by Gary Gygax
Inhetep gave her a look of doubt. "That assumes that I—we—will fail here in Lyonnesse, and that our slinking villain will then be at large to work his evil elsewhere."
"Oh, sorry, Setne," Rachelle mumbled abashed. "It came out the wrong way. What I meant was that the criminals plan to strike one of those three places next."
"Apology accepted." Inhetep smiled. "I wasn't actually serious, for I got your meaning. However, I am not so certain about your theory. You might be correct, Rachelle, but the gap seems altogether too convenient to be accidental. Let's suppose instead that this Master of Jackals provided for the possibility of being traced down in just such a manner as you and I have done now. Wherever he moves next there will be a gap. Think of our dilemma should the grand count of Flanders next receive the attention of the killer!"
The girl looked at the Egyptian's sparkling green eyes. He was enjoying this challenge. "Worse still," Rachelle countered, beginning to get involved, "what if the Jackal Master moves his base of operations?"
"That's a dreadful prospect, girl," Inhetep fairly growled. "No need to worry about it yet, though. He hasn't yet finished here in Came-lough. Tomorrow morning early we meet with the Behon and whomever sent him to bring us here. We might actually have an idea as to who our extortionist-killer is thereafter—and how to put the fellow out of his nasty business."
"Sensible." Rachelle yawned. "I'm worn out, and tomorrow is certain to be a demanding day. Time for me to retire," she informed Setne, heading for the door to her own bedchamber. "I'll awaken you at dawn," RachelJe added over her shoulder.
"For once, amazon, I won't object to your early rising habits," the priest-mage replied affably. "We must be in the palace at the eighth hour for breakfast."
Aldriss came to the inn to gather Inhetep and Rachelle for their short trip to the castle, which was the royal seat of the kingdom. Setne was very quiet, not even querying the bard as to whom they should be prepared to meet inside that palatial stronghold. Rachelle made up for it by doing all the talking. Astonishingly, Aldriss was not his usual loquacious and charming self. Instead, the Kellt responded in clipped sentences and monosyllables. Rachelle continued on airily without seeming to notice, until the ten-minute journey by closed carriage was over and the three descended into a small inner courtyard somewhere inside the extensive fortress. "Please come this way, Magister, Lady Rachelle," the bard told the two strangers.
"Where are you taking us?" Rachelle demanded.
"There is a private salon just beyond the foyer here," the man said with strained patience. "Tallesian, our Royal Archdruid, and the Behon are already inside, so please let us go in."
"But of course!" Rachelle exclaimed with a reproachful tone. "Why do you keep us standing here while you talk?"
Setne thought he heard the bard grinding his teeth as he opened the door for them. It struck the Egyptian that Aldriss and the amazon warrior girl must have had some disagreement while aboard the sloop yesterday. But that explained only a portion of the tension. Aldriss was evidently nervous about this meeting. The room they entered was a high-ceilinged chamber with old wood paneling, a thickly carpeted floor, and various paintings and tapestries decorating its stone walls above the polished wainscoting. In the center was a long trestle table with four chairs to either side and a larger, padded armchair at the head. Two footmen in plain russet garb assisted them to chairs opposite the Kelltic spell-workers, as a third servant, also without device on his livery, seated the bard. Inhetep was across from the Behon and nearest the head, with Rachelle to his left across from Tallesian the Archdruid. Aldriss was at one place further down on the priest's right. There were only six places set, so as soon as the royal representative appeared, the meal—and the discussion—could commence.
"I trust you both were comfortable and rested well at the Prince House," the Behon said politely.
"Thank you, lord. We were very well cared for."
"I, too, thank you," Rachelle murmured, eyes fixed on the door through which their host would appear.
An uncomfortable silence settled upon them, broken suddenly by a hammering from beyond the inner portal. One of the footmen snapped to attention and opened the thick door. The three Lyonnessians jerked up out of their chairs and looked toward the open doorway. Setne and the girl were halfway out of their seats when the personage entered the salon.
