by Garon Whited
“Will this affect the current state of vendetta?”
“Not for a year or more. She will have to conceive and bear a child before she can lay claim to the House.”
“Then it’s not my immediate concern. I have to deal with Naskarl and House Sarcana.”
“I’d worry about Nironda,” Renata advised. “She can be vindictive. She’s sweeter than honey-wine when she’s getting her way, subtle as a knife in the dark when she doesn’t. She used Palan and she’s using Naskarl. She’ll be angry at the way the plan has come apart. Definitely at me, maybe with you.”
I rubbed my forehead and winced when my fingertips brushed the electrical burn. It started to throb again.
“Fine. I’ll give them a call and see how we can settle this.”
My plans to make the call were interrupted by a messenger carrying a small mirror. I recognized it as one of the sentry-post communications mirrors. He handed it to me.
Velina smiled at me. I didn’t like her smile. It reminded me of mine.
“Mazhani.”
“Velina. What news?” I asked, noting the background of smoke and the aftermath of battle.
“We are victorious. We have forty prisoners, including three of the First.”
“You already attacked the roadblock?”
“Yes, sir.”
I rubbed my forehead again, more carefully. It was going to be that kind of day.
“Excellent work,” I decided. “How many wounded are there?”
“Sir?”
“Never mind. Bring the wounded to the keep. Bring the prisoners, too. We’ll earn bonus points for mercy, I suppose.”
“On the way, sir,” she answered, as though she expected the order.
I continued upstairs, this time to the bedroom, and rested. For all the times I’ve used high voltage, I’m still not electrically powered. Note for the future: a superconductor mesh in the armor, maybe, for superior grounding potential. Something to keep the current away from my own tender skin, like a Faraday cage. I’ll ask Diogenes about it. Someday.
Give me ten minutes and I’ll call Naskarl.
Make it fifteen.
Naskarl didn’t answer, but his wizard did. From the distortion and the angle, I think it was a crystal ball. I identified myself and asked for Naskarl. A cloth went over the ball and I waited. At least my burns were coming along nicely. There was a mild throb but nothing worse, as long as I didn’t pick at it. Instead, I focused on remembering: I am the Demon King. I am the Mazhani of this valley. I am not to be trifled with.
I didn’t want to admit anything to anyone listening, so I had Renata sit to one side, out of view, in case I needed to prove her condition.
The cloth came off and Naskarl looked out at me. He sat in a heavy chair and appeared to be alone. I had to admit, Renata was right. He was a rather handsome man. No doubt he could be charming, as well. He did not strike me so, however.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“You want to speak as equals? Fine. I—”
“You are no equal to me!”
I sighed.
“Naskarl of Sarcana, you have a score of your financial sources slaughtered, your treasury looted, and your roadblock—on my road—broken. I’m willing to ransom your captured warriors, but I’m not sure you can afford it. Worse, your plans to deceive the Temple about Palan’s heir through Nironda, using Renata, is known to me and completely impossible, now. Are you going to listen to what I have to say or are we going to finish this vendetta the way the Temple wants? They’ve been manipulating us from the start. Do you want to be their puppet?”
I worried about him for a moment. His face turned an ugly shade of eggplant. The veins on his forehead were ready to pop. It looked as though he couldn’t speak.
If he had a stroke, right there, on the spot, would Malais immediately inherit? Food for thought.
“Take a few minutes. Take a breath. Get a massage and a drink. Call me back when you’re ready to discuss how we can both get what we want—if we cooperate. It may still be possible for your—excuse me, Palan’s—heir to inherit the House.” I broke the connection and waited. Renata cleared her throat.
“Mazhani?”
“Hmm?”
“Naskarl’s heir…” she trailed off, both hands on her belly.
“No. You aren’t being sold out. I won’t have it. I won’t do it and I won’t allow it.”
“I accept what you say,” she agreed, cautiously, “but I do not understand.”
“There’s a secret I’ve been trying to keep from the Temples,” I began.
“That you’re a wizard?” she interrupted.
“Uh… yes.”
“I think the Temple doesn’t know, but they may suspect. The valley certainly knows, but they do not speak of it.”
“Well, that’s… reassuring, sort of.” I reflected how I really needed to do better at concealing my abilities. I’m used to hiding the fact I’m a blood-drinking monster, but not having any other blood-drinking monsters around sort of encourages me to be extra-secret about it. It’s harder to hide the fact I’m a wizard in a world where there are wizards. I mean, if magic was only used by horrible witches through pacts with ancient evils, I’d be much more circumspect. Maybe I should be, anyway.
“What I’m getting at,” I continued, “is there exists a significant possibility I can force Nironda’s body to have a baby. Naskarl’s, if he wants. I might even manage to make the timing work out, if he’s willing to work with me.”
“Wizards can do that?”
“Not all of them. It depends on the spells they know. Come to that, I’m not sure I can, but I’m willing to try.”
“Nironda is beautiful,” Renata admitted. “Although, if Leisel tells us true, I don’t know if Naskarl will want you to try. He might be jealous.”
“What?”
