The Spell of the Black Dagger

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Quite sure,” Sarai replied.

  Vengar frowned. “I regret to say,” he said, “that we are still unable to help you. Ours is purely a physical magic; we have no way to read the thoughts or memories of other warlocks, and we do not spy on each other. It may well be that one or more warlocks participated in these crimes; it may even be that those participants were among the warlocks of Ethshar of the Sands, and as such nominally subject to this council. Still, we have no knowledge of them, nor any means of obtaining such knowledge.”

  “You’re certain of that?” Sarai asked.

  “I swear it,” answered Vengar.

  “You all say so? You all swear it?”

  There was a general mutter of agreement, but Sarai was not satisfied; she went through the entire score, one by one. All gave their oaths that they knew nothing about the murders that Sarai did not.

  Finally, the vows complete, Sarai announced, “I accept your word. Still, you claim to represent the warlocks of this city, and that means that you are partially responsible for them, as well. I therefore charge you all to tell me at once if you learn anything more, and further, I hereby require, in the overlord’s name, that if at any point in this investigation I call upon the services of the Council of Warlocks, that those services will be forthcoming. It doesn’t have to be any of you who does what I ask—send your journeymen, your apprentices, whoever you please, but when I call, I expect cooperation.” This speech was composed on the spur of the moment; she was up against a magically-gifted multiple murderer, who might reasonably be expected to be very dangerous. Knowing that she could call on several powerful warlocks would be reassuring. “Is that clear?” she asked.

  Sirinita spoke up again. “Who are you,” she demanded, “to give orders to the Council of Warlocks?”

  “I,” Sarai answered, “am Minister of Investigations and Acting Minister of Justice to Ederd the Fourth, Overlord of Ethshar of the Sands, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Armies—which means that I have those holy armies, which is to say the city guard, at my disposal.”

  “You seek to frighten us with mere soldiers?” Sirinita sneered.

  “Not exactly,” Sarai said. “I hope to frighten you with the knowledge that if you defy me, you’ll be forced to use your warlockry over and over to defend yourselves for as long as you stay in this city—and we all know what happens when a warlock uses a little too much of his magic, don’t we? The twenty of you are the most powerful warlocks in the city—but you and I realize what most people do not, that that also makes you the twenty most vulnerable to the Calling. True, you’ll easily be able to defeat a dozen guardsmen apiece, but I have several thousand soldiers I can send and send and send, until the Calling does my work for me. And there’s nothing south of here but ocean; if you try to flee farther from Aldagmor, that means the Small Kingdoms far to the east, or the Pirate Towns to the west—is that really what you want?”

  She stared questioningly at them; no one answered.

  After a moment of silence, Sarai said, “I don’t like making threats, you know; I’m not trying to make enemies of you, any of you. I’m just explaining that I do know who and what you are, and that I will have your cooperation, one way or another. This investigation is very, very important to me.”

  There was a reluctant mutter of acknowledgment.

  With that, Sarai dismissed eighteen of the warlocks, but asked Vengar and Sirinita to stay for a moment.

  “Sirinita,” she said in a low voice, when the others had gone, “I don’t know why you seem so displeased that the overlord’s government should require the cooperation of the Council of Warlocks. Is there some personal issue at stake here?”

  Sirinita, a magnificent creature who looked scarcely older than Sarai but far more powerful, and who stood several inches taller, peered down her nose at the noblewoman. “I became a warlock,” she said, “because I was tired of being told what I could and couldn’t do. I worked my way up to the Council at an earlier age than anyone else for the same reason. And I still don’t like it.”

  Sarai sighed. “I will keep that in mind, then.” She dismissed them both; she had only wanted Vengar as a witness and restraint on Sirinita, should she prove dangerous.

  Then, for several minutes, she sat on the edge of the dais, thinking.

  She had completely forgotten her entourage until Captain Tikri cleared his throat. She looked up.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “My lady,” Tikri said, “one of my men reports that a stranger wishes to speak with you.”

  Sarai blinked up at him. “What sort of a stranger?”