"Please be seated, noble practitioners, lady," he commanded in a brisk voice as he strode up to the table. A servant flew to the table's head to pull the chair back for the man. "This is an absolutely confidential meeting. It hasn't happened, if you understand my meaning." He sat imperially on the embroidered cushion of the great armchair, a seat which moved as if by magick to accommodate him. "Being thus," he continued, "I grant leave to dispense with due formalities. You may address me simply as 'Highness,' " the man told Setne without smiling. He nodded toward the three on his right. "That includes you as well, of course."
"Yes, Your—Highness," the Behon murmured, and his associates bobbed their heads.
The man must be the crown prince of Lyon-nesse, Inhetep surmised. He was too young to be
King Glydel, second of that name to rule the isle, for the Egyptian knew the current monarch of Lyonnesse had held the throne for over twenty years now. The ruddy-cheeked aristocrat at the head of the table was only nearing thirty. King Glydel had ascended to the throne at that age. Here was Prince Llewyn, then. Despite his pomposity and seemingly autocratic bent, Setne thought him a very tough-minded fellow and knew from reputation that the prince was a warrior of considerable accomplishment. What Prince Llewyn had to say would be carefully worded—and would bear close attention. There were a half-dozen men serving them now, taking care to wait according to precedence. The prince, then the Behon, Setne, the Archdruid, with uncertainty taken care of by simultaneous placing of viands before Rachelle and Aldriss. The wizard-priest was no stranger to such situations, and because he had banqueted with Pharaoh, the emperor of Byzantium, and a number of lesser monarchs as well, Inhetep was able to display perfect etiquette even as he took the measure of the noble prince and listened carefully to what the man said.
A half dozen serving men placed dishes before them. Prince Llewyn began eating immediately, and the others then followed suit. "Eat slowly, Sir Aldriss," the prince admonished. "I'll not finish so soon as to leave you ravenous."
There was humor in his voice. So he wasn't quite as Inhetep first thought! "Highness . . ." the Egyptian began. Prince Llewyn tipped his head to indicate that his guest could speak. "I am most honored that you have come in person to breakfast with me. Am I to assume that you are afterwards going to enlighten me as to the . . . disturbing matter regarding jackals?"
"The Behon has spoken well of your magickal repute, and other sources have told me of your assistance in matters involving spies and criminals. I have small interest in the hierarchy of those employing dweomers, Magister Inhetep. Yet I have a feeling that I am the one who should be flattered by your presence, not vice versa, especially considering your prowess of investigation as demonstrated on Pharaoh's behalf. Be that as it may," the nobleman said flatly, putting the royal mantle squarely back on his shoulders, "it pleases me to have you here and to see you so eager to take on the duty you have accepted." Llewyn ate a few more bites and then waved a hand. The servitors moved rapidly to clear away the almost untouched food. Rachelle looked a little startled, and the bard actually uttered a low groan.
So much for royal promises, Inhetep thought.
"Ah now, there you've gone and—"
"Tut, poet! Don't presume on your high office to admonish a prince!" he scolded Aldriss, this time with a bite to his words. Then softening somewhat, he added, "Your silver tongue will get you far more than you missed here, that I know. Even my trusted butler opens the pantry and buttery's whiskey spigots for you, Aldriss."
"That's so," the fellow admitted, flashing a smile at the prince and around the table. "And I find I am craving your pardon once again, High
ness."
"Granted. Behon, dismiss the servants."
There was no commotion. The magus simply looked in their direction, confirming the orders of the crown prince of Lyonnesse. In truth, even that was quite unnecessary, for the men had heard clearly their lord's order and were moving quickly and quietly to obey. In a minute, the five men and Rachelle were alone in the salon. When the servitors had exited, Tallesian bolted both doors to the room. The prince gestured to his chief mage, and the Behon brought forth a short wand and began an almost silent casting which magickally barred the portals. That act was then followed by a spell of privacy, so that the entire salon was warded against any sort of eavesdropping or observation, whether by some normal means or through magickal ones such as clairaudience, clairvoyance, or scrying of any sort with mirror, bowl, or crystal ball. As that formula was completed, a thick layer of soot-hued fog furled into the room. Its ebony cloud covered walls, ceiling, and floor, but left the six in a clear and unclouded space as if they were in the eye of a storm. Setne was quite surprised, for such was a most unusual precaution considering the other two which had been taken. It was obvious the royal prince trusted not even the stone walls of his palace.
