Lan glanced around, still speechless. The tower walls were hung with dozens of embroidered scenes, all of them depicting dragons eating princes. "This will make for a nice change," the princess said brightly. She pulled out new colors of embroidery floss. "Fancy that! A prince slaying a dragon!"
"I had some help," Lan told her.
After a bit more polite conversation, Lan was relieved to ascertain that the elderly princess had no interest in marrying him, or even in leaving the tower. "Not just yet," she said.
She did insist on patching Lan's shoulder with a piece of embroidery linen before he went back down the stairs and left the lady to her work.
Gilly had been looking after her horse, so Lan was just in time to hold up the dragon's head while Gilly sawed off its long purple tongue.
"You know," Gilly said, "I don't think my aunt expects me to return."
"I'm not sure my father does, either," Lan told her. "The journey companion he handpicked for me was an assassin."
"Mine was simply incompetent," Gilly said. "The wolves got him."
"Ogres," Lan said, "or rather, me, but we were fighting ogres at the time."
Gilly found herself thinking that Lan held the dragon's head very nicely. Lan couldn't decide which he liked more—the way Gilly had slain the griffin, or the way she had blinded the dragon.
After bidding the Princess in the Tower farewell, Lan and Gilly rode west across the Dark Waste together. As they traveled, they laughed and talked, coming to a most agreeable understanding.
* * * *
A week later, Gilly and Lan arrived in Gorland, where Lan took the princess to the knights' quarters to meet his friends before approaching his father. The knights poured out into the common room, smiling to see that Lan had returned and eyeing Gilly with curiosity.
It was going to take her a while to remember all their names, but at least they seemed to approve of her, Gilly thought, judging by the greetings and back slapping Lan was getting. The men's smiles only got bigger when they heard about how Lan and Gilly had dealt with the beasts guarding the Dark Tower.
"Welcome to Gorland!" a large, sober-faced knight named Dekkan told Gilly enthusiastically. The others broke out cheering.
When things had quieted down, Lan said to his friends, "Will you stand by me? We're going to speak to my father."
The knights exchanged looks and strapped on their swords. Soon the whole crew of them was tramping after Lan and Gilly to the throne room.
Gilly watched the king's face as they approached the throne. No joy there, not for his son's safety, and not for her being at Lan's side.
"I've brought you a griffin's pelt," the prince said, tossing the thing at King Crag's feet. "And this is my betrothed, Princess Gillian of Minark."
King Crag looked her over. "Must feel good to get out of that tower."
"Oh, I'm not that princess," Gilly said. "I was on a quest, too."
"So you got help," the king told his son with a sour quirk of his lips. "And you brought back the wrong princess. Doesn't count, now, does it?"
All of the knights took a step forward, drawing their swords.
King Crag eyed them and snorted. "Well done, my boy." Whether he was referring to the way Lan had completed his quest or the presence of the knights, the princess wasn't certain.
* * * *
When an assassin entered Prince Lan's chamber long past midnight, she was surprised to encounter nothing more than pillows in the bed. She fumbled about in the darkness. Where was he?
The assassin felt steel at her throat. She tried to twist away, but there was no escaping the unseen assailant, who laughed in her ear.
"I believe you've got the wrong room," Gilly said sweetly, pressing the blade in just a little.
Light flared. "Not because it's not my room," Lan told the black-clad woman from the chair where he sat artistically twirling a crossbow.
"It's simply the wrong room in general," Gilly said, and the assassin was quick to agree.
In fact, the woman was relieved to find herself out in the hallway, escorted by two knights away from the terrifying southern princess to the castle dungeons.
Breakfast with the king the next morning was surprisingly pleasant. And when Lan and Gilly rode south that afternoon, they took all of Gorland's knights with them. King Crag was left handing out spears to three elderly footmen and a stable boy.
* * * *
Several days later, Gilly and Lan stood in another throne room. The look on Aunt Frances's face was something Gilly would treasure for the rest of her life, the princess thought as she gave a shallow bow and presented Minark's regent with a dragon's tongue. The thing smelled rather strongly by now and made two of the ladies-in-waiting faint.