  Tikri shrugged. “He’s dressed as a magician,” he said. “That’s all we know. That, and that he knew where to find you.”

  “Send him in,” Sarai said, puzzled.

  The moment she spoke, the door at the back of the council chamber opened, and a figure in white appeared. Sarai watched silently as he approached.

  He was a man of medium height, heavily built, wearing a robe of fine white linen; a hood hid any hair, and his weathered face was clean-shaven—Sarai could not remember ever before seeing a man so obviously mature without so much as a mustache.

  He stopped a few feet away, looking down at her. He did not bow.

  “I am Abran of Demerchan,” he announced.

  Sarai stared silently up at him.

  “It has come to the attention of our organization, Lady Sarai,” Abran said, speaking slowly and clearly, as if he were reciting a prepared speech in a language not his own, “that you suspect we are responsible for a series of unnatural deaths that have taken place in this city. I am here on behalf of Demerchan to address this suspicion.”

  “Go on,” Sarai told him.

  Abran nodded, and said, “You know of Demerchan as a cult of assassins; that description is inadequate, at best, but it is true that at times we have slain outsiders. However, we have not struck down any of those whose slayer you seek. I swear, by my name and by all the gods, that Demerchan had no part in the deaths of Inza the Apprentice, Captain Deru of the Guard, Athaniel the Theurgist, Karitha of the East End, Serem the Wise, or Kelder of Quarter Street. If you doubt me, consider that Demerchan has existed for centuries—why, then, should we suddenly kill these, and in this new and noticeable way?”

  “Any number of possible reasons,” Sarai answered, a little surprised by her own courage in answering this intimidating figure. “Someone could have hired you, for example.”

  “But none did,” the spokesman for Demerchan replied. “You have your concealed magicians who can tell truth from falsehood; they will tell you I speak the truth.”

  Sarai was rather annoyed by this; what was the point of putting Okko in another room if everyone knew he was there? “There are spells that can fool any magician,” she remarked.

  “I need no such spells,” Abran insisted. “I promise you, if we of Demerchan had sought to remove these people, none of you would ever know that their deaths had not been mere happenstance and coincidence. We are not so obvious as this new power that stalks your city; our ways are subtle and various.”

  “That’s what you claim,” Sarai said.

  For the first time, Abran allowed himself to appear visibly annoyed.

  “Yes,” he said, “that is what we claim, and we make this claim because we know it to be true. Why would we want to slay these people? None of them had troubled us; indeed, we do not trouble ourselves with Ethshar of the Sands at all, in the normal course of events. Our interests lie farther east.”

  “Maybe you’re extending those interests,” Tikri suggested from behind him. “Things have been pretty stirred up in the Small Kingdoms lately—that’s where you people operate, isn’t it? But the Empire of Vond has been changing things...”

  “Even if we were troubled by Vond, which we are not, why would Demerchan want anything to do with Ethshar of the Sands?” Abran asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sarai admitted.

&nb
sp; “Lady Sarai,” Tikri said, “regardless of whether he’s responsible for these mysterious deaths, hasn’t this man just admitted that he’s part of a conspiracy of murderers?”

  Sarai, somewhat startled, realized that Abran had, indeed, done just that. She nodded to Tikri, who started forward.

  Before the captain could touch the white-robed figure, however, Abran raised his hands, spoke a single strange word, and vanished.

  “Damn,” Tikri said, stopping short.

  Sarai bit her lip. This was magic, of course.

  Well, she had some of that available herself, just now. “Okko! Mereth!” she called. “Did you see where Abran went? Is he still here, invisible?”

  “Keep the doors closed!” Tikri called.

  Okko’s voice sounded from his hiding place. “I find no trace of him.”

  And no trace was ever found—a search of the room turned up nothing, a hastily-summoned witch could detect no sign that anyone fitting Abran’s description had ever been in the Great Council Chamber. A canvass of the inns failed to locate any such visiting foreigner.

  Okko and Mereth agreed that he had been there, however, and Okko said that there had been no sign at any time in the conversation that Abran was lying.

