Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  Finally, reluctantly, I went to my employer's home in the Old City to describe my lack of progress.

  This time the council of war convened in Lady Elthea's bedchamber, a high-ceilinged, dimly-lit room hung with somber tapestries. Though clean, it smelled of her long illness. She lay in a canopy bed, her shoulders propped by a mound of pillows. She seemed even gaunter and frailer than the last time I'd seen her, as if some of her strength had burned along with her properties. Jarnac sat on a stool beside her, holding her hand. He looked haggard, too. Evidently the nights of futile, sleepless sentinel duty were wearing him down.

  "All I'm certain of," I said, concluding my dismal excuse for a report, "is that there's no grand conspiracy among the Greens. When they discuss striking at you Blues, they talk about maneuvers in Council, sharp business practice, and the occasional duel, not magic and arson. Indeed, most of them would never even consider a tactic that could endanger the entire town. More than ever, I'm convinced that we're up against one man, acting without the knowledge of his fellows. Unfortunately, I still don't know who he is."

  "And I still can't find the salamander," Draydech said morosely. "It ought to light up the psychic landscape like a bonfire. Even if they're sending it back to its own plane after every chore—and that's unlikely, given the amount of energy required—I should be able to sense the opening and closing of the Gate. And yet..." He spread his pudgy hands.

  "Still, we're grateful to you gentlemen for your efforts," said Pivor with leaden sarcasm. He turned to his grandaunt. "Now can we try my plan? If we just keep bleeding Greens, we're bound to come to the fire-starter eventually."

  "No," said Lady Elthea with unexpected firmness. "I'd rather burn in this bed, if it comes to that, than send you into the streets to slaughter people at random."

  "But we can't bear to see you hurt any further," Jarnac told her.

  "No," Lady Elthea repeated. "I forbid it. There has to be a better way."

  "As a matter of fact," I said, "I'm not done yet. I began by making inquiries about the Greens rather than Mornedealth's community of sorcerers because the latter are proverbially closemouthed. But now it's time to look at them. After all, one of them had to conjure the spook. The question is, which?"

  "Probably one of the Green House mages," said Pivor impatiently. "Or if not, any one of a host of free lances."

  "No," said Draydech thoughtfully. "The sorcerers hereabouts aren't saints. In truth, a few are scoundrels. Still, we have an understanding. Certain tacit, self-imposed prohibitions. Now that I think about it, I don't believe that anyone I know would unleash a salamander inside the city walls."

  "Then our man is a clandestine practitioner," said I, my pulse ticking faster. "A rogue neither your fraternity nor the authorities would tolerate if they did know about him. We can conjecture that he generally sells his services to criminals. That he lives in a bad part of town. That he hasn't been here long, or you would at least have heard rumors of his presence."

  "You're about to propose another search, aren't you?" Jarnac said. "Well, I for one don't see the point. You've already turned the city upside down."

  "But this time, I'll have a clearer image of what I'm hunting," I said. "Trust me, that makes a difference."

  Lady Elthea said, "I believe Master Selden can find the wretch. Let's let him try."

  "Grandaunt," Pivor said, "you have to understand. Devoted as we all are to your wishes and your welfare, this affair encompasses other issues. If an insult to you goes unavenged for any length of time, that reflects on the honor of all the Blues. And if we can't find a specific culprit to punish, it's better to chastise all the Greens than do nothing. Selden can search if you want him to, but we're not going to wait on the result."

  "Year in and year out, I've watched this stupid feud claim too many lives," Lady Elthea said. "I won't to be the cause of it flaring up again. Please, child, hold off. I'm dying, you know. This is likely the last favor I'll ever ask of you."

  Pivor grimaced. "Very well. I'll give Selden until midnight tomorrow. After that, the Blues will take to the streets and settle matters our way."

  "Fair enough," I said. I turned to Draydech. "Finish your wine and come on. If I'm going to stalk a mage, I want you with me."

  A few blocks west of Stranger's Gate, the streets narrow to twisting alleys, and the cobbles turn to muck beneath one's feet. When the City Guards patrol the area, which is seldom, they go in twos and threes, and as often as not, ignore the screams that ring from the shadowed courtyards.

