Reave the Just and Other Tales

by Donaldson, Stephen R.

  They spoke softly, but their words were plain. Velvet protected them from being overheard in the hall of wisdom.

  “I dislike it, Rowel,” one of them whined. A misfocused squint in one eye suggested that his wits were not as keen as his blade. “Does our lord mean us to murder this Urmeny in full view of all these folk?”

  Murder— I could hardly credit my hearing. Did Sher Abener intend to slay me outright? Had his malice toward me grown so extreme that only butchery would appease it?

  I trembled in dismay.

  How had I become so dangerous to the necromancer?

  The man called Rowel continued his scrutiny of the hall. “If needed, Scut,” he answered his duller companion with practiced patience. “If needed. One of our lord’s theurgists is there”—he pointed cautiously past the curtain—“do you see? And he has bribed another to aid him. They will cast a mood for blood upon the gathering.”

  These tidings were fearsome to me, but the speaker said more. “Benedic’s brave Thal is already in a muck sweat, lathered with fear.” His tone conveyed a feral pleasure. “Our lord has given him certain hints concerning the price of opposition. Likely our work will be done for us, with his command or without it.”

  Scut remained stubbornly uncertain. “Yet we are instructed—”

  “And wisely so,” answered Rowel. “Fear is an imprecise tool.” The man was a philosopher. “As is theurgy, when it must be worked in secret. Our lord is not ready to declare his mastery of this demesne. He seeks to daunt opposition indirectly. Therefore—” He left his study of the hall to regard his companion. “If it becomes clear that we are needed,” he stated in cold tones, “we will act. The theurgists will provide for our escape, and our lord will reward us.”

  Scut spat his disgust. “It is filthy work, Rowel. I prefer honest killing at night in solitary alleys, when the moon is dark—and no pikemen in earshot.

  “Still, I would not displease our lord,” he added more conscientiously. “My blade follows yours.”

  Holding my breath, I drew back. For a moment, I could not conceive what I would do. My desperation so nearly resembled stupidity that I saw no alternative but to assail these ruffians with my fists, hoping to raise enough clamor so that aid would find me before I was slain. However, the thought of theurgists halted me. If miraculously I foiled Rowel and Scut—and survived—I would still have gained little, for Sher Abener’s other servants would remain to work his will.

  Theurgy could deliver wounds as fatal as any knife cut or sword thrust—and could do so secretly, as Rowel had intimated. A man might perish without knowing who had harmed him, or how. Yet for that very reason, those who served Sher Abener in the hall of wisdom were a greater danger than these ruffians.

  Clearly, I must find some other path to my goal.

  Flinching on damaged feet, I retraced my passage from room to room with the most elaborate caution until I had regained the passage where I had turned aside from the stranger’s progress.

  Here were guards aplenty, stationed wherever a corridor joined the larger chambers. I approached the nearest pikemen. They eyed me mistrustfully. Doubtless I did not appear to be a man who should walk freely within the Thal’s domicile. They must have wondered who had admitted me to these halls—and how that error would be punished. Nevertheless I did not hesitate to accost them. My manner was one of assurance, which was entirely feigned, and urgency, which was quite sincere.

  “Heed me well,” I instructed before they could challenge me. “My time is short, and I must act quickly.” I meant, Ask no explanation, for I have none. “Assassins have entered the mansion. I overheard two men—armed men—plotting murder. In those rooms adjoining the hall of wisdom.” I indicated the archway from which I had just emerged. “They did not make it clear whom they mean to slay. But I fear for the Thal.

  “Do not shout,” I added, “or you will forewarn them before they may be apprehended.”

  This intelligence would have perplexed even the cleverest of the Thal’s guards. Plainly, the men I addressed were not among them. Their hands assumed readiness on their pike shafts, but no comprehension illuminated their eyes. My words struggled against the distrust on their blunt features.

  I recognized their confusion, however. Indeed, I relied upon it. Sharper-witted men would surely have troubled me with questions. But these dullards might obey almost any command issued in a peremptory tone.

