Tournament of Witches

by Jack Massa

  “Your instincts are keen,” she told Amlina. “You sensed the attacker before I did—and just in time.”

  “A voice warned me,” Amlina murmured, thinking back.

  “Whose voice?”

  “Glyssa—the Iruk woman. I have trained her, and we have often linked minds in meditation. Apparently she was watching over me.”

  “Effectively, it seems. Congratulate her when you see her. And thank her for me. No doubt the assassin meant to kill us both. Now, walk behind me and be watchful. There may be others lurking.”

  The two witches traversed the final passageways without encountering further attack. At the entrance of the labyrinth, they found the thrall lying dead in a widening puddle of blood, a knife still gripped in his hand. The man had stabbed himself through the throat.

  Twenty-One

  Seated in meditation on a floor cushion, Clorodice heard footsteps approaching in the corridor outside. She opened her eyes, staring at a single red glass lamp on the floor. Its light flickered on mirrored balls and feathered desmets that hung at different levels, suspended from the low ceiling. The vault was located underground, in one of the numerous levels below the House of the Deepmind. As Keeper of the Keys, Clorodice had access to many seldom-used corridors and forgotten chambers.

  Her eyes settled on the iron door as the footsteps stopped just outside. “Enter,” she called, before the person had time to knock.

  The door swung open, and her apprentice, Elani Vo T’ang, slipped inside.

  “You were not observed,” Clorodice said.

  “No, my lady.” Cautiously, Elani closed the door. “I was very careful.”

  She hurried over, bowed deeply, then sat down on her heels with knees pressed together. She appeared flushed and nervous.

  “I came as soon as I received your summons. What news from the Council?”

  Clorodice cast her eyes at the lamp flame. “We are safe, for now.”

  That morning, she had attended an emergency meeting of the Inner Council, called in response to the attempted assassination of Melevarry and Amlina. The high witches had discussed and debated, going so far as to cast a circle and probe with their group mind to discover the source of the nefarious act. Fortunately, Clorodice’s concealments had held.

  After deciding to take the bold step of eliminating Amlina, Clorodice had plotted with deliberate care. With the aid of her circle of adherents, Elani among them, the Keeper of the Keys had selected a Warrior of the Chrysalis who was a foreigner, a native of Zindu, skilled in the use of the blowgun. After enthralling the man over many days, she had arranged for him to be waiting in the labyrinth, ready to slay Amlina—and Melevarry too, as a precaution. As a final touch, they had placed a ring in the thrall’s pocket, a signet of the Way of the Wise Serpent. That sect was a favorite of alchemists, dissidents, and foreigners, and had no known associates in the House of the Deepmind.

  “We were wise to plant that ring on the thrall,” Clorodice murmured. “It helped to muddy the waters.”

  “So the assumption that foreign mages must be behind the attack was accepted?” Elani asked.

  “Only as one possibility. Some guessed that the attack was aimed at Amlina, to remove her as a candidate for Keeper of the Cloak. The suspicion was raised that mages allied with the Iron Bloc might be involved in such a plot. But our own connection with Duke Pheng remains unknown.”

  “That is good, at least.”

  A note of fear in the young woman’s voice made Clorodice stare sharply. “Keep your nerve, young witch.”

  Like the others of Clorodice’s circle, Elani had been carefully chosen because of both her talent and her strict dedication to the Thread of Virtue. She and the other subalterns had shown no qualms when the circle first began to explore enthrallment—along with certain other ancient arts. But when Clorodice had revealed the purpose of this thrall, some of the circle had grown squeamish.

  Elani blanched. “I am sorry, my lady.”

  “You know we are playing for extremely high stakes—to preserve morality and virtue in the Land.”

  “Of course.”

  “I have chosen you, of all my students, for a singular honor, to become the Keeper of the Cloak. But if you are not up to meeting the price required, another must be selected.”

  “I know. I—My dedication remains firm, my lady.”

  “Good.” Clorodice nodded, satisfied. Elani’s fear of her mentor must be kept stronger than her fear of the tasks required of her—especially as those tasks grew more demanding.

  “What … what will we do, now that the thrall has failed?” the apprentice asked.

