“Wait a minute,” he said. “Didn’t I ask whether there would be further attempts on the Vondish ambassador’s life?”
“Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me!” Corinal shuffled through his papers. “You did indeed ask that, and Unniel denied any foreknowledge on the subject; she claims to be unable to see the future except when it’s inevitable, and this is not such a case. However, she also said that there had been two assassination attempts, rather than the one you mentioned; the second involved a wizard’s spell called Fendel’s Assassin, which was performed earlier today.” He looked up from the scribbled notes. “I’m sorry, I really should have mentioned that one sooner, shouldn’t I?”
Emmis stared at him. “Yes, you should!” he said. He snatched up his purse and started toward the door.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.
“Pay the magician,” Ahan said.
“But he said...”
“I heard him. But the ambassador may already be dead, or the spell may have failed, or it may not strike for days, and not paying a magician is a very bad idea.”
Emmis stared at Corinal. “Do you know anything about this Fendel’s Assassin?” He fumbled with his purse as he spoke.
“Not a thing,” Corinal said. “Assassination is something I try to avoid. Perhaps...”
“...I should ask a wizard. Yes. Thank you.” He finally found the coins he wanted, and thrust them at Corinal.
“Thank you,” the theurgist said, accepting the handful of silver. “And I wish you the best of luck in dealing with... well, whatever it is you’re dealing with.”
“Thank you,” Emmis said, as he pulled tight the drawstring on his purse and ran for the door. “If you know a good deity to pray to for me, I would appreciate it.”
He was outside the shop by the time he finished the sentence.
Ahan was close on his heels, and the two men sprinted up Priest Street together.
Chapter Eighteen
Emmis’s breath gave out two blocks north of the Arena, and he slowed to a trot. This was the second time he had gone running across the city to warn Lar of an assassination attempt; he really hadn’t expected it to become a habit.
Ahan slowed beside him. Emmis threw him a glance. “I don’t suppose you could run on ahead?” he asked.
“I was ordered to accompany you.”
“You don’t think this situation might justify bending those orders a little?”
Ahan looked at him, then turned his attention to the street ahead again. “If I were still just another guardsman, it certainly would justify some reinterpretation, but I’m not. I’m one of Lord Ildirin’s elite escort, and we have very strict instructions — we are to obey Lord Ildirin exactly, unless doing so would endanger Lord Ildirin or the overlord himself. No one else. We get a very generous bonus every sixnight, and stretching my orders in the slightest would probably mean losing that. I have three younger sisters and a widowed mother living on my pay, and I’m sure you know that an ordinary guardsman’s pay is not going to support the five of us comfortably.”
Emmis did indeed know that. Guards generally slept in a barracks free of rent, and were fed at the city’s expense, not to mention being provided with their uniforms, but their actual pay, while steady, wasn’t all that much. An unmarried soldier, with no one to look after but himself, could live on it well enough and even save up a tidy sum, but add a family and everything changed. They couldn’t sleep in the barracks, or charge their meals against an innkeeper’s taxes. That was why most guards didn’t marry, or found other work when they wed.
He considered asking why Ahan’s mother and sisters didn’t have any other means of support — even if none of them could find paid employment, didn’t any of the girls have apprenticeships or husbands?
But that was really none of his business. Perhaps they were ill, or crippled, or under a curse. If Ahan thought he had to wait hand and foot on Lord Ildirin to keep his family out of the Hundred-Foot Field, it wasn’t Emmis’s place to argue.
“Oh,” he said. He sighed, and picked up his own pace.
Ahan matched him, and the two ran on, drawing stares from the crowds on Arena Street.
Emmis was panting by the time they rounded the bend on Through Street and came in sight of the yellow house. Two guardsmen were standing on either side of the front door; they straightened, suddenly alert, at the sight of Emmis and Ahan.
“Any trouble?” Ahan called.
“No,” one of them replied. “Why?”
“The theurgist...” Emmis had to stop and catch his breath; he gulped air, then said, “The theurgist told us that an assassination spell has been cast on the Vondish ambassador.”