  Therefore I snapped, “Fools! Will you bring death down on this house? Go! Otherwise the deed will be done, and all who serve here will be held accountable.”

  Then I turned and hastened away.

  Behind me, I heard the clatter of their boots as they began to run. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw them race toward the rooms I had indicated.

  I feared that they would forget me—and my words—as soon as they lost sight of me. The stranger’s glamour threatened death to us both. I could only pray that my desperation would inspire the guards with a lingering alarm persistent enough to outlast my immediate presence. I did not doubt that Scut and Rowel would soon shed blood, if they were not interrupted.

  Swallowing thirst and dread, I directed my steps to the Thal’s misnamed “hall of wisdom.”

  Soon it became apparent that I had correctly guessed the chamber where Benedic’s sovereign meant to express Sher Abener’s displeasure. I heard a gathering of voices, hushed but numerous, and ahead of me a laggard or two hurried toward the hall. As they took no notice of me, I spared myself all pretense of stealth. In any case, the effort would have been wasted, for the last corridors offered no concealment. They were at once open and guarded. Nothing remained to assist my approach except a demented confidence in my strange insubstantiality.

  Yet when I gained the polished parquet and condensed illumination of the hall of wisdom, I did not push forward to the center, but rather lurked back against the walls. They were behung with plush draperies, a few of which concealed entries, although most were entirely decorative. Praying that I might encounter no more assassins, I positioned myself as near as practicable to hangings behind which I might hide at need. The chamber held a throng of the Thal’s counselors and sycophants, courtesans and near relations, guards and theurgists, in addition to retainers, servants, and interested spectators, and I had no wish to be snared among them. My madness was not yet so extreme. By mischance or intent, someone would certainly remark upon my presence, and then I would be lost. For that reason, I kept to the walls, and fretted.

  For the moment, the stranger faced no visible peril. Forty or fifty citizens of Benedic were in attendance, but Sher Abener was not among them. And none of them approached the supposed Sher Urmeny. While the throng awaited the Thal’s appearance, even those who wished me well distanced themselves from my usurper. He stood silent in a clear space before the dais, his arms folded upon his chest, his features composed to mildness, his confidence plain.

  Undistracted, I gnawed anxiously upon the daunting challenge of identifying those who meant to work Sher Abener’s will.

  One of our lord’s theurgists is there, Rowel had told Scut. And he has bribed another to aid him. They will cast a mood for blood upon the gathering.

  There lay the chief danger, as I conceived it. Benedic had no history of dire punishments. During our prolonged years of wealth and indolence, we had grown unfamiliar with the bloody-handed practices which reportedly characterized other demesnes and lands. When apprehended, pickthieves were compelled to honest labor. Bolder burglars risked incarceration. A vandal might suffer flogging. However, expulsion from the municipality was the worst retribution exacted upon miscreants. We lacked the vehemence for more fatal measures. If Sher Abener sought to snuff my life, he must first overcome decades of tradition, habit, and sloth. Beyond question a mood for blood would be necessary.

  That, among other practices, was the work of theurgists.

  As Rowel had remarked, however
, theurgy was often imprecise. Especially when it must be worked in secret—for surely the necromancer’s henchmen would not wish their labors known. Even in fright, our Thal might withhold action against me if he suspected that he had been urged to it by arcane means.

  I had been taught that the farcasting of glamours and suasions—indeed, of any theurgy—was chancy at best, liable to run wild. To control the effects of their arts, those who served Sher Abener must be present. But they would not put themselves forward. Rather they would feign uninvolvement, doing all they could to remain unremarked among the gathering.

  Thus I reasoned to myself—if what passed through a mind in such straits as mine could be named “reason.” Unfortunately, my dilemma remained unresolved. If Sher Abener’s theurgists disguised themselves, how could I identify them in order to interrupt their power? By custom, theurgists did not attire themselves as men of rank, but instead wore symbolistic robes, bore amulets and talismen. That gave me no aid, however. Without searching the hall, I saw no fewer than six such individuals. Four of them were known to me—yet that signified nothing, since my knowledge did not extend to the private details of bribery and conscience. Furthermore, one or both of the necromancer’s henchmen must surely have set aside traditional garb, as an added disguise for their intentions. My enemies might wear the raiment of honored merchants, favored relations, or even trusted retainers.