  Draydech and I had been prowling this warren since our departure from Lady Elthea's mansion the previous evening. A weary ache in my joints attested to the fact that it was harder for me to do without sleep than it used to be.

  Still, I was in good spirits. Peering up at the narrow strip of sky visible between the steeply pitched rooftops, gauging the position of the waning moon, I judged that I had three candlemarks till midnight. Time enough to forestall Pivor's assault, if, as I hoped, I was about to net my quarry.

  I pointed at a sagging post-and-beam tenement. It had a cobbler's shop and a bakery on the ground floor, apartments above. "If the kidnapper spoke true, that's the place. Can you sense anything?"

  Draydech squinted. After a moment, he said, "Yes. The top story has a nasty sheen to it. Someone's worked magic up there, some of it involving torture, sacrifice, and the Abyss."

  "Sounds like our lad," I said. "Is he at home?"

  "I can't say. The residue of his sorcery masks any other impressions."

  "Well, there's an easy way to find out. Come on." We slunk up the street, through a doorway that stank of urine, and climbed four creaky flights of stairs.

  I didn't see any point in giving the man we were after a chance to ready a spell. I drew my sword and kicked his door. It flew open and I rushed through.

  My violent entry served no purpose. The warlock was home, but in no condition to harm me. A bald, hooknosed man in a hooded robe, he lay sprawled on a dark stain in the middle of the floor. The reek of feces filled the air.

  I knelt beside him, and, examining him by the wan light that spilled through the open shutters, found a narrow slit on each side of his throat. I tried to flex his cool, waxy-looking arm. It resisted, but it bent.

  Behind me, Draydech muttered an incantation. A globe of sickly green foxfire appeared in the air. Its glow revealed that the one-room apartment had been ransacked. A chest stood open, and clothing lay scattered across the floor. Codices and pieces of parchment were strewn about.

  "Damn!" said Draydech. "The Luck Lords hate us! Damn, damn, damn!" He kicked a stool across the floor.

  Grasping at straws, I said, "Can we be certain that this man is the mage?"

  "Yes. I can tell from the lingering traces of his aura."

  "Shit," I said. "Well, perhaps it isn't all bad. If the bastard's dead, he can't lead us to his employer. But on the other hand, if the magician's gone, the salamander's gone, so at least we don't have to worry about the town burning down. Right?"

  "Wrong. The creature's probably still around. No reason it shouldn't be. I suspect the mage commanded it to obey his patron. Otherwise, Mornedealth would already be in flames. But without the wizard's power bolstering the Green's control, the elemental could slip its reins at any time. The threat of a conflagration is actually greater than before."

  "Wonderful," I growled, rising. "We'd better search this place ourselves. I don't know what the murderer was looking for, but—"

  "Watch out!" Draydech cried. To this day, I don't know what he could have seen or heard that I missed; it must have been his mystical senses that alerted him. He sprang at me and knocked me away from the window.

  An instant later, there was a quarrel in his back. He tried to speak and then he was gone, just like that, death's ghastly conjuring trick that stuns and appalls no matter how many times one sees it played on a friend.

  Fortunately, though my thoughts were frozen, my reflexes weren't. I threw myself to the floor
. Another bolt whizzed through the air above me. The marksman, who must be shooting from the window directly across the street, had had at least two crossbows loaded and ready.

  I didn't see much reason to stand back up and find out if he had a third. It would be wiser to slip out of the apartment. I crawled to the door.

  Onrushing footsteps clattered up the stairs. The cross-bowman's colleagues, without a doubt. It sounded as if there were half a dozen. Long odds even for a fencing master, especially if one had to worry about taking a quarrel in the back while one fought.

  I wished I could lock the door. That might at least buy me a few seconds. But, cunning fellow that I was, I'd broken the latch. And as long as I was taking stock of my ill fortune, it was a pity I was too high to leap from the window to the street. If I tried to climb down the wall, the marksman would shoot me for certain.

  I crawled back to the window, pulled off my cloak, stuck it on the end of my sword, and raised it. Another bolt thrummed overhead. Instantly, discarding the makeshift lure, I scrambled up onto the windowsill and leaped.