Both the bard and the druid were sitting on the edge of their chairs as Prince Llewyn reached into his short robe and drew forth an object. "This is the only clue we have as to the Master of Jackals," he said slowly, with the object hidden in his grasp. "Tell me, Magister Inhetep, have you ever seen anything like this before?" The prince's fingers uncurled, and there in his palm Llewyn held an obsidian figurine of the ^Egyptian god, Anubis!
Rachelle gasped. Setne remained expressionless, even as something more disconcerting occurred. As Prince Llewyn displayed the figurine of black stone, its tiny eyes of inset ruby seemed to catch fire and grow larger. Twin beams of hot crimson light shot forth to a point just above the table. As if in a spotlight, there appeared a figure—a man robed in red and wearing a jackal mask, which covered the whole of his head. The magickally projected figure spoke, the voice coming as a soft whisper in the ear of each person: "King Glydel, you are my slave," the hissing voice said with mockery and self-assurance. "There is no need for me to inform you of my powers, to relate the fate of the spaewife Olga or a fool who was once called Karl. You already have knowledge of them, and the others too, who failed to pay tribute as my slaves."
"This is incredible!" Rachelle said loudly, her face hard with anger.
Inhetep touched her gently on the arm. "Yes, but let us listen," he said without taking his eyes from the projection.
"Listen well, or else I will strike down your most trusted servants, your sons, even you." The image seemed to mushroom as the perspective changed to show a close-up of the person's head. It was impossible to tell whether the speaker portrait was male or female, for the whisper and the mask precluded such knowledge. Besides, magick could easily alter perceptions. The un-moving lips of the black-and-gold mask, red eyes glittering as if alive, and sharp fangs which gave the impression of snarling attack and sneering mockery all at once, were the focus as the Master of Jackals spoke again.
"You or your son, Prince Llewyn, will be attending the Annual Council of the Five Crowns held after Beltaine. While there, you will announce to the others that you now recognize Set as the Great Lord of Lyonnesse, and that they too must do so. If any balk, inform them that the armed might of your kingdom will come down upon them.
"You must meanwhile pay tribute to Set and to Lord Anubis. One thousand of your golden griananas are to be packed in a stout bronze chest, one just large enough to hold the coins, no bigger. That chest you will have taken by ship to the middle of the Hybernian Sea and dropped overboard. If you do not comply with this small demand, I will strike down your Gwyddorr." Setne shifted his eyes from the archdruid to see Aldriss' face. The bard was pale and shaken, for he was the Gwyddorr, so styled in official Lyonnesse. The phantom figure continued. "Then you will pay twice the tribute I now require of you, slave. You have until sun's ebb to bow to my will. Then the druid dies. Each week of delay thereafter will bring fell death to another of your council—nobles, priests, or mages—and payment of an additional tribute of one thousand griana-nas, and no lesser coin.
"As to the proclamation of Set as Lord of Lyonnesse, you have until Beltaine to comply, and immediately after the council you must do so throughout the land. Failure will bring doom to your male children and yourself. You must show your intent, slave of mine, by yielding up to me the Wheel of the Tuatha de Danann. Be ready. When I tell you what to do you will have only one week to comply.
"Now go about your petty affairs. Say nothing of this to anyone or I will smite you down for the sport of it. I am the Master of Jackals, and Great Set is my companion."
The fire died in the statuette's eyes. It was as if someone had shuttered a lantern. The projection vanished simultaneously. A depressed silence filled the salon. The prince looked at Inhetep. "Well?"
"Odd," the ^Egyptian said noncommitally. "Odd and intriguing." Setne had found false notes in the performance, but the wizard-priest was unprepared to articulate his suspicions. In fact, he felt he was a long way from that point. "This gold coin called griananas, what value has it?"
Aldriss supplied the answer. "It is a grianana, Magister Inhetep. The sun-wheel coin of official state business of Lyonnesse, although there are some in circulation elsewhere, of course. The grianana is made to equal the Atlantlan orb— an ounce of virtually pure orichalcum," the bard added by way of explanation. "One of either sort of coin is equal to three thousand of your Egyptian bronze dinars."