  In frustration, I fretted like a steed at once reined and goaded, driven ahead and restrained—tormented by conflicting commands. Was the Thal truly lathered with fear? No more so than I. The insanity of my presence here was exceeded only by that of the stranger who had taken my name, and my doom. As I had assured Tep Longeur, I was not the man to effect bold salvations. Too late—years too late—I asked myself why I had not attended more closely when my tutors had striven to teach me a wellborn young man’s polite knowledge of theurgy. Had I but listened then, I might now be able to act.

  An apprehension resembling my own accumulated in the hall. Tense muttering sank to silence amid the folds of the draperies. Men shuffled their feet. Courtesans and ladies plucked the lint of anxiety from their purses and sleeves. The Thal had not yet made his entrance, and the assembly grew ever more restive at the delay. Doubtless the men and women before me were disturbed by my usurper’s air of inviolable confidence. None of them would have met the prospect of our sovereign’s displeasure with such a mien. And doubtless also their concern was enhanced by their awareness of the true threat looming before this Sher Urmeny. If a merchant of my wealth, charm, and complaisance might be threatened thus, who among them could consider himself safe?

  At last, however, a flourish struck upon a tabla announced the Thal, and he swept past hangings into the hall, accompanied not by his usual coterie of ladies, but by a phalanx of pikemen. He arrived directly upon the dais, where the light concentrated to augment his stature, for he was not by nature an imposing figure. For that reason, I saw him clearly, although I cowered nowhere nearby. Rowel had described him aptly. A sheen of perspiration accentuated his fleshy visage, and his eyes stared widely, so that the whites of the orbs gleamed. He might have been an overwrought gelding—or a stallion maddened by the presence of too many mares. Indeed, he was palpably afraid.

  Observing him, I deemed that he understood his own plight. The rule of Benedic had already slipped from his grasp, whether he willed it or not. His “displeasure” was entirely the necromancer’s. His sole concern here was not to punish me, but rather to preserve some residue of his own riches and standing against Sher Abener’s designs. As Tep Longeur had suggested, my enemy aimed at all Benedic.

  Sadly, this altered nothing. Those who opposed Sher Abener would suffer for it nonetheless.

  From the side of the dais, an oblivious chamberlain, immune to the mood of the gathering, recited the tally of the Thal’s titles, possessions, and honorifics thoroughly, but no one heeded him. Our ruler himself chafed under the delay. When the proclamation of his significance was complete, he spoke without further ceremony.

  “This has become a dark day,” he complained, “when it should have been pleasant for us all, blessed by festivity and acquisition.” His voice was high and unstable, like a mistuned theorbo. His white gaze rolled about the hall, avoiding only my usurper. “One among us, Sher Urmeny himself, an esteemed and prosperous merchant, has transgressed the standards of conduct observed by all Benedic since the time of my father, and of his father before him.

  “We are a municipality of commerce.” In his distress, the Thal allowed himself petulance. “On commerce we all depend. Without it, we would sink to rabble and poverty. Furthermore, we are a compliant people, generous and acquiescent in all our dealings. By this virtue, we conduct commerce without ill will or jealousy, and every honest trans-action is sanctified.

  “Yet Sher Urmeny has offended against one among us, a respected neighbor and honored citizen, by refusing commerce.”

  As I have said, our Thal was a weak ruler, self-interested to the point of greed, and easily led. At an earlier period of my life—yesterday, perhaps—I would have listened witlessly to his words, nodded bland assent to their import, and given them no further thought. Now, however, I seemed to hear them with new senses, a new knowledge of pain—with my damaged feet, for example, bleeding through their own crust, or with the scorched wasteland of my mouth and throat. Thus I understood that the Thal’s speech itself meant nothing. Its only real purpose was to muster his courage for the denunciation Sher Abener required of him—and, if I heard him rightly, to beg the forgiveness of his people. He wished Benedic’s citizens to understand what he did, and hold him blameless.