"How perfectly splendid to see that you've come back safely!" the regent remarked. Though she sounded rather breathless, she did not faint.
That night at dinner, Lady Frances proposed a toast, but Lan stood before anyone could drink their wine and said, "I have a better idea." He picked up Gilly's goblet and strode down the table to where the regent sat, drawing his sword as he went.
"I'd prefer to see you drink the toast with this glass." Lan's voice was somewhat less polite than usual.
Behind him, the regent's guards stirred, but so did Lan's knights.
The regent stared first at the glass, then at the tip of Lan's sword. "I'm really not the least bit thirsty," she said delicately.
Lan turned and addressed the scowling guards. "Perhaps one of you would like to drink this?"
Nobody answered. In fact, one by one, the dinner guests got up from the table and slipped out of the room. The guards disappeared with them, till only Lan and Gilly and Aunt Frances were left—along with the knights of Gorland, who were grinning at each other and at Lan.
But Lan was looking at the regent. "I'm going to marry your niece," he informed her. "I suggest you rethink the quality of the refreshments served in this household."
"I must offer you my congratulations," Lady Frances said in a voice that trembled slightly.
* * * *
Lan's father traveled southward for the wedding, which took place shortly thereafter. Both the bride and groom were heavily armed, and the knights of Gorland stood around with their hands on their sword hilts. They were joined by a group of Minark's guardsmen that had been carefully selected by Gilly. Off to one side, the court ministers glowed with pride and even a little hope. When they called out "Long life," the princess couldn't help wondering if they might be referring to a newfound vision of reaching a ripe old age themselves.
With all of the blood and journey stink behind them, Gilly and Lan made a very attractive couple. "Steel and lace," Lan whispered in her ear as they danced, touching first the armor at her hip and then the sleeve of her wedding dress.
"We really should commission a statue of that dragon," Gilly whispered back, and they both laughed.
At the wedding supper, which was catered and served by a firm from the city, the king and the regent sat together chatting. "You just can't find a good quest these days," the regent said sadly.
"You certainly can't," said King Crag, noticing that Lady Frances's eyes were a wonderful icy blue.
* * * *
Soon there was another wedding in Minark. And so it was that the former regent went north to take her place as queen to Lan's father.
For his part, Lan was glad to turn his back on the dreary northern kingdom of Gorland. He and Gilly became king and queen of Minark, where they spent their days meeting with the council, picnicking, and, one memorable summer, playfully fighting off an invasion by the goblin horde of Akh'ekh'ikh.
* * * *
As for the Princess in the Tower, when she had finished her newest piece of embroidery, she sent it along to Lan and Gilly as a wedding gift.
Then she descended the tower stairs and set off—slowly, but with fine determination—on an impossible quest.
Ghost Puppet
Jonathan Moeller
; Caina was an invisible spy, one of the Emperor's Ghosts, until one of her missions made her so conspicuous that she could no longer serve in that capacity. The Emperor then made her a Countess of the Imperial Court, so that she could continue to serve him. But now she needed different methods—and perhaps help from other people.
A wandering computer repairman from Minnesota, Jonathan Moeller lost 130 pounds since last year. He's not sure where he put them. As an added bonus, spending less time eating means that he has more time to write, so he was pleased to write "Ghost Puppet" for Sword & Sorceress 25. Before that, he wrote the novel DEMONSOULED (Gale/Five Star), stories for SWORD & SORCERESS 22, 23, and 24, and stories for numerous other publications, some of which are even still in print! Visit his website at http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer where you can read, among other things, interviews with numerous past contributors to SWORD & SORCERESS.
Caina disguised herself as a man.
It always made these little meetings go so much easier.
She dressed as a mercenary, donning a steel-studded leather coat and mud-encrusted boots, sword and dagger heavy at her belt. She rubbed sweat into her black hair, let it fall in greasy curtains over her face, and makeup across her jaw and chin gave her the appearance of stubble. Soon she looked no different from countless other unemployed mercenaries thronging the Imperial capital.