The door guards exchanged glances.
“You’d better go in,” one of them said, reaching for the latch.
A moment later Emmis and Ahan were in the parlor, where Lar and Lord Ildirin were seated comfortably on either side of a small table, drinking tea. The two officials looked up.
“And what brings you two back here, looking so concerned?” Lord Ildirin asked.
“I talked to a theurgist, my lord,” Emmis said. “Corinal, by name. On Priest Street. He consulted a goddess called Unniel the Discerning, and she said that someone had cast a spell called Fendel’s Assassin on the ambassador.”
Lar went pale.
Lord Ildirin’s eyebrows rose. “Did he, indeed?” He glanced at Ahan.
“Yes, my lord,” the guardsman said. “Exactly as Emmis says.”
“Did the theurgist inform you of the method Fendel’s Assassin intends to use?”
Emmis blinked at him. “What?”
Ildirin sighed. “Fendel’s Assassin is a well-known spell; it summons or creates an invisible being that will make one attempt to kill the intended target, and only one attempt, using a method specified by the wizard who cast the spell. Strangling is the most common means chosen, since it requires no special weaponry — the creature’s claws are strong enough to do the job. Sometimes other methods are specified to make it look like suicide, or to cast blame in a particular direction, but the need to smuggle in weapons can be very inconvenient. The assassin itself can apparently pass through solid walls, while weapons cannot.” He shook his head. “The spell hasn’t been used in years, to the best of my knowledge, but it’s a common way for the Wizards’ Guild to dispose of its enemies.”
“How can we stop it?” Emmis demanded. Lar turned his full attention to Lord Ildirin, obviously just as interested in the answer as was Emmis.
“Well, it would help if we knew the method,” Ildirin replied. “And the time and place, if the wizard specified those. We need merely prevent the one attack from succeeding, and the assassin will dissipate, vanish from the World without a trace. Suppose the spell was cast with instructions to strangle my friend Lar in his bed at midnight tonight; well, we need merely ensure that he is not in his bed at midnight, but here in this room, and at a minute past the hour the creature will cease to exist.”
“I think I see.”
“And if the creature was instructed to whack Lar’s head off with an axe, but we ensure no axes are available, or if we somehow turn the blow aside...”
Lar shuddered, and Emmis interrupted, “Yes, I understand, but how do we know?..”
“Your theurgist gave you no clue? No mention of anything?”
“I didn’t give him time,” Emmis admitted. “The moment I knew a death-spell had been cast I came running back to warn you.”
Ildirin nodded. “A natural reaction, but perhaps unfortunate in this instance.” He turned to Lar. “Is there any particular method of assassination preferred by the people of Lumeth?”
“There is, but I don’t know the word in Ethsharitic,” Lar said, a bit unsteadily. “Nagrop — a... a thin cord around the neck.”
“A garotte,” Ildirin said. “Charming. And easily improvised, if they haven’t just told the beast to use its claws.”
“How fast does the creature move?” Emmis asked.
“How soon could it be here?”
“Oh, it probably is here,” Ildirin said. “It could be in the room with us right now, listening. It’s far faster than any human.”
Emmis stared around the room — and noticed Lar and Ahan doing the same, though Ildirin did not. Lord Ildirin obviously recognized the foolishness of looking for something you know is invisible, but Emmis had still hoped to see some sign.
“If it’s already here, why hasn’t it made its attempt?” Emmis asked.
“I couldn’t say,” Ildirin replied. “I presume some condition has not been met. Either a time has not yet come, or His Excellency is in the wrong place, or perhaps the creature was told to attack him when he’s alone, and he’s been in my company for most of the afternoon.”
“Well, is there any way we can find out which it is?”
“In fact, there is,” Ildirin said thoughtfully. “If I could just remember...”
“Remember what? A spell? A warding?”
“The creature has its own appetites,” Ildirin said. “I believe there’s a way to bribe it.”