“I was simply thinking he might—” she broke off as the mirror on the wall chimed and the reflection rippled. One of Naskarl’s wizard hirelings nodded and stepped aside for Naskarl himself.
“State your proposal,” he snapped. His face was less florid, but there was still an impressive collection of veins throbbing in his temples. I wondered about his cholesterol.
I leaned forward, intently, almost intimately.
“The Temple is screwing you over,” I stated. “They’re the ones who determine who inherits your House. Your House. Under the rules of inheritance, your half-sister could become manzhani if she has the sense—and ambition—to marry well. To keep her from gaining control, you either have to pay the Temple—excuse me, ‘offer up a material sacrifice’—to get a favorable determination regarding the will of the gods… or you have to make it obvious your sister has no claim.” I beckoned Renata forward. She rose and came into view. “As you can see, Renata will not be helping with the second plan.”
Naskarl was a study in restraint. A purplish study, but restraint. I don’t think he completely believed me. Renata might be wearing something to simulate being farther along. He kept quiet and reserved judgment, despite his impulses.
“Now,” I continued, letting Renata move back to her chair, “I have access to a way to let Nironda carry a child to term much more quickly than is normal. I’ll help you. Between us, we can make it look as though she’s bearing Palan’s child and so keep you in control of House Sarcana no matter what your sister does or what the Temple says. If Nironda can’t bear a child, well, maybe we can find a way to let her. If all else fails, she can go into seclusion until enough time has passed and we go find one. Whatever it takes. This benefits you, obviously, but it also benefits me by getting the Temple—or, rather, you, being manipulated by the Temple—off my back. I, of course, will keep your secret since I’ll be just as guilty of deception. What do you say?”
Naskarl breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring, but his color improved. He was still affronted by something, probably me, but he was also thinking.
“There is a simpler solution,” h
e said, finally. “One I may not employ.”
“Oh?”
“If my sister was not able to marry a high-born member of my caste, she would be no threat.”
“Are you suggesting I court her or kill her? I can do either. I have a vidat, but no galvanais.”
“Either would suit my purposes.”
“I’ll consider it. In the event I can do neither, I will still be willing to shut out the possibility of her taking House Sarcana from you. Given the time constraints, assuming you want Nironda to, ah, ‘bear Palan’s child,’ we should put that plan in motion immediately.”
“I am unprepared to do so. You have not yet told me your price for this. You will want the vendetta ended, of course. What of your other demands?”
He was at least entertaining the idea. I liked that. I dialed back my arrogance a few notches.
“First, manzhani, allow me to ask… Sarcana declared a vendetta between our Houses, but who suggested it? Did the Temple suggest we fight? Or did you decide? Or did you approach the Temple with the idea and they endorsed it immediately?”
Naskarl’s lips twitched as he caught what he was about to say. He looked indignant for an instant and it switched rapidly to contemplative. He said nothing for over a minute, considering.
“What are you implying?” he asked, finally. I liked his tone. It wasn’t aggressive or sneering. He was interested.
“I came out here with a bunch of warriors and started building a village. We’ve collected a lot of people—people who didn’t care to live in Sarashda. I’m building a House out here, and we don’t have a single priest. We haven’t built a Temple. The Temples don’t like change, do they? They like everyone neatly categorized in the categories they decide.”
“Go on.”
“The Temple doesn’t have troops of its own, does it?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Instead, it grants permission for conflicts between Houses, yes?”
“The gods make their will known to the priests,” he said, slowly. “They inform everyone else.”
“What if the priests lie? No, better question. The priests tell you if a vendetta is acceptable. For this, you make a financial sacrifice. How many times has a vendetta been granted when a House is doing something the Temple might not like? How often is it granted when the Temple would benefit from such a conflict?”
Naskarl said nothing, but made the finger-twirling gesture to continue.
“Renata was a pretext,” I told him. “My guess is a priest or two encouraged you to send troops out into the middle of nowhere and blockade an upstart community not yet under the dominion of the Temples. I’m not privy to what you said, what they said, but if we look back on it—if you look back on it—does it seem as though they might have suggested it was a good idea?”
Naskarl steepled his fingers and tapped his lips with the index fingers. His eyes narrowed as he considered.
“How does this relate to what you want for the end of our vendetta?”
“We’ve damaged each other and caused no end of difficulty. I propose we simply stop. I don’t want to fight any more. What I do want is your help, in a small way.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want my vidat back. She’s missing, and I suspect the Temple has hired wizards and warriors to take her. As long as we’re fighting, I can’t devote proper effort to seeking her. If we stop, I’d ask you to… not actually investigate, but perhaps ask around. She’s being held somewhere my wizard can’t easily find her, so a general idea of where to look would be helpful.”
Naskarl nodded, still thinking.
“You offer me aid with Nironda’s child,” he stated, “in return for an end to the vendetta and information on your vidat’s whereabouts. You think I have her?”
“I think someone does. You know more people, have more contacts in Sarashda and in the Temple,” I pointed out. “If it turns out you do have her, giving her back will be simple for you. Plus, I’m also offering you your warriors back. We captured several of them when we took the roadblock.”