She went alone. These days she had reliable agents, but she still preferred to work alone.
* * * *
An hour later Caina waited in the corner of a stinking dockside tavern, holding a clay mug of cheap beer.
She did not wait long. A man approached her table. He was elderly, wore simple clothes, and stank of horses. A stable hand, most likely.
"Aye?" said Caina, disguising her voice with an accented growl.
"Are you the one who works for the Countess Caina Amalas, sir?" said the old man in a quavering voice, kneading his hat between trembling hands.
"I am," said Caina. "State your business."
"My name's Oni, sir," said the old man. "I'm a groom at the Magisterium chapterhouse. I... I might have something to interest the Countess, sir."
That got Caina's attention. The Imperial Magisterium, the order of magi, was one of the Emperor's chief enemies. They had tried to kill him a number of times, through sorcery and hired assassins, and Caina had foiled them repeatedly.
Needless to say, they wanted her dead, too. Badly.
"Well?" said Caina, looking at the old man. "What is it? If you truly have something to interest my mistress the Countess, you'll get good gold for it, fear not."
"Is it true, what they say about the Countess?" said Oni.
"That depends," said Caina. "What do they say?"
"That she was a spy, one of the Emperor's Ghosts," said Oni. "That she saved the Emperor from an assassin in front of a thousand witnesses. And... that every night she lures an enemy to her bed, and slits his throat while he lies exhausted from her embrace."
That was a new one.
Caina shrugged. "The Countess used to be a Ghost, that's plain. Else why should she pay gold for whispers? As for the rest of it... I don't care if she's slept with half the Imperial Court." That rumor irritated her to no end, but if it served her work, she could tolerate it. "She pays me well, and that's all I care about. And if you have a brain in that head, that's all you'll care about, too. Now. You have something the Countess might find interesting, or are you wasting my time?"
"Here," said Oni, thrusting out a wrinkled paper. It was a letter, she saw, with the Magisterium's seal on the bottom, and...
Caina blinked.
"Where did you get this?" she said.
"In the stables, sir," said Oni. "One of the magi fell from his horse. The horses get... spooked around the magi, sometimes, especially after they work sorcery. This letter fell out of his bag. I was going to return it, but I heard that Countess Caina pays good gold for letters, so... I took it."
"She does," said Caina.
She read the letter, thinking hard.
The magi had hired assassins. Not for the Emperor, but for Lucan Maraeus, the youngest son of the Lord Governor of Marsis. But why would the magi want to kill Lucan? Caina had met him several times. The man was a handsome, brainless fop, more interested in wine and women than imperial politics. In fact, he had invited Caina to balls several times, invitations she always declined.
Why did the magi want to kill such a wastrel?
Not Lucan, Caina realized. His father. The old Lord Governor was one of the Emperor's strongest supporters against the magi. And if assassins struck down Lucan on the Emperor's doorstep, that could drive a wedge between the Lord Governor and the Emperor.
"Well?" said Oni.
"You've done well," said Caina, slapping a pair of gold coins into the old man's hand. "And there's more where that came from, if you find something else the Countess might want to know about."
She left. The magi had promised twenty-five thousand golden crowns for Lucan Maraeus's head. That kind of money would draw every assassin in the capital.
Lucan might be dead already.
Caina had to prepare, quickly.
She stopped by her dockside safehouse long enough to change from her disguise to more suitable garb. Loose black clothing, fortified with plates of hardened leather to ward off blades. A belt of throwing knives and other useful tools went around her waist, and daggers into her boots. A black mask hid everything except her eyes.
Last, her cloak.
The wizards of old had created it, weaving together spider-silk and shadows by some forgotten art. It blurred and merged with the shadows, hiding Caina whenever she wore it. It also had the useful property of shielding her mind from certain kinds of sorcery.
Caina hurried into the darkness, her cloak making her one shadow among many.
