The entire crowd followed her, the guards helping Ildirin and the other passengers out of their coach; Emmis did not wait to see who the old man had brought with him, but hurried after the wizard and found himself surrounded by magicians as he marched through the passage into the wizard’s garden.
Lar caught up to him as they emerged onto a pleasant little terrace. “Who are all these people?” the Vondishman asked in Emmis’s ear, gesturing at the magicians.
“I have no idea,” Emmis replied.
They were clustered in one corner of a tidy little garden, and at first Emmis wondered why the leaders hadn’t moved further in, to make more room.
Then he saw the gargoyles.
The things appeared to be carved of ordinary gray stone, except for the fact that they were moving. Each stood about five feet tall — or rather, crouched about five feet tall, as neither stood remotely straight. Both had claws and fangs and wings, but the details were very different from one to the other; one of them had so many fangs, and such large fangs, that it seemed unable to close its mouth at all.
Emmis had seen the gargoyles on the front of the house, and had seen that they were animated, but looking up at such monstrosities from twenty feet below did not have at all the same effect as seeing them six feet away from you on the ground. Their threatening appearance was much more immediate when they were on the same level.
He glanced up at the back of the house, and sure enough, there were empty niches on either corner that were surely where these two normally stayed.
Then Emmis glanced over to see Lord Ildirin hobble around the corner, followed by his guardsmen dragging several others; Emmis turned to stare as he saw who else had been in the nobleman’s coach.
Annis, the Ashthasan merchant, was there, with her hands bound behind her. And beside her was Hagai, the Lumethan theurgist, who not only had his hands tied, but who had a gag in his mouth. His hooded robe was open, the hood flung back. Behind them were the other two Lumethans, hands bound, hoods back, mouths gagged. All four had been disarmed, their belt-knives removed.
And behind the four foreigners was an ordinary-looking Ethsharite in a drab brown tunic, with his hands tied and his ankles hobbled; it took Emmis a moment to recognize him as Tithi, Kelder’s partner in crime.
“What are they doing here?” Emmis whispered to Lar.
Lar turned up a hand. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Thank you all for coming!” Ithinia called, as the last of the crowd squeezed into the garden. “I’m sure many of you have questions, but I prefer not to take the time to answer them. I think all will become clear as events progress. I am about to perform a spell called Hallin’s Transporting Fissure — some of you are familiar with it, some aren’t. I think it will be obvious why it could not be done inside my house, and why I thought it unwise to do it in Lower Street. I will ask you all to follow me; these gargoyles of mine will bring up the rear and make sure we all arrive safely.” She gestured toward the two monsters. “I must warn you, do not attempt to turn back, for any reason — the results could be very unfortunate. If you feel it necessary to pause to catch your breath or steady yourself, that should be safe enough, but do not turn back. Is that understood?”
A mumbled chorus of yeses and several nods seemed to satisfy her.
“Good,” she said. Then she pulled a wooden flute from her sleeve, held it to her mouth, and began to play.
It was an odd little tune, mostly a pleasant enough melody, but with certain notes that seemed off and out of place, notes that served to transform the cheerful ditty into something strange and uncomfortable. The wizard played through a dozen measures, more or less, and then held the final note.
It grew louder and louder in a way that would not have been possible for any natural sound, adding deeper and deeper undertones, until it seemed as if the earth itself was shaking.
And then the earth really did shake as the garden before Ithinia’s feet vibrated, humped up, and split open like an overripe fruit.
“Gods!” someone said.
The opening in the ground widened, becoming a crevice three or four feet wide and fifteen or twenty feet long. Emmis stared in amazement as Ithinia, still holding that impossibly-sustained note, stepped forward into it.
She held the flute in place with one hand, still blowing, while her other beckoned for her guests to follow her as she descended; then she began playing a tune again — not the disconcerting one she had played before, but a sprightly little melody with many trills.