  When Sarai finally retired, late that night, she was unsure just what she had seen and spoken to, unsure whether to believe what he had told her—but all in all, she thought that he was most likely just what he said he was, that he had spoken the simple truth, and departed by means of a prepared spell of some sort.

  If so, then Demerchan was not responsible, nor, she believed, were any of the other magicians’ groups—except, perhaps, the Wizards’ Guild.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Teneria of Fishertown arrived the next day, a thin, solemn young woman Sarai judged to be not yet twenty.

  Sarai had intended to arrange a meeting with representatives of the Wizards’ Guild, rather as she had with the Council of Warlocks, but the witch’s arrival distracted her from that; instead, she settled down in Captain Tikri’s office and chatted with Teneria about the connections and differences between witchcraft and warlockry—or tried to.

  “I understand you’re a witch, but that you’re supposed to be expert on the other sorts of magicians,” Sarai said.

  Teneria shook her head. “Not all magicians, my lady. It just happens that a little over a year ago I found myself in the company of a warlock for a time, and the two of us discovered some interesting things about our two varieties of magic. Where most magicks conflict one with another, we found that we could make ours work together, and thereby become more than the sum of their parts. So since then I’ve tried to study the interactions between witchcraft and the other magicks—but I haven’t learned much, yet. I’ve been too busy earning a living and living my life.”

  Sarai nodded. “What became of the warlock, then?”

  Teneria hesitated. “He went to Aldagmor,” she said at last.

  Sarai blinked.

  “Went to Aldagmor?” Captain Tikri asked. “How do you mean... ?”

  Teneria shrugged, and Sarai waved Tikri to silence. “Went to Aldagmor” surely meant that he was drawn by the Calling, and was gone forever; no warlock ever returned from Aldagmor. If Teneria’s interest in him had been personal, as well as professional, the subject was probably a painful one, and it didn’t seem relevant to the matter at hand.

  The conversation continued, and the two were just getting comfortable with one another when a knock sounded on the office door.

  Tikri answered it, as Sarai and Teneria watched. They heard a woman’s voice say, “Hello, Captain; I wasn’t sure you were in, your door isn’t usually closed.”

  Sarai recognized the voice. “That’s Mereth of the Golden Door,” she told Teneria. “She’s a wizard specializing in divinations.”

  “What can I do for you, wizard?” Tikri asked.

  “I just wanted to be sure that Lady Sarai wouldn’t be needing me today,” Mereth replied. “I have a meeting to go to...”

  Tikri glanced at Lady Sarai, who frowned. What sort of a meeting was Mereth talking about? “Bring her in,” she told the captain.

  Tikri opened the door and motioned for Mereth to enter; she stepped in, looked around the cluttered little room, and spotted Sarai and Teneria. Teneria rose from her chair.

  “Oh, hello, Lady Sarai,” she said cheerfully.

  “Good morning, Mereth,” Sarai answered. “I’d like you to meet Teneria of Fishertown; she’s a witch who will be helping us investigate the murders. From Ethshar of the Spices.”

  “Oh,” Mereth said, startled. “You’re bringing in foreign advisors, too?”

  “Yes, I thought...” Sarai stopped in mid-sentence. Something about the way Mereth had phrased her question had belatedly caught her attention. “What do you mean, ‘too’?” she asked.

  Mereth looked flustered. “Well, I mean the Wizards’ Guild has been sending for experts as part of their investigations—there’s a wizard from the Small Kingdoms called Tobas of Telven who’s due to arrive any day now, and a witch who works with him named Karanissa of the Mountains.”

  “A witch?” Sarai asked. A witch working with a wizard? She glanced at Teneria.

  Mereth shrugged. “That’s what I heard. And they’re trying to find Fendel the Great, they hope they can convince him to come out of retirement...”

  Sarai started; even before she became Minister of Investigation and begun seriously studying magic, she had heard of Fendel the Great. She had thought he was long dead. “Wait a minute,” Sarai said. “What do they want with these people? What do you mean, ‘their investigations’?”