* * * *
Mist smothered the night.
Caina perched on the rooftop of the Praetorian Basilica, five hundred feet above the plaza, and watched as Lucan Maraeus strolled along the balcony running above the clerestory windows.
He was a handsome man in his middle thirties, his clothes cost more than a common laborer could make in a dozen lifetimes, and he was stupendously drunk. He staggered along the balcony, singing at the top of his lungs, leaning against the stone railing for support. From the door to the stairs came the sound of the grand ball in the Basilica, music and laughter and the murmur of conversation.
Caina wondered why Lucan had come up here alone. Perhaps his singing had been too much for the other guests at the ball.
She watched the drunken lordling, trying to decide upon a course of action. She had hoped to warn him against the assassins, but she doubted he could see reason in his current state. Perhaps if she waited until he passed out, she could smuggle him to a safehouse...
Footsteps rang on the stairs.
Three men in leather armor stormed through the doorway, swords in hand, faces hidden beneath masks and cowls. Lucan spun, eyes wide with sudden terror.
"Damn," muttered Caina. She yanked a throwing knife from her belt and crawled the edge of the mist-slick roof, only a dozen feet above the balcony.
No one noticed her.
"Lucan Maraeus?" said one of the assassins, lifting his blade.
"Wait, wait, wait," said Lucan, his voice thick with fear and wine as he backed towards the railing. "Can't we talk about this? I can pay you a lot more than whatever you've been paid. Please, please, just stop for a minute..."
The assassin laughed. "You talk too much."
Caina's mind raced. Three of them. Too many. She'd have to disable the first two quickly...
Lucan slumped against the railing, trembling. The fool was too frightened and too drunk to fight. Caina tensed, ready to spring...
Then Lucan's expression hardened. He reached into his coat, drew out a sealed clay flask, and flung it to the floor. Caina had seen flasks like that before. They usually held a mixture that combusted upon contact with air, produc
ing a dazzling white flame.
A flame bright enough to temporarily blind anyone looking at it.
Caina just had time to close her eyes and look away, and even then she felt the glare through her eyelids. The assassins screamed, hands covering their eyes. Lucan snatched the ornate longsword from his belt, thrusting with speed and precision. One the assassins fell dead, blood spilling across the damp marble. Another assassin swung out blindly, and Lucan took him with a single slash. The last one recovered his balance, drawing back his sword for a thrust.
Caina sprang from the roof, landed upon his back, and drove her throwing knife through his throat.
Lucan whirled, sword moving through an expert flourish, his eyes narrowed as Caina climbed to her feet.
They stared at each other for a moment. Gone was the drunkenness, the trembling fear. Lucan had the cold, hard eyes of an experienced killer.
Caina had been told her own eyes looked like that.
"My lord Lucan," said Caina, speaking with a hideous snarling rasp to disguise her voice. "I seem to have misjudged you."
"People do that. My good looks, you know," said Lucan with no trace of his earlier fear. "Another assassin, I expect... wait. That cloak. You're one of the Emperor's Ghosts, aren't you?"
"And your wits are quicker than I expected," said Caina.
"It comes in handy," said Lucan, lowering his sword. "I assume the magi hired the assassins?"
"They did," said Caina. "Undoubtedly they want to drive a wedge between your father and the Emperor."
"Or they want to avenge the magi I killed," said Lucan.
"Oh?" said Caina.
His eyes tightened, just for a moment. "They used the blood of murdered victims to fuel their necromancy. I stopped them. And the magi do not tolerate attacks upon their order."
"So they've put a price on your head," said Caina. She had one on her head as well, though no one had yet managed to collect. "Twenty-five thousand, in fact."
"Twenty-five thousand?" said Lucan. "How flattering. I suppose every assassin in the city will be coming for my head."
"Those assassins should beware. The gifts of the magi are poisoned," said Caina. "It serves the interests of the Emperor to keep you alive, so keep you alive I shall. Nor will I abandon any man who fights the crimes of the magi."
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXV Page 22