  Though the street was narrow, it was an awkward jump, and I didn't land gracefully. I slammed down on my belly on the marksman's windowsill, half in and half out, legs dangling. My attacker, a skinny, coppery-bearded fellow, smashed an arbalest over my head.

  For a moment, I blacked out. When I came to, he was pushing me backward.

  I grabbed the windowsill with one hand and whipped out my dagger with the other. I thrust. The blade scraped a rib, then plunged deep into the marksman's chest. He groaned and flopped on top of me.

  I shoved him off, then hauled myself into the empty apartment he'd been shooting from. When I examined him, I saw that Draydrech was avenged.

  My knees were weak, my crown throbbed, and blood trickled down my forehead. I wanted to sit and rest, but I knew I mustn't give my remaining assailants a chance to figure out where I'd gone and tree me again. I dragged my dagger out of the redhead's breast, then hurried out the door.

  By the time I reached Lady Elthea's mansion, I felt a little better. Perhaps in recognition of the noblewoman's disapproval, Pivor's miniature army, if one cared to dignify it with that name, was awaiting midnight outside in her garden. He'd gathered about a hundred men, those who'd stood watch over his kinswoman's holdings plus some new recruits. Casks of ale and wine sat on trestles beside a dry fountain, and the cool night air smelled of drink.

  Working my way through the throng, I spotted Pivor drinking from a tankard. "Good evening," I hailed him.

  He pivoted. Squinted. "You're hurt."

  "A scratch," I said. "You can send the mob home."

  He frowned. "Are you saying you found the magician?"

  "More or less. I'm sure you can appreciate that no one should hear my tidings before my employer." I waved down a passing footman. "Please tell your mistress Selden is here."

  I thought he'd return and usher me into her presence, but instead, leaning heavily on a gleaming bronzewood staff, she hobbled out onto the marble steps beneath the porte-cochere. At her appearance, a hush settled over the crowd.

  I bowed. "My lady. I know your enemy's name." The Blue blades jabbered excitedly. "I deduced it not a candlemark ago. Truth to tell, I should have realized before, but I'm like everyone else in Mornedealth. I'm so wearily familiar with the enmity between Blue and Green that it was difficult to think beyond it."

  Pivor gaped at me. "Are you saying the incendiary isn't a Green? What about the threat?"

  "Anyone can buy green ink. The letter was merely a ruse to divert suspicion from the real culprit. Think about it: Lady Elthea isn't active in public life. Even her late husband didn't make himself any more obnoxious to the Greens than many another member of your faction. Why, then, would a Green choose to persecute her and her alone of all your number? Wouldn't it make more sense to attack a genuine Blue leader such as you?"

  Pivor opened his mouth, then closed it again.

  "While you ponder that," I continued, "you can chew on this as well. Lady Elthea, we all worried that you would indeed burn in your bed, but, in point of fact, the salamander never came here. Instead, it devoted its attentions to your commercial ventures. Once again, if your foe intends your destruction, one has to wonder why.

  "Here's what I think. You have a wealthy friend. Like me, he started common and shinned his way up into the lesser gentry. Unlike me, he yearns to rise higher still. In Mornedealth, that isn't easy, so he decided to ruin you, then offer to cover your losses if you'd adopt him. Or perhaps he wouldn't have been so crude; he might have relied on your gratitude. Either way, he expected to gain a title and membership in one of the Fifty Noble Houses." I turned. "Isn't that right, Master Jarnac?"

  Jarnac glared at me. "This is absurd."

  "Is it? Once we started standing watch, every building that caught fire did so while you were guarding it. Moreover, Draydech and I found the mage who conjured the salamander slain. By a thrust from a thin blade like yours. No Green knew we were hunting the warlock, but you did. You were here when we hatched the plan. Since the man could identify you, you got to him first, silenced him, and ransacked his quarters to make sure that he hadn't written your name down anywhere. Afterward, you found you were still afraid. Maybe you were worried that your search had missed something, or that Draydech's sorcery could make a dead man speak. In any event, you hired a band of assassins to lie in wait for us. Perhaps, in the moments of life remaining to you, it will console you to know that only I escaped."