Most of her audience simply watched at first, too surprised or nervous to move, but the other magicians followed her down into the opening in the earth, sinking slowly out of sight as if walking down a flight of stairs.
Then one of the gargoyles spoke, in a voice like stone grinding on stone — and, Emmis asked himself, what else would it sound like? “Go,” it said.
That seemed to break the tension and everyone began moving forward, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tithi and Annis seemed especially reluctant; the Lumethans, oddly, appeared more resigned than frightened. Emmis found himself somewhere in the middle of the line marching into the rift, with a soldier ahead of him and Lar behind him.
When he reached the opening he was not particularly surprised to see that there really were stairs leading down into the earth, carved from the soil of the garden. Something was wrong with the perspective, though — the stairs seemed to go on forever without ever reaching the far end of the rift. He could see and hear Ithinia far ahead and below, still playing her flute, and then the other wizards, and the theurgist and the demonologist behind them, then Lord Ildirin, and a few guards, spaced along what seemed to be a hundred yards of earthen steps that somehow fit into a twenty-foot trench.
Then he put his foot down on the first step himself, and it felt as if the World twisted beneath his feet; the midday sky was somehow behind him, more than above him. He tried to ignore the disorienting effects of the magic as he marched on down into the earth.
“Oh, gods!” Lar said behind him, as he, too, took that first step. He muttered something more, but it was in a language other than Ethsharitic that Emmis did not understand.
The warning against turning back had been a good idea, Emmis thought as he walked, because there was a wrongness to these stairs that made him want to turn and flee. He wondered whether there was really any danger, or whether Ithinia had said that to ensure that all her desired guests arrived at their destination.
He wasn’t about to test it; there wasn’t really room to squeeze past Lar and the others to get back out, and it was entirely possible that the Guildmaster had spoken the simple truth when she said it was dangerous.
Then a shadow blocked out the sunlight and Emmis glanced back to see that the gargoyles were entering the fissure — the entire party was now on the stairs.
Those stairs were changing. It was not that the one he stood on was any different from those above and below it, but that from where he stood they all appeared to be altered now. Instead of packed earth, the steps were stone now, and the slope was much shallower, and they weren’t level — he felt as if he were walking forward on the edges of the steps, rather than walking down on their tops.
The walls on either side were stone as well, rather than earth, though he had been unaware of any change, and when he looked back they appeared to be stone all the way, there was no transition.
And then everything shifted again, and he was walking up a flight of steps, and the daylight behind him was gone entirely but he could see daylight ahead, where Ithinia was emerging from the stone tunnel into the midday sun.
If he could have picked up his pace Emmis would have done so, but the guardsman in front of him was trudging on at the same steady march he had maintained all along.
Finally, though, Emmis found himself climbing up a set of stairs in the middle of a broad paved plaza, where a crowd formed a large circle around the new arrivals, giving them a wide berth. Ithinia stood on the stones a few
feet from the rift, playing her flute.
This was no plaza that Emmis had ever seen before, he was sure of that. One side was completely dominated by a tall and forbidding fortress of gray stone; the other five — yes, five; the plaza was hexagonal, like Hempfield Market, but larger and more regular — were lined with shops and tall, narrow houses.
On the side opposite the fortress the gaps between buildings, and the mouths of the streets, gave a view of empty air — there was obviously a slope on that side dropping away rapidly from the plaza. To either side of the fortress, streets climbed up a gentle slope. This plaza, whatever it was, was partway up the side of a large hill.
The architecture surrounding the plaza was subtly unfamiliar; the clothes worn by the observers weren’t quite right, either, though Emmis had seen such garb before, on visitors from the Small Kingdoms. This was not in Ethshar of the Spices, he was sure. It was presumably somewhere in Lumeth of the Towers.
He stepped out onto the stone pavement — made, he saw, of the same stone as the tunnel walls — and moved to one side, to allow those behind him to emerge.