  Well, he was a weakling. And I was a madman. Although I heard him with new ears, I did not attend to him. Instead I wracked my peculiar insanity for some means by which I might divert what would follow.

  Others around the hall were more present in their alarm, more concerned for the immediate appearance of events. A grumble of assent rose uncertainly to meet the Thal’s displeasure. I heard such descriptives as “insult” and “dishonor.” Sher Abener’s theurgists may have already begun to work upon the gathering.

  Beyond question, I should have given my tutors better attention than I had ever accorded the Thal.

  Emboldened by his own peroration, perhaps, or by the murmuring of his supporters, he turned at last to confront the stranger unrepentant before him. In his manner, he strove to convey a virtuous indignation which his manifest fright undermined.

  “Sher Urmeny, you have disgraced Benedic. You have disgraced me.”

  In response, my usurper smiled. The effect was less than amiable. “You are mistaken,” he replied so that all could hear him. “The facts are otherwise. You have disgraced yourself.”

  The sheer audacity of this affront struck the Thal so that he gaped like a fish. For the space of several heartbeats, I forgot my own concerns to gape as well. A stinging tension afflicted the entire assembly. Men and women whom I had known from my youth turned rigid with apprehension, or retreated to increase their distance from the stranger. Pikemen gripped their weapons expectantly. Retainers and relations withdrew from the reach of harm, while theurgists fumbled for talismen hung about their necks or secreted in pouches at their belts.

  In his consternation, the Thal spoke without considering what he said. “How so?” he asked fearfully, thereby granting the supposed Sher Urmeny leave to distress him further.

  My usurper showed neither hesitation nor doubt. He did not raise his voice, yet his strength grew as he answered the Thal.

  “A citizen of this municipality has accused me of improper dealing. You do not name him.” The stranger lifted one finger as though to enumerate a list. “And you do not inquire whether the accusation is accurate.” A second digit joined the first. “You do not inquire whether there might be circumstances which explain my conduct.” A third. “Indeed, you do not inquire whether there might be circumstances wh
ich would cast my dealings in an altogether more favorable light.” And a fourth. “This is unjust.”

  Standing vividly in the enhanced illumination, he closed his list into a fist. “You are the sovereign of this demesne,” he concluded. “The responsibility of justice is yours. If you choose to set it aside, you disgrace yourself, and your demesne as well.”

  Now the Thal achieved the indignation he had feigned a moment earlier. Doubtless he borrowed its force from his fear of Sher Abener. He reminded me uncomfortably of Tep Longeur as he protested, “Choose? Do you think I choose?”

  Yet the difference between him and my former overseer was palpable. By the necromancer’s arts, Tep Longeur had been deprived of volition. Our Thal had not.

  Supporting the Thal, my friends and associates and neighbors protested vociferously. Outright anger mounted against the stranger, warning me of theurgy and bloodshed. He spoke simple truth. Therefore Benedic’s citizens took offense. I felt my own ire rise, as though I, too, had been insulted.

  And still I could think of no means to deflect what transpired.

  My usurper remained undaunted, however—secure in his imponderable confidence. “Surely you do choose,” he countered. “You are a man, free of heart and mind.” Briefly he lifted his head and appeared to scent the air like a hound trained to the hunt. Then he remarked, “If I am not mistaken, there are those in your demesne who experience a coercion which is beyond their strength to overthrow”—I could not conceive how he had acquired this knowledge—“but you are not among them. Each word you speak, and each breath with which you speak it, is a choice. You are self-disgraced, and must bear the stain yourself.”

  In response, a mood for blood swelled across the assembly, gaining force as it deepened and grew. Sher Abener’s theurgists were at work, I was certain of it, although I could see no sign of the baffling arts. At any other time, Benedic’s Thal and citizenry would no doubt have been similarly offended by the stranger’s words, but their reaction would have been otherwise. They would have disarmed his accusation with jests, dissipated it with laughter—and declined to heed it. In their place, I would have done the same.