  “Well, I mean their investigation of the murders, of course, Lady Sarai. After all, it involves wizards—someone murdered a Guildmaster, and that means that everyone responsible must die as quickly and horribly as possible, and then there’s the fact that whoever did it used wizardry, and the Guild doesn’t allow anyone to use wizardry except real wizards, and besides, the magic involved might be an entirely new spell, and the Guild...”

  “And they didn’t tell me?” Sarai shouted.

  Mereth, cowed, blinked at her silently.

  “What’s this meeting you were going to?” Sarai demanded. “Is it connected with this?”

  Mereth nodded. “I’m supposed to meet the Guildmasters at the Cap and Dagger and tell them what I know from helping you,” she explained timidly. “Ordinarily I suppose they’d use the Guildhouse, but they...”

  “When?” Sarai demanded.

  “Noon.”

  “Where is this Cap and Dagger? That’s an inn?”

  Mereth nodded. “On Gate Street, between Wizard and Arena,” she said.

  “Good,” Sarai said, rising from her chair. “Captain Tikri, I want as many guardsmen as you can find to accompany me; Teneria, I would appreciate it if you would join us. Mereth, I am going with you to this meeting.”

  “I don’t...” Mereth began uncertainly.

  “I didn’t ask,” Sarai snapped.

  An hour later, as noon approached, Mereth walked up Gate Street with a burly soldier on either side; immediately behind her came Sarai and Teneria, and following the two of them came Captain Tikri at the head of three dozen uniformed men. The normal midday traffic stepped aside as this formidable party approached, and they arrived unhindered at the door of a large and elegant inn, where a signboard above the door displayed a silver dagger across a red-and-gold wizard’s cap.

  At Sarai’s order, soldiers flung open the door of the inn and marched in with swords drawn.

  Close behind them, Sarai marched into the common room and found a dozen astonished men and women in magician’s robes looking up at this unexpected intrusion. She saw Algarin of Longwall, Heremon the Mage, and a few other familiar faces among them.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded an elderly man Sarai recognized as Telurinon, the senior Guildmaster. “You’re interrupting a private gathering, young woman.”

&nbs
p; Sarai announced, “Guildmaster Telurinon, you will address me properly. I am Lady Sarai, Acting Minister of Justice, and you are all under suspicion of treason.”

  That created a stir, during which Sarai stepped into the room and allowed Mereth, Teneria, Tikri, and the other soldiers to enter, crowding the good-sized room.

  “What are you talking about?” Telurinon demanded. A soldier thrust the point of his sword toward the wizard’s throat, and Telurinon belatedly and begrudgingly added, “My lady.”

  “I am talking about what appears to be deliberate subversion of the criminal justice system of this city,” Sarai explained. “You wizards have been withholding information from the Minister of Investigation, refusing to speak with her, while using undue influence on her employees to obtain the results of her own efforts.”

  “Aren’t you the Minister of Investigation?” someone asked.

  Sarai nodded. “That’s right,” she said, “but right now I’m here as Minister of Justice—since you all chose to ignore my invitations as Minister of Investigation.”

  “What’s going on?” a white-haired wizard asked. “I thought we were all here because some rogue was using wizardry without our leave; I want no part of treason.”

  “You are all here,” Sarai said, “because someone, or some group, is responsible for killing half a dozen innocent citizens of Ethshar, most of them magicians. It’s my belief that this is the work of some sort of cult or conspiracy, one that is based on magic, and because of that I formally requested the assistance of the Wizards’ Guild to help me find those guilty of these crimes, so that they may be stopped. My requests were ignored.”

  “Why don’t you find them yourself?” Algarin shouted. “You claim to be the overlord’s investigator—investigate it yourself, then!”

  “I have,” Sarai replied angrily.

  “From what I’ve heard so far, you’ve hired a bunch of magicians to investigate, you haven’t done anything yourself!”

  “And just what would you suggest I do?” Sarai demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Algarin replied. “I’m a wizard, and while I may have worked for your father a few times, I don’t pretend to be an investigator!”