“What of the ones you captured earlier?”
“I sent those back already.”
“The ones with the head?”
“The head?”
“The one you cut off and talked to.”
“Londrin and his guys,” I agreed.
“I don’t mean Londrin’s men. The ones after them.”
“Ah.” I lightly rubbed the electrical burn along the side of my face. “The person or persons who took my vidat left behind a magical trap of lightning. It killed most of my prisoners, nearly killed two of my guards, and didn’t do me any favors.”
“I see.” He continued to think.
“I can have their bodies returned, if you like.”
“No.”
“Very well.”
“I will need some time to consider these… developments. I shall have to look into some matters before I give you answer.”
“I’ll have someone mind the mirror.”
“Very good.” He moved away and someone cut the connection. I leaned back and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.
“Sir?”
“Yes, Renata?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t come to an agreement. And if we do, I’m not sure I trust him to follow through on it.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’s leaning far out over a deep, dark hole with nothing but pain at the bottom.”
I settled back in my chair and cocked my head left and right, trying to pop my neck. All I wanted was a quiet place to do some interuniversal wormhole research and occasionally have lunch. But I’m a snowball. The longer I go on, the more I roll up more snow until the avalanche comes crashing down.
I’ve dealt with demigods, angels, and demons. I know there’s a big-G God out there, though, because He or She or It definitely has it in for me. I’ve got to be one of the favorite channels on the omniscient dial—the ultimate reality TV. Why does God permit evil in the world? Because it’s damn good television, that’s why.
You’re being self-absorbed and whiny, Boss.
Thanks. Sometimes it’s therapeutic to wallow in self-pity.
Are you done?
Yeah.
I raised my head and opened my eyes. Renata was looking at me with a curious expression. Looking at her, I wondered again about the baby. My pet light had a habit of swinging through people. With her, it swung through and didn’t come out. Since it didn’t seem to matter if I displayed powers in front of Renata, I muttered a moment and made a couple of gestures. As usual, my diagnostic spells showed me the physical and spiritual gizzards of Renata and her baby. Everything still looked perfectly normal. Maybe I need to find another pregnant woman to compare and contrast. I would, but I have other things that need doing, too.
“Have someone stick close to the mirror,” I sighed, finally, dismissing my examination spells. “I’m going to search the cell that tried to fry me.”
“Yes, Mazhani.”
On my way, I started the spell reversal to eject the corpses from the wall. It had to be done, but at least I wouldn’t be the one disposing of bodies, for once. I did try to use the silver cloak, but I couldn’t figure out how to get it extract people from the rock. Maybe there’s a secondary function I’m missing.
The cell was empty, as I expected, but I still approached it with all due caution. There was a lightning trap on the door. There might be others. As it turned out, there were no additional spells lying in wait. Neither were there any people, including a pretty assassin, Leisel, nor any signs of struggle. There were also no signs of how someone might have entered or exited, and I did check the walls, floor, and ceiling for weak or brittle places.
This left me with no other conclusion. It had to be magic.
Nailing down what kind of magic was more of a problem. Any spell will leave behind minor traces, residual impressions based on the amount of pow
er used. If there was enough teleportation magic, for example, to move a wizard, Leisel, and the assassin, it should leave a fairly obvious fingerprint. Unfortunately, not only were there ongoing keep-constructing spells and the scryshield, there was a massive power release when the lightning trap went off. None of this did the residual traces any good.
Still, there were some traces. Did they turn to smoke and flow away? No. Did they go invisible and walk out? No. Was there a spatial distortion left behind? Yes. So, teleportation. A gate? A space-exchange? An extra-dimensional transfer? It was definitely some sort of space manipulation, but beyond that, I couldn’t tell. It didn’t help it was probably done with “messy bits.” If it had been a spell built using the modular construction methods I understood, I might have gotten more from it. As it was…
I shut the door and went to check on my electrifried guardswomen. They were doing much better and seemed out of danger. I left them with the generic healing spells. Another week of ravenous eating and bed rest should see them fully recovered.
Speaking of ravenous eating, it was time for lunch, and I was hungry. Accelerated biological healing always eats up the calories.
Velina reported to me and Tessera accompanied her.
“How’d the blockade-breaking go?”
“We dispatched counter-scouts to eliminate theirs and infiltrated infantry through the woods. Cavalry came straight down the road—”
“We have cavalry?”
“We had all our horses taken to Bridgefort and used them as cavalry.”
“Fair enough. Go on.”
“When the enemy prepared for a cavalry attack, the dispersed infantry shot a few times and charged, taking them in the flanks. I don’t like your new weapons,” she added.
“Oh?”
“They scare me.”
“They’re supposed to scare people. Did they terrify the roadblock troops and encourage them to surrender?”
“Yes.”
“Point made,” I observed. She grunted.
“We captured all we could. There are some who could use your attention, or your magic gloves.” I thought I detected a trace of… sarcasm? Irony? Mockery? I’m not sure what to call it. Maybe Renata was right. Maybe everybody knew I was a wizard and were going along with my attempts to have another explanation for magical shenanigans.