The overlord held up a hand, silencing her. “The truth of the matter really isn’t as important, you know, as what people believe.”
“But...”
“There are also stories,” Ederd continued, “about the meetings you held before Tabaea’s identity was known. They say you have sorcerers who would do anything to please you, that a cult of assassins fears you. And it’s said you can vanish and reappear at will, that you’re a master of disguise.”
Sarai was too astonished to protest further.
“You will understand, I am sure,” the overlord said, “that at my age, I am no longer looked upon with awe or fear; that my son, while a good man, has utterly failed to distinguish himself in a lifetime of being my heir and nothing else, and furthermore managed to do nothing but flee when Tabaea threatened his inheritance; and that it’s therefore very useful for me to have someone in my service who is looked upon as a hero, who is believed to have performed superhuman deeds in the interest of keeping me on my throne, or restoring me to it—and who had a chance to take that throne herself, as you are presumed to have had when Tabaea was dead and I not returned, yet who turned that chance down. The existence of such a hero will, I am sure, discourage attempts to emulate poor little Tabaea. I therefore order you, Lady Sarai, as your overlord, not to deny any rumors about your abilities, or about secret knowledge you may possess, no matter how absurd.”
Sarai’s mouth opened, then closed. She stared at Ederd, then finally managed, “Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Then I believe we part here; I’m using Lord Torrut’s quarters until my own apartments are repaired.” He turned, supported by the guard commander, and hobbled down a side corridor.
For a moment, Lady Sarai watched him go. Then she walked on, not toward her own apartments, but toward an exit from the Palace. She wanted to walk in sunlight and fresh air, to think. She did not feel ready to talk to her brother and his nurse.
Besides, she had not yet decided which quarters were hers; should she return to her own old room, or take her father’s?
It was a trivial matter, really, but right now, after sixnights of worrying about usurpers and murderers, World-shaking magic and matters of life and death, she preferred to think about trivia.
She emerged onto the plaza and looked out at the city of Ethshar of the Sands, the streets and houses stretching away in all directions. Directly ahead of her a wisp of smoke from a kitchen fire was spiraling slowly upward.
It reminded her of the smoke from her father’s pyre. He was really gone, now—his soul was free, risen to the gods on that smoke.
She wondered whether Tabaea’s soul had been freed when her body was destroyed, or whether the Seething Death had consumed that, as well. And what of the various people killed by the Black Dagger? No necromancer, of any school, had ever been able to find any trace of their ghosts, either in the World or elsewhere.
She supposed she would never know. There were a great many things she supposed she would never know.
But that would never stop her from learning what she could.
Author’s Note
The Spell of the Black Dagger is unusual in that it was cut down somewhat before its original publication. While most writers seem to write their stories long in the first draft and then trim them down and tighten them up in rewrite, I usually find myself fleshing out details, rather than cutting anything, in the second and subsequent drafts.
This novel was an exception; I cut pieces of several scenes that seemed to be running long. I have not restored those excised pieces in this edition—the reasons I cut them in the first place still hold—but I did want to mention that at least one such outtake is now on my webpage. If you’d like to take a look, go to http://www.ethshar.com/ and follow the links to the page for The Spell of the Black Dagger.
(Parenthetically, I also cut a long scene from The Misenchanted Sword, but that was back when I still used a typewriter instead of a computer, and to the best of my remembrance I threw away the only copy, so it’s probably gone for good. If it ever turns up I’ll probably post that on the web, too.)
Notes on Pronunciation
It’s come to my attention that some readers, thrown by the central cluster of consonants, have had difficulty pronouncing the name “Ethshar.”
It isn’t really that hard. It’s a compound word. “Eth” rhymes with “Beth” and is Ethsharitic for “good” or “safe,” while “shar” rhymes with “car” and is Ethsharitic for “harbor” or “port.”
Ethsharitic names are generally pronounced more or less as if they were English. If there’s any doubt, I hope the following rules will help:
Ethsharitic is a stress-accented language, like English. The accent is on the first syllable unless the vowel is marked (as in Adréan or Zarréa), or unless there is a double consonant, in which case the syllable ending in the double consonant is accented (such as “Falissa,” accented on the second syllable, or “Karanissa,” accented on the third). A marked accent takes precedence over a double consonant, so Zarréa is accented on the second syllable.
There are no silent letters, not even the K in “Ksinallion,” except for silent E following a double consonant at the end of feminine names, as in “Amanelle,” or indicating a long vowel, as in “Haldane.”
A is always as in “father,” never as in “cat.”
AI is always as in “hai!” never as in “rain.”
C is always as in “cat,” never as in “Cynthia.”
CH is always as in “church,” never as in “Achtung!” or “champagne” or any of the other possibilities.
É is pronounced as in “Renée.”
G is always as in “get,” never as in “gem.”
I is always as in “kit,” never as in “kite.”
J is always as in “jet,” never as in “Bjorn” or “je ne sais quois” or “Jose.” (It’s also fairly rare.)
LL is always as in “frill,” never as in “La Jolla.”
OO is always as in “pool,” never as in “book.”
TH is always as in “thin,” never as in “the.”
U is always as in “rune,” never as in “run.”
Y is always as in “any,” never as in “try.”
And if in doubt, just say it however is easiest!
About the Author
Lawrence Watt-Evans is the author of more than two dozen novels, and more than a hundred short stories. Further information can be found on his webpage at http://www.watt-evans.com/.
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