No one spoke as the guards and their prisoners climbed up out of the fissure in the pavement. When the gargoyles emerged, though, Emmis thought he heard gasps from the surrounding crowd.
Then Ithinia ended her tune with a final flourish, and slipped the flute into her sleeve; the instant the music stopped a loud rumble sounded, and the opening in the pavement closed itself up. As the two sides met the stones merged, leaving not the faintest crack; there was no indication that there had ever been a fissure.
Both the newly-arrived travelers and the watching natives murmured at this sight. Emmis wondered how they were to return to Ethshar; had Ithinia brought the materials to perform the spell again?
The wizard paid no attention to the closing fissure, though. Instead she raised her arms above her head and faced the fortress, looking up at a small enclosed balcony where a handful of men were standing.
“Lords of Lumeth of the Towers!” she shouted, her voice ringing out clearly. “Listen to the judgment of the Wizards’ Guild!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Emmis blinked. Judgment?
The people on the balcony seemed equally confused. “Who are you?” one of them shouted back. Another appeared to be translating for a third.
The Guildmaster lowered her arms. “I am Ithinia of the Isle, and I speak for the Wizards’ Guild — let my companions attest to my authority!”
The other three wizards stepped toward her, facing the balcony. The oldest-looking of them announced, “I am Serem the Wise, from Ethshar of the Sands, and I say that Ithinia speaks for the Guild.”
The youngest in appearance — though it occurred to Emmis that appearances could be very deceptive in the case of wizards — then called, “I am Kaligir of the New Quarter in Ethshar of the Rocks, and Ithinia speaks for me and the wizards of my city, as well.”
The third said, “I’m Zikel Thurin’s son of Sardiron of the Waters. Listen to her.”
“Shei Lumethis!” someone shouted; Emmis assumed it meant “Speak Lumethan!” The wizards ignored it.
“Satisfied?” Ithinia called.
“Couldn’t you speak Lumethan?” another voice from the crowd asked, speaking Ethsharitic with a thick accent. “Not everyone speaks Ethsharitic!”
Ithinia kept her attention on the balcony.
“We will hear you,” one of the others on the balcony called back. “Shall we retire to the audience chamber?”
“No. We will speak here and now, before all these people,” Ithinia replied.
The men on the balcony stirred uneasily at that, but did not argue. “What is this judgment, then?” one of them asked.
“You have abused our gifts,” Ithinia said. “You have used magic we entrusted to you, magic intended for the Guild’s purposes, to send spies to Ethshar.” She gestured toward the three bound Lumethans. “Your representatives have hired assassins, such as this one.” She pointed to Tithi. “You have antagonized the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars — this man accompanies me as spokesman for his nephew Azrad VII, Overlord of Ethshar of the Spices, Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, Commander of the Holy Navies and Defender of the Gods.” She turned her hand toward Lord Ildirin.
“What does the Guild care about Ethshar?” demanded the man who had first asked her who she was.
Ithinia glared at him. “I’m not done,” she said. She gestured toward Lar. “And this man is Lar Samber’s son, ambassador plenipotentiary from the Empire of Vond to the court of Azrad VII, and the reason you have done all this. He speaks for Lord Sterren, Regent of the Empire.”
Lar bowed.
“And the rest of them?” the man on the balcony asked. “Who are these soldiers?”
“These are the men of Ethshar’s city guard, brought to ensure that our prisoners remain prisoners, and that no assassin troubles any of my party. The gargoyles are my personal attendants. That young man is Emmis of Shiphaven, Lar’s aide. Bragen the Black, our demonologist, and Radler the Divine, our theurgist, are here to show that the Guild does not stand alone among magicians in this; and Annis the Merchant, of Ashthasa, conspired with your spies, and is here as the unwilling representative of Prince Sammel.”
“You seem to have been thorough,” one of the lords replied.
Ithinia nodded an acknowledgment.
“And what are you all here for?” another lord asked.