Emmis felt a wave of relief, but then recalled that just because a way existed, that didn’t mean they would be able to use it in time. “Do we need a wizard?” he asked.
“No.” Lord Ildirin frowned, and stroked his beard. “I knew this; Lorret the Mage mentioned it to me years ago, after Lord Habuk used Fendel’s Assassin to kill Lady Asseyr. It’s... something sweet. The creature likes something sweet.”
“Honey?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“We don’t have any,” Emmis said. “I bought a few things for the pantry, but no honey.”
Ahan cleared his throat.
Lord Ildirin looked at him. “Yes?”
“Zhol generally keeps a bag of honey drops handy,” Ahan said. “He likes to suck on them while standing guard.”
“Go fetch him, then!”
Ahan turned, then hesitated. “Am I done escorting Emmis, then?”
“Yes, yes. At least for now.”
Ahan bowed slightly, then marched out.
“Who’s Zhol?” Emmis asked.
“One of the guards at the door,” Ildirin replied. “I hope candy will do; the creature may insist on liquid honey. We shall see.”
“I hope so,” Lar said. “I must say, I don’t like this. The idea that there is an invisible creature lurking here, waiting to kill me, is... is... gharget. Shalbet. I don’t know the Ethsharitic.”
“I’m sure it must be, whatever those words mean,” Lord Ildirin said. “Still, it could be far worse. You know it’s here, and you have the opportunity to stop it, and once stopped, it’s over. If your foes had hired a warlock, you would already be dead. Had they been willing to pay their wizard more, and had they the means to ensure you triggered it, they might have used the Rune of the Implacable Stalker, in which case the creature would never give up so long as you lived. I am sure there are other more lethal spells of which I am unaware, as well. And if they had approached a demonologist — well, the options there are plentiful, and all of them quite hideous.”
“You are not comforting,” Lar said.
“But really, my friend, that you are still alive now bodes well,” Ildirin insisted.
“It’s still not comforting,” Lar retorted. “What if the creature is to kill me when I finish my tea? What if sunset is the time? The shadows I see through the window are getting very long.” He looked at his cup, and carefully set it down on the table with half an inch of liquid still undrunk in the bottom. “And even if we stop this one — I hadn’t expected them to try again! I don’t understand why they think they must kill me. Paying a wizard — the next time maybe it will be a demonologist!”
“There won’t be a ’next time,’” Ildirin said. “At least, not unless they’re very quick about it. Because this is a violation of Ethsharitic law, and an affront to the overlord. I had treated the previous attack as an amusement, something I could use to entertain myself, but that was because I had not thought they would try again, and certainly not that they would use magic. Now I know better. They have escalated to magic; we shall return the favor, and we have access to far more powerful magic than anything a few travelers from the Small Kingdoms are likely to possess, or to be able to purchase. If we can deal with this immediate threat, the next step will be to call upon Ethshar’s magicians to find and capture those responsible. If they meant to prevent an alliance between the Empire of Vond and the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, they have utterly failed in their purpose; I will be informing my nephew at the first opportunity that it is essential we aid your empire in any way we can.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Lar said, visibly somewhat relieved — but only somewhat.
After all, Emmis thought, the invisible creature, Fendel’s Assassin, was still around. “So you can bribe it to go away, and not harm the ambassador?” he asked.
“No,” Ildirin said. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. The original spell binds it more strongly than anything we can do. But we can coax it into telling us what it’s required to do, and perhaps we can find a way to prevent it.”
“Perhaps?” Lar said, tensing again.
“Perhaps, yes. There’s no certainty to be had here, your Excellency. We will do what we can.”
“But... but...” Lar struggled to find the words to express his dismay, and failed.
Then Ahan reappeared in the doorway, holding out a handful of golden lumps. “My lord?”
“Ah, Ahan!” Lord Ildirin said. “Hold those out, just as you have them, but be ready to close your fist instantly.”
Ahan obeyed, looking about nervously.
“Now, creature of magic, wizard’s weapon, if you hear me — speak, answer our questions, and you shall have the honey!”