  Pivor said, "Hold on. How do you know that the fire wizard died after you left here yesterday?"

  "As a corpse cools, it stiffens," I replied. "But after the better part of a day, it starts to go limp again. The body was at that stage when I found it."

  Jarnac's forehead glistened with sweat. His voice breaking, he said, "You can't prove a single thing against me."

  "True," I said. "Not to the satisfaction of a court of law. But I don't have to. I've cast aspersions on your honor, and you're supposed to call me out. If you don't, I'll challenge you, and you'll still have to fight. It's time you learned: there are drawbacks to being an aristocrat."

  He turned. "Lady Elthea, I swear—"

  Her old eyes glittered. "You vile thing."

  Jarnac's face crumpled. "All right. I confess. I surrender. Send for the City Guards."

  I couldn't help feeling disappointed. Though I was confident that the authorities would behead him in due course, I wanted to kill him myself. But I also figured we needed him alive for the nonce, to help us deal with the salamander. "Tell us about the elemental," I said.

  "As you wish," he said. He opened his collar and pulled out a round brass medallion on a chain. "That will be the true consolation, getting rid of the beast." He lifted the chain over his head. "You can't imagine how it's been. I didn't mean to harm anyone. But the thing kept pushing and squirming—"

  His sandy hair burst into flame.

  An instant later, fire blazed out of his eye sockets and silently screaming mouth. His skin shone dazzling white, like molten metal, and wisps of blackened cloth flew away from his body. Crying out in shock and terror, the men around him recoiled. For a moment, he reeled about in manifest agony, then dropped into a truculent crouch.

  At last, too late, I understood why Draydech had never been able to find the spirit. Its summoner had somehow hidden it inside Jarnac. And now, seizing control, it had transmuted their mingled substance into something more nearly resembling its native form.

  I drew my dagger and lunged. Heat seared me. My point plunged into the salamander's breast. Seemingly unhurt, it lifted one fiery hand to seize me.

  I sidestepped its grab and slashed at its other hand. The dagger snagged the chain, and I ripped it out of the elemental's grasp.

  Evidently, it had been a good idea, because the salamander snarled and tried to snatch the medallion back. I surmised that in the hands of a mage, it might have the power to subdue the creature.

  Wishing that I
were a sorcerer, wincing at the blistering touch of the metal, I gripped the chain securely in my fist, wheeled, and ran. The panicky Blues parted before me, clearing my path to the street. The salamander lumbered in pursuit.

  After a few steps, it became apparent that the creature couldn't catch me. Perhaps it would have been slow in any world, in any form, but more likely it was clumsy using Jarnac's legs. Foolishly, I imagined that for the next little while, my primary problem might be making sure that it didn't abandon the chase.

  The air around me grew warmer. I glanced back, but the salamander, now entirely enveloped in a corona of hissing blue flame, was still several yards back. For another heartbeat, I still failed to grasp what was happening. Then I remembered how the spirit had kindled fire at a distance, simply by willing it.

  I dodged, an instant too late. The blast hurled me through the air and smashed me down on the cobbles. Though stunned, I started to scramble up, then noticed that my left sleeve was on fire. I rolled over and over till the blaze went out, then jumped to my feet and dashed on.

  From then on, my progress was a nightmare. Explosions blinded and deafened me. Gasps of hot air charred my throat. By zigzagging, I managed to prevent the salamander from centering a blast on me, but only at the cost of eroding my lead. All things considered, I was reasonably certain that I'd never reach my destination.

  But I was wrong. Eventually I staggered around a corner and there it was, the ground on which I'd chosen to make my stand. I ran a few more feet, drawing the salamander to where I wanted it. Then I sucked in a deep breath, spun, and charged.

  Perhaps the maneuver surprised it, because it didn't even try to get out of my way. I grappled it and bulled it backward. It wrapped its blazing arms around me.

  The next moment seemed to last an eternity. I felt my skin crisping, my tunic, breeches, and eyebrows catching fire. Then the salamander and I plunged off the river-bank.