by Sharon Green
“Even though Zirdon’s two strongest supporters have Spirit magic,” Antrie agreed. “Yes, it does look as if he’s trying to maintain himself in power using something other than talent, but I’m not quite convinced he’s as guilty as he seems. It isn’t beyond him to kill all those young Highs, but I can’t dismiss the feeling that he would have been more … subtle.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cleemor said, and this time it was his brows that were raised. “But if Zirdon isn’t responsible for those contrived accidents and we aren’t, then who could it be?”
“Someone out to displace the leadership of both of our coalitions,” Antrie replied with a shrug. “If people come around to believing that Zirdon is the guilty party, then he’ll be removed from his place by superior force. Once he’s gone beyond recalling, it could be pointed out that the ‘accidents’ weren’t subtle enough for Zirdon to have been guilty.”
“And then you’ll be the one the people go after, for having framed Zirdon,” Cleemor growled with a headshake. “Yes, I can see it happening, even if it goes the other way about. People become convinced that Zirdon is being framed, so they go after his strongest rival. Once you’re well out of the way, the suggestion is made that Zirdon was responsible after all but acted in a way that made you look guilty. That would take care of him, and then whoever is really behind all this would be free to take over completely. So what are we going to do about it?”
“There’s not much we can do until we find out who’s behind the attempt,” Antrie told him, trying not to show how annoyed she’d become. “My people haven’t been able to find out a thing, and although I have a suspect or two I can’t confirm the suspicions. All I can do is watch my back, and I suggest that you do the same.”
“As if I’m not already doing that,” Cleemor returned sourly with a sigh of resignation. “I feel like a fool for not having doubted Zirdon’s guilt even for a moment, and as soon as I get home I’ll get my people started on an investigation. Maybe they can turn up something that everyone else has missed.”
“I sincerely hope they can,” Antrie agreed as she watched Cleemor finish his tea in a single swallow and then stand. “The enemy who faces you is never as dangerous as the one who creeps up from behind, an old saying but a very true one.”
“Unfortunately yes,” Cleemor growled as he bowed. “I’ll see you later at the meeting, of course.”
“Of course,” Antrie confirmed with a nod while feeling distant amusement. “You didn’t think I’d take to hiding out, did you?”
“Of course not,” Cleemor returned dryly. “I can’t in any way picture you being that accommodating, even if there were High talents waiting for you in ambush every foot of the way. I never thought I’d worry more about a woman’s safety than my own, but now I have two women I worry about. I’m seriously considering refusing to meet another female for the rest of my life.”
Antrie chuckled as he bowed again, and then she watched the man as he headed for the walk that circled her house to where his carriage waited in the drive. He disappeared from sight without looking back even once, a clear indication of how disturbed he was.
“Well, he has a good deal of company in being disturbed,” Antrie murmured, no longer amused in the least. Cleemor was the first of her allies that she’d shared her suspicions with, but he certainly would not be the last. It had become perfectly clear that there was a new player in the game, someone who had to be identified as quickly as possible before the question became moot.
“I wonder who the newcomer will go after first, me or Zirdon?” Antrie murmured again as she reached for her teacup. She wasn’t as unworried as she’d led Cleemor to believe, but showing a lack of confidence would cause her to lose her allies so fast it would make everyone’s head swim. Assembly politics wasn’t a game for the faint of heart, and she had enough counts against her simply from being a woman. Men still outnumbered women in the assembly, and many of those men still discounted women completely.
And that circumstance suggested the new player might be a woman. Antrie sipped at her tea slowly, hoping it didn’t prove to be so. Men in the empire of Gracely might be ignorant about how dangerous women could be, but Antrie wasn’t. Women were much more dangerous than men, especially a woman who had hidden herself behind the screen of male prejudice. That could be why Antrie’s people hadn’t found anything yet…
“But we’d better find something soon,” Antrie muttered as she returned her teacup to the hand table beside her chair. “Before whoever it is makes a move we can’t counter…”
Not a pleasant thought, Antrie acknowledged silently as she got to her feet. But there was still that meeting to attend, one she couldn’t afford to miss. It was an unscheduled meeting, and there was always a reason for ones like that. Too bad she couldn’t hide out…
Chapter 8
Ebro Syant sat at the desk in his study, considering his plans. He was a short, overweight man with ordinary brown hair and dull brown eyes, a High’s strength in Earth magic his only redeeming feature. His peers in the assembly considered him a mouse of a man and not terribly bright, and that was the best camouflage he could possibly have had. As the major talent in his Blending he ruled with an iron fist, but no one beyond his Blendingmates knew that and they weren’t about to tell anyone. Couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to…
A smile curved Ebro’s lips at that thought, along with another just as amusing. He always covered his tracks carefully when he acted out of character, but he’d discovered that it wasn’t necessary to make people forget what he’d done as long as they weren’t able to talk about it. Afterward he was able to watch those people as others dismissed Ebro as unimportant, enjoying the way his victims squirmed about wishing they could tell the truth about him.