"Surely you have more to ask!" Crown Prince Llewyn was agitated.
Setne nodded, face stoic. "But certainly, Highness, yet no small detail can be overlooked. I will now, with your kind permission, ask the questions you expect of me."
"Proceed."
"Who did this thing's words address first, your . . . king?"
That seemed to unsettle the prince. "No," he admitted slowly. "One of my servants intercepted it before it reached my—the king."
"As I thought," the copper-skinned man said in clipped voice. "It came a month ago. You paid over the gold?"
"Yes. I saw no choice, for Tallesian is indispensable. It bought time, too. Never will the kingdom give over its own gods in favor of Set!"
Inhetep smiled a little. "No, that would be unthinkable. Does King Glydel know anything of this matter at all?"
The prince shook his head sharply. "No, and why should he?" Llewyn asked defensively. "Six months is ample time to suss the matter out, find the culprits, and have their heads!"
"Perhaps, Highness," Setne murmured. "Yet one thousand of your triple-gold grianana are certainly not so trivial as to escape the attention of the king—"
"Griananas," Aldriss interjected. Llewyn shot him a dark look, and the bard shrank in his chair.
"I managed it so as to cause no shortage in the royal treasury," the young prince told the Egyptian.
"And who is privy to the matter?"
"Besides those here assembled? No—" He bit his words short when he saw the small smile of incredulity on Inhetep's face. Prince Llewyn cleared his throat, sat straighter still, and in his most imperious voice added, "Nobody—save certain nobles of other kingdoms of Avillon, that
Setne inclined his head toward the royal prince, his shaven pate glistening a little in the subdued light of the magickally shrouded salon. "As I thought, Highness. You say that the sovereigns of the other four kingdoms know of this? That each has likewise received such an object?"
"How did you guess that?!" the Behon demanded, forgetting his place.
"A small thing actually," Setne said with apparent humility, but his statement cut off the rebuke the prince was about to utter. "Even one of moderate wit would realize that to make the evil Set the over-deity of all Avillonia, each of its five royal houses would have to be forced into compliance. That means five of these figurines were delivered: to Albion, Cymru, Caledonia, Hybernia, an
d this one before us to Camelough, capital of Lyonnesse." The wizard-priest held out his hands, palm upward in a gesture of helplessness. "That much is easy, the rest another thing altogether.
"Be that as it may, I am as much at a loss to explain this as you. I fear that what I have seen gives me no clue as to this so-called 'Master of Jackals,' or his plans and purposes, than any of you." Setne duplicated his gesture of uncertainty, but then asked, "Why do you suppose you were given six months? The other victims seemed to have been struck down—or complied, or both—in but two months or less."
The prince stood up, glaring at his councillors to assure their silence. "That is as obvious to me as the sending of five of these filthy little idols was to you, Magister Inhetep! This Master of Jackals is now frying bigger fish—Lyonnesse and the other four great kingdoms. Don't you see? He has given us a half year to establish the yolk of the filthy Eastern deity upon us all!"
"Filthy? I cannot but concur, lord," Inhetep said coldly. "Yet I find I must strongly take exception to the remainder of your remark. Now," the Egyptian said, rising and looming over the tall prince, "I believe it is time that Lady Rachelle and I withdraw. It will not be possible for me to offer further assistance."
"Wait!" commanded Crown Prince Llewyn.
"As one ecclesiastic to another, pray remain," Archdruid Tallesian added.
The Behon likewise spoke, "Inhetep, I second that request as one scholar to another."
Rachelle looked at the bard. "What, Aldriss, have you nothing to say in this regard?" she asked mockingly. She turned to Inhetep, seeing him rod-straight and expressionless. "I am by your side, my lord ur-kheri-heb. None will challenge our departure." There was veiled menace in her lilting contralto.
"I must accept the blame for hasty words. I meant no offense and ask that you allow me to withdraw any which cast aspersions on your great land, Magister," the prince said as if through a closing throat. His pained expression showed that he was very unused to such apologies.