Deese and Yotha are, hmm, not speaking to each other, he hoped to raise ill will between us. Who can say?"

  For a moment none of the others spoke. Eloti only shook her head in admiration for the well-woven words.

  "We didn't start any such dissension between our houses," Sulun put in, a bit warmly. "By all the gods, we didn't even know you existed until one of your people tried to put a curse on our new walls. The first blow, sir, was yours."

  "I, sir?" The high priest looked genuinely grieved. "All I know of that affair is that the crushed corpse of a man, whom one of the under-priests identified as one of our worshippers, was brought to Yotha House one night. The workmen who brought him said he'd been the victim of some magic gone awry. We buried him with proper rites, and that was an end to it. If indeed there was some ill magic done, then who suffered from it if not our poor worshipper—and, by his loss, us?"

  "The man was your chief stonemason!" Sulun snapped. "He put the focus of a curse onto our walls while he worked there!"

  "My dear sir!" Folweel raised his hands beseechingly. "We have not had much stoneworking done about the temple estate for many moons; if any of our masons wished to take some temporary work elsewhere, we certainly would not prevent them. As to his ill-wishing your uncompleted walls, who can say why he did so? Perhaps he hoped to gain himself more work thereby. Not all of our herd are free from the sin of greed, despite our best efforts."

  "Amazing," Zeren murmured again.

  Wotheng ignored him, keeping his steady stare on the priest. "And yet, sir, you loosed Yotha's fire against Deese House on the very evening of that . . . accident. The fire very nearly consumed the workmen's scaffolding. Why, Sir Priest, did you that?"

  "Ah, the fire again." Folweel smiled and shook his head. "As I have already said, the god speaks of divine displeasure at the dangerous carelessness of the Sukkti wizardry, of which our stonemason died. As for the scaffolding, well, the under-priests who sent the fire may be forgiven if they were upset by their servant's death and, in their distraction, perhaps let the fire run too close to the scaffolding where the man died." He shrugged eloquently. "In any case, as I've heard, the scaffolding was not burned and no harm was done."

  "Except to a bit of grass." Wotheng tapped his fingers on his belt, over and over. "Would one of those under-priests who loosed the fire that night have been this fellow Twoz, perhaps?"

  The high priest frowned long in thought. "That may well have been, lord Wotheng. I shall investigate this matter."

  "I should like to investigate it myself, also. Pray bring this Twoz fellow to me; I wish to question him."

  "That I shall gladly do, m'lord, as soon as he returns from the north." Folweel smiled benignly. "Twoz is one of the under-priests who went north with our last trade caravan, nearly a fortnight ago. Thus he could hardly have hired Bassip to poison your miller's flour two days ago, which is why I suspect Bassip's confession on this point."

  "He might, of course, have begun the plot before he left."

  "Quite possibly. We shall certainly question Twoz most carefully upon his return—and, of course, send him to you as well."

  "Of course." Wotheng tapped and tapped his fingers. "And do you swear, Sir Priest, on your own altar to Yotha, that you have no malice, and have done no ill-wishing, to Deese House or any thereof?"

  "Certainly I will swear so." The high priest looked utterly sincere. "Our sole complaint against Deese's priesthood is, as I've said, their dangerous carelessness with magical knowledge and application."

  "If that's so," Wotheng smiled tightly, "then this Bassip fellow has done your house as much harm as Deese House, what with making either the false accusations against your under-priest or else entering in a private conspiracy with him. True?"

  "Quite true, m'lord."

  "Why, then, I shall hand him over to your examination and judgment." Wotheng pulled himself up from the chair. "You have his confession there, and my guards have him in your courtyard. I'll also send you written account of my investigation of the poisoning, and how his guilt was discovered, if you wish."

  "I shall be happy to receive them, Lord Wotheng," said Folweel, quite calmly.

  "Until this Twoz returns then, I'll leave the matter in your hands. Good day, Sir Priest. Come along, good folk."

  Sulun and the others had no choice but to rise, bow minimally in politeness, and follow Wotheng to the door.

  At the threshold Wotheng turned. "Only one more thing, Sir Priest."

  "Yes, Lord Wotheng?"

  "Don't burn so much as another handspan of my land. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, Lord Wotheng."

  The Lord of Ashkell tramped out, letting the door swing shut behind him.