But they couldn’t tell the truth, not under any circumstance, which assured Ebro’s continuing amusement as well as his safety – with the ones who survived, that is.
“That foolish girl,” Ebro murmured, shaking his head with a sound of annoyance. He’d claimed her as he’d had every right to do, and she’d come to his bed showing all the disdain a really beautiful woman always felt toward a short, stupid, pillow of a man. He’d then used his Blending to take over her mind and will, allowing her awareness of what was done to her without also allowing her the will to refuse. She had struggled, of course, just the way he wanted her to, but her struggles had been a waste of effort. She’d been allowed to struggle, but not to succeed in freeing herself.
Ebro had enjoyed himself with the girl as often as possible, knowing the second time he summoned her that she’d tried to tell someone about what he’d done. The effort would have made her heart beat wildly as she choked on the words she would have spoken, and only giving up the effort would have returned her to normal. Her faint pallor and slight unsteadiness had told him the story, and he’d scolded her gently about not trying the same thing again before he’d taken his enjoyment.
At first the lovely little dear had been certain that her torment would soon be ended when she became engaged to be married. She had three suitors vying for her hand, and her father was about to make up his mind whose suit to accept. When the first of those suitors withdrew his suit, the girl was completely unsuspecting. When the second withdrew, the girl became concerned and faintly suspicious. When the third and last withdrew, the girl finally understood that Ebro had no intention of allowing her to escape him.
So the stupid little fool committed suicide by refusing to stop trying to tell people what was happening. Ebro had pretended to be devastated by her death, but in full truth he’d been extremely annoyed. The girl had not only denied him the pleasure of her use, but now Ebro had to be extremely careful not to cause a second such incident. One tragedy is easily overlooked, but two of the same kind brings suspicion from the worst possible quarters.
“And it isn’t yet time to let them know who’s standing in the shadows,” Ebro murmured, again examining his plans mentally to search out the least a
nd smallest flaw. “My greatest weakness is arrogance, and although I’ve learned to guard against it I must remain ever vigilant. It would never do to let people in on the secret too soon.”
No, that would certainly never do, Ebro thought as he left his chair and walked to one of the large windows his study boasted. If there was any lesson he’d learned well in life, that was the one. His parents had doted on him because of his quick mind when he’d been a small child, but once it became obvious that he would be short and his body would run to slight obesity, their doting turned to scorn. The way he looked became his fault, and his father’s disappointment turned into tormenting at every opportunity.
Ebro had found himself furious at being treated like that, and when it became clear that the situation would never reverse itself he began his plans to get even. He was a mere teenager at the time and a small one at that, but his mind proved itself larger and stronger than those around him. He gained his revenge against his father, making the stupid man look as foolish as he really was, but then arrogance caused Ebro to make the biggest mistake of his life. He came out and told his father who was responsible for the man’s embarrassment.
Even now Ebro automatically put his right hand to his left shoulder, unfading memory bringing back the unbearable pain of the beating he’d been given. His father had been rabidly furious, and the riding crop he’d used on Ebro’s back had ended up covered with blood. Ebro had quickly lost consciousness during the beating, but he awoke to find that that hadn’t stopped his father. Ebro’s back was a mass of raw meat, and his parents had even refused to call a healer. They didn’t want anyone to know that Ebro had been the one responsible for their difficulties…
So Ebro had had to heal slowly, on his own without the aid of a healer. His ability in Earth magic had helped to a certain extent, but he’d been little more than a child, completely untrained in healing, and not yet at his full strength. He’d been able to keep the wounds on his back from becoming infected, but he hadn’t even been able to dull all the pain. It had seemed like forever before he was able to do as little as breathe normally without it hurting terribly…
“But I did learn a lesson from that,” Ebro murmured to the lovely day outside his window. “My parents eventually talked themselves into believing that I’d been ‘lucky’ when I’d embarrassed them, and had possibly even taken credit that wasn’t due me. Years later, when my father was financially ruined, it was perfectly clear that his greatest business rival was to blame. Neither of my parents even glanced in my direction…”
Another smile turned Ebro’s lips, a smile that remained for a time. When Ebro displaced the former major talent of his Blending and took the man’s place in the assembly, his parents had actually come to beg his financial help. He’d given that help immediately, of course, but for some reason nothing his father did lifted him and his wife out of the poverty they hated so much. It was almost as though some agency worked against the man to keep him no more than a step or two above the condition of beggar…
A knock came at his study door, so Ebro quickly swallowed his amusement and called out permission to enter. Many of his peers in the assembly used bells to indicate and allow entry, but that would have meant having a servant near Ebro at all times. There were too many occasions when Ebro needed to be alone, so he pretended to be too lumpish to take up the practice.
“Exalted One, you asked to be told when it was time to leave for the assembly meeting,” his chief servant announced with a bow once he’d opened the door. “It’s nearly that time, and your carriage awaits you at the front of the house.”
“Tell my driver that I’ll be right down,” Ebro directed after a slight hesitation, as though he’d forgotten having given the order and wasn’t quite sure how to reply. The servant bowed himself out and closed the door again, leaving Ebro to smile as he went to his bedchamber to change clothes. Even his servants considered Ebro a nonentity, and that was just the way he wanted it.