“To keep you all from doing something monumentally stupid,” Ithinia replied. “You are concerned that the Empire of Vond intends to continue its expansion, and that your lands would be a natural target for such an expansion, and you have committed crimes in order to prevent that. I am here to inform you that there will be no such expansion. The Wizards’ Guild will destroy the Empire entirely should any Vondish soldier set foot across Lumeth’s border with hostile intent.”
That sent a stir through the crowd. Emmis glanced at Lar, and saw that he did not look dismayed in the least by this threat; instead he looked relieved.
“You should have known that we have interests in your kingdom that mean we would not allow you to be overrun,” Ithinia continued. “We did not teach Morkai of Crooked Hill how to use Hallin’s Transporting Fissure out of sheer generosity, or to aid you in sending out spies. But you are also concerned that another mighty warlock like the Great Vond might arise in the Empire, and that we would not interfere with other schools of magic. I hereby inform you that the Wizards’ Guild will require the Empire to forbid entry to any and all warlocks, and will do everything it can to prevent any warlocks from taking any Vondish person as an apprentice. Furthermore, I have brought Bragen and Radler to assure you that the Guild will not act alone in this — we will see to it that demonologists and theurgists will aid in enforcing this decree. And Lord Ildirin can attest that the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars will join in, and will not allow warlocks to take ship for any port in the Small Kingdoms south of Londa. The Council of Warlocks has agreed to this, as well.”
Lar was not merely relieved now, but smiling.
“It would seem this dreadful ’judgment’ of yours is entirely in our favor,” one of the Lumethan nobles called back, as one of the others hastily translated Ithinia’s words into Lumethan for the two who appeared to know no Ethsharitic.
“Oh, no,” Ithinia said. “It is not. Because all these demands will apply to Lumeth of the Towers, just as they will to the Empire. Any Lumethan agent who sets foot in the Empire unasked does so on penalty of death; if a single Lumethan soldier crosses the border without imperial consent, this city, and everyone in it, will be slaughtered — men, women, and children. No spies, no assassins, no saboteurs shall be sent, or all your lives are forfeit. Nor shall you knowingly aid any other kingdom that attempts to subvert or attack the Empire.”
The men on the balcony did not reply to that; after a moment’s silence Ithinia continued. “Likewise, we did not bring a representative of the Council of Warlo
cks with us because the practice of warlockry is hereby forbidden in Lumeth of the Towers. The crime of warlockry shall be punishable by immediate execution. If there are any warlocks within your borders they have three days to leave, and they are to go as far and as fast as possible — we will not allow them to take refuge in Shassala, Gajamor, Calimor, Eknissamor, Yaroia, Zenda, or Kalithon.”
Emmis was not sure just where those places were, but he glanced at Lar again, and discovered that the Vondish ambassador was grinning broadly. “That’s every kingdom bordering Lumeth,” Lar whispered. “It’s half the Empire’s northern border!”
“If you’re worried that the Empire is planning to attack you,” Ithinia concluded, “you will find a wizard and inform the Guild. You will not undertake any action on your own. Is that understood?”
The party on the balcony exchanged looks, but except for the running translation no one spoke at first. Then Ithinia waved a hand and pointed at one of them; his beard burst into flame.
“I said, is that understood?” she shouted.
“Yes!” one of the men called back, as two of the others used hands and sleeves to smother the burning beard.
Then Ithinia turned and beckoned to the guards holding the Lumethan prisoners. She grabbed the first by the back of the neck and forced him to his knees on the pavement in front of her.
“I return to you Hagai of Lumeth, who is guilty of espionage and conspiracy to commit murder in Ethshar of the Spices. Because he was acting in your service the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars and the Wizards’ Guild will allow him to live, but he is never again to set foot outside Lumeth’s borders.” She flung the bound theurgist down onto the stones of the plaza and left him lying there as she moved on to the next.
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