  * * *

  They were well past the temple's lands before anyone spoke. Zeren leaned over the edge of the wagon to catch Wotheng's attention, and asked in as quiet a voice as he could, "Lord Wotheng, why don't you just take your men-at-arms and clean that snake's nest out? I'll be happy to help."

  Wotheng laughed sourly. "There speaks a soldier, right enough. Lad, I'd have done so long before this if I could—and if I hadn't thought ahead a bit. Think you: enough folk would be glad to see the last of Yotha, perhaps happy enough to join a campaign to drive them out like wolves, aye, and even accept the combat losses.

  "But think a bit further down the road. In a year's time, or two, or thereabouts, the next of my lot to have any argument with me would get to thinking, 'Wotheng waited for no sure proof of crime before he turned on Yotha's priests, so what will he do to us?' Soon enough they'd find reason to grieve for Yotha's lot, and more reason to fear me. One makes secret enemies that way, my boy, great numbers of 'em. That I can't afford. No, I need proof clear and bald for all folk to see before I send swords against Yotha—or anyone. Do y'see that?"

  "I . . . see." Zeren chewed his lip a little. "However, if someone else were to make an end of Yotha's priesthood . . ."

  "Then I'd have to sit in judgment on the case. Be careful, lad."

  "Understood." Zeren sighed. "I'm a soldier, as you said, and no ruler. These games are a bit beyond me."

  "Well, let me suggest—seeing as someone has, most definitely, tried to harm your folk—that you borrow a few of my guardsmen to watch your house and walls and workmen's camp for you. I'll hire them out cheap; all I ask is that you teach them some of the tricks you've learned in your soldiering. Like you the deal?"

  "Yes." Zeren grinned. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, m'lord."

  "Aye, that's what the wife says." Wotheng spurred his horse forward a few paces to hear the conversation going on in the front of the wagon.

  Doshi was cursing bitterly over the whole visit. "Snake-tongued, wily monster, turning our own words back on us. Carelessness! Oh, bull's balls! He sat there and accused us of dangerous magic, that—that—"

  "Clever old bastard," Sulun supplied. "At least he won't be setting fires so freely again."

  "But what else will he do? He has so damned much power! You know that Bassip was his hireling, and could still run around poisoning people. Do we have to watch every drop of water, every crumb of food, for th
e rest of our lives? What if—"

  "I doubt Bassip the Wagoner will do any more poisoning," said Sulun. "To keep protesting his innocence, Folweel will have to punish the man—and none too lightly. In fact . . . seeing that Bassip's clearly guilty, no longer useful, and has some damaging tales to tell about who hired him, I suspect that the poisoner hasn't many days left to live."

  "Oh." Doshi thought that over, and was silent.

  "I see you understand me," Wotheng put in, startling them both. "So we're all rid of a poisoner, and Folweel won't be so free with his fires hereafter, and I rather think that this fellow Twoz won't be showing his nose in Ashkell again."

  "I understand, Lord Wotheng, and I thank you," Sulun concurred. "I only worry about Folweel's next move against us."

  "He might have the sense to make none." Wotheng sighed. "Well, if not, then I suspect he'll not move soon or anywhere near so boldly. I'm lending you some of my guards until next harvest comes in. No, don't thank me yet; you'll have only that long to outguess the next move from Yotha House. I trust your own house will be secure by then."

  "As much as we can make it, m'lord."

  "Yotha will have his own harvest to get in," Eloti recalled. "And if his donations have fallen slack of late, his priests will have to concern themselves heavily with their farming if they want to be warm and well fed this winter."

  "Let's hope so," Sulun muttered.

  "And if they have time left over for mischief," Wotheng added, "let's hope 'tis not much."

  "Perhaps they'll have other concerns as well." Eloti smiled wickedly. "In case of any complaint, Lord Wotheng, remember that one of Yotha's admitted household did do a bit of ill-wishing on a bit of our property first."

  "Oho?" Wotheng raised a shaggy eyebrow. "And could anyone do a little bit of ill-wishing right back? Even through Yotha House's famous magical defenses?"

  "Certainly. One might cast a small curse upon a small part of Yotha House from the inside—especially while the high priest was too busy in a duel of wits to notice." Eloti smiled, smiled, like a cat with a whole bowl of cream.