Changing into a fresh shirt and adding a coat didn’t take long, and then Ebro went down to his carriage. The driver helped him inside, and then drove him to the assembly building in the middle of the city. Ebro’s house, on its small estate, wasn’t far from the building, and neither were the houses of the other assembly members. The arrangement made attending meetings convenient for the major talents of each Blending.
As usual, Ebro arrived neither too early nor too late. No one noticed him as he puffed his way inside to his assigned seat and writing ledge and gratefully sat down. The leader of the coalition he’d long ago formed a loose association with, Zirdon Tal, was already there, standing with his strongest supporters. Tal was a large, well-built man with lightish hair and eyes, his regular features turning his face into one that attracted women and encouraged friendship in men. Tal had even pretended to be friendly toward the lumpish Ebro Syant, but the attempt hadn’t lasted beyond Ebro’s agreement to the association with Tal.
Ebro looked around as he caught his breath, quickly locating Tal’s major opponent in the assembly, Antrie Lorimon. The woman was small, dark, and rather pretty, with a smoothness of manner that never insulted anyone. No one else seemed to have noticed the look in the woman’s brown eyes, the same look Ebro saw in his own when he dropped the pretense of being a nonentity in private. Antrie Lorimon was highly intelligent and very much a force to be reckoned with despite the fact that she allowed Cleemor Gardan to do most of the talking for their coalition.
A low buzz of conversation tinged with anticipation rolled about the large, round meeting room as it filled to its capacity of fifteen major attendees and their advisors. Ordinary citizens also filled many of the places behind the circle of seats reserved for the assembly members. The interest of the ordinary people ranged from simple curiosity to a hope that something would be said to give those individuals an edge over business rivals. The remaining members of each Blending were, of course, left in the residence of the major talents they worked with. If their presence became necessary, they could always be sent for.
Once the last assembly member arrived, a man named Frode Mismin moved to the center of the room and held up his hands to request quiet. Mismin was the head of the assembly’s special investigations branch, and had the power to convene the assembly when something of national importance happened. The man’s ugly, square-cut face wore a sober expression, which did more to quiet everyone than his gesture.
“I’ve had word from a number of my agents in our neighboring empire of Gandistra,” Mismin said as everyone still standing began to settle into a seat. “Things have changed there in a way you all need to hear about.”
People exchanged glances with their brows raised, but no one was foolish enough to demand answers they would soon be given.
“Thank you,” Mismin said, referring to the close attention he was now being paid. “As you all know, the nobility in Gandistra intended to do again as they’ve been doing for the last century or so and Seat their own choice of a Blending. The effort started out well enough, but their chosen Blending was destroyed in the first round of challenges, so they had to settle for the sole remaining noble Blending. They reluctantly helped that five to win over the common Blending they faced – which was about to best the noble Blending – but they lived to regret their decision. Or should I say, most of them didn’t live to regret it.”
A soft murmur eddied through the room, one Ebro would have contributed to if he hadn’t been watching himself as closely as he usually did. The nobles in Gandistra were being decimated? What would that do to their long-standing policies of expansion?
“The new noble Blending was Seated, but that didn’t last very long,” Mismin continued into instant silence. “The common Blending that had nearly defeated them had been separated rather than killed, a stupid move on the part of stupid people. The members of that common Blending got back together, recruited a large number of supporters, and eventually returned to defeat the noble Blending.”
“Where did their supporters c
ome from?” Cleemor Gardan asked, pretending that the question was his rather than Antrie Lorimon’s. “Were they ordinary people that the five simply came across?”
“Not quite,” Mismin responded, his tone rather dry. “They freed members of the Gandistran army, both members not yet in the army and those who were fleeing from the forces in Astinda. It seems that Astinda had finally gotten around to replying to the invasion of their country.”
“So Gandistra and Astinda are now openly at war,” Zirdon Tal put in with his usual smooth friendliness. “That’s an occasion for celebration if I ever heard one.”
“Celebration would be premature, Exalted One,” Mismin said at once, throwing cold water on everyone’s newborn excitement. “The common Blending first defeated the Seated noble five, then went on to somehow make peace with the Astindans bent on revenge. The common Blending’s people gathered up all members of the nobility still left in Gan Garee, and the Astindans are now in the process of taking those former nobles back to Astinda to work to reclaim the decimated land there.”
“It’s a shame there won’t be war between those two, but so far I see no reason for your gloominess, Frode,” Tal commented with a smile to take all possible sting from his words. “The common Blending will rid themselves of hated nobility the easy way, and once they’re Seated they’ll form their own nobility. Matters there will continue on just as they always have.”
“I’m afraid not, Exalted One,” Mismin said with a slow shake of his head. “To begin with, my people have reported that the common Blending has already allowed other Blendings to be formed. From now on there won’t be just a single Blending in Gandistra, and on top of that the commoners apparently intend to train all their people in the use of their various talents. From our point of view, they couldn’t have done worse if they’d tried.”