“Honey!” a strange voice said, a low, slow, hissing, rumbling voice unlike anything Emmis had ever heard before. He still could not see the creature, but the voice seemed to be coming from directly behind Lar. The ambassador started in his chair at the sound of it, and whirled around, peering desperately about.
He saw nothing.
“Tell us, then, what your instructions were,” Ildirin calmly demanded.
“Find him, wring his neck as he sleeps.” A horrible noise that might have been a tittering laugh followed these words. Emmis’s skin crawled.
“Nothing more than that? Not, perhaps, as he sleeps in his bed?”
“Wring his neck as he sleeps. Nothing more. Honey?”
Lord Ildirin did not look entirely satisfied, but he nodded to Ahan. “Give him the honey,” he said. “Quickly.”
The guardsman hurried forward, holding out the candies, then stopped in front of Lar’s chair, unsure exactly what he should do next.
The creature answered that for him, as about half the honey drops vanished from his palm, rising a fraction of an inch and then fading into nothingness with a ghastly slurping and crunching; Ahan snatched his hand away, spilling the rest to the floor, and Emmis thought he saw blood on the guard’s fingers.
The candies rattled and bounced on the floor, and then something unseen shoved Ahan aside, Lar’s chair jerked the other way, and the honey drops vanished, one by one, from where they had fallen. Each disappearance was followed by an obscene sucking sound.
Ahan made a wordless noise of pain and unhappiness as he clutched at his hand; Emmis could definitely see blood seeping between the fingers now.
“Impatient, isn’t it?” Ildirin remarked. “Ahan, go see to your hand, and we’ll want to have a healer look at it, very soon, to make sure the thing’s claws weren’t poisoned.”
Lar was twisted in his chair, looking around; it seemed to Emmis he was having a great deal of difficulty with the idea that the monster was really completely invisible.
“What about the ambassador?” Emmis asked. “I mean, yes, I’m concerned about Ahan’s hand, but it’s my employer the thing intends to kill!”
“Well, he doesn’t need to worry about a
thing so long as he stays awake,” Ildirin said. “It has orders to kill him in his sleep. So as long as he’s awake, it won’t hurt him.”
“It hurt Ahan,” Emmis pointed out.
“Only by accident,” Ildirin said. “It had earned its pay, and we weren’t fast enough in delivering it.”
“I was!..” Ahan began, then stopped, obviously deciding it wasn’t worth the argument.
“Go tend to your hand,” Ildirin told him again.
“There’s clean water in the kitchen,” Lar said. “Some of it should still be warm from making the tea.”
“Thank you,” Ahan said, and turned. He walked unsteadily out of the room.
“Maybe I should go with him,” Emmis said uncertainly.
“He’s a grown man,” Ildirin said. “And a strong one with a good wit. He can manage, I’m sure.”
“But if it’s poisoned...”
“Yes.” Ildirin tugged at his beard, then leaned back in his chair. “Creature, we gave you honey,” he called at the ceiling. “Is your touch poisonous?”
“Sharp, oh so very sharp, but not poison,” the hideous voice said. “A hand will heal cleanly.” After a moment’s pause, it added, “More honey?”
“Alas, we have no more,” Ildirin said. “Thank you, though, for your cooperation.”
“No honey?”
“No honey.”
“Wring his neck as he sleeps.” It tittered horribly.
Lar shuddered.
“I wouldn’t think you’ll find it easy to sleep any time soon,” Ildirin remarked.
“But I must sleep eventually!” Lar shouted, his voice cracking.
A thought popped into Emmis’s head, but he caught himself before speaking aloud. The creature was listening, after all.
“So we’ll have to find a way to send this thing away before you do,” Ildirin said.
Emmis could not restrain himself further. “What if he dies first?” he asked.
Both older men turned to stare at him.
“What?” Lar said.
“What if you die before you go to sleep?”
“I hardly see how that would be an improvement,” Lord Ildirin remarked dryly.
The Vondish Ambassador loe-10 Page 17