  Clorodice’s stare returned to the flame. “There are other methods, requiring greater power. I had hoped to avoid such steps, but I will not be thwarted in my duty.”

  “How may I assist?”

  “For now, keep your head. Communicate to the others that they must say nothing and think no more about this, until they hear from me. Thoughts must be concealed, for there will be probings. Also, we must not meet again in the House of the Deepmind. I will arrange another place, and will let you all know when it is ready.”

  

  On Perfect Light Lake, the pleasure boats had peculiar qualities. For one, they were shaped like swans, with broad, rounded hulls and gracefully carved prows. For another, they required no oars or paddles, gliding neatly over the water at the whim of their occupants.

  Amlina relaxed in the stern of the boat, directing it smoothly with her thoughts. She rested in Draven’s arms, her back against him, leaning on his strong chest. Kizier and the Iruks reclined on cushions as the boat drifted on the gleaming water. In the east, the pink circle of Grizna had risen, full and ripe over the beautiful city.

  “So Glyssa saved your life?” Eben asked.

  “Indeed,” Amlina replied. “I heard her warning in my mind, and threw myself down just in time.”

  “The vision came out of nowhere,” Glyssa said. “We were walking back from our arms practice when I suddenly saw you in danger. So I called out with my mind.”

  Amlina reached over to touch Glyssa’s hand. “The bond between us is strong, dear friend.”

  “You feel much stronger to me,” Glyssa answered. “And I can sense you are more at peace.”

  Amlina smiled dreamily. “Yes, I am much improved.”

  “Tell us more about the preparations for the purification rite.” Kizier sat upright, with the pens and writing book he had brought on board to take notes. He was keenly interested in adding an account of the rite to his book.

  “Later for that,” Draven said. “Tell us what you know about the assassin.”

  “Not much,” the witch answered. “Melevarry tells me the Council reached no conclusions. Of course, they do intend to investigate thoroughly. No one has been murdered in the House of the Deepmind for almost two hundred years.”

  “Happy to know that streak is unbroken.” Eben spoke in Larthangan as he poured another cup of plum wine from a bottle with a stopper.

  “So are we all,” Glyssa said, switching back to Low-Tathian for the sake of the other Iruks—who were nowhere near so adept at the Larthangan tongue as Eben had become. “And we are so glad to have you back with us, Amlina. We missed you.”

  Draven wrapped his arms tighter around her waist. “I missed you the most.”

  “So what happens next?” Karrol asked, holding her cup out for Eben to fill.

  Amlina pointed at the bow to shift the boat’s direction. Boating on the lake was especially popular when Grizna was full, and their craft had drifted close to a clustered group near the northern shore.

  “Next…” the witch said. “Next, I must study for my examination. If I am to be considered a candidate for Keeper of the Cloak, I must first win my gray mantle, signifying the grade of adept. I have only a small-month to prepare.”

  “Why so soon?” Kizier asked.

  “Well, by tradition, examinations are conducted only on the first day of a month. Melevarry
suggested I do not wait. She believes I will have no trouble passing.”

  “I would expect that to be true,” Kizier agreed. “You are certainly more knowledgeable and experienced than most who attain the grade.”

  “True.” Amlina showed a self-deprecating smile. “I am ten years older than most witches who stand for the exam. Of course, I failed when I was their age. That is why I must study with all diligence. This time I cannot fail.”

  “Then why be in such a hurry?” Glyssa asked. “Why not take more time?”

  “Because,” Amlina said, “afterward, I must prepare my candidacy to become Keeper of the Cloak. From speaking with others on the Inner Council, Melevarry thinks they might follow the Tuan’s suggestion and use the Tournament of Witches to select the Keeper. Whether or not this turns out to be true, the selection process will certainly be rigorous and demanding. I will need all of my focus and strength to win.”

  Glyssa nodded, taking this in. She was about to say something else when Karrol spoke up.

  “That all sounds sensible. But actually, when I asked what comes next, I was thinking about the klarn.”

  “Oh,” Amlina laughed. “Forgive me.”

  “That’s all right.” Karrol lifted her hands. “I am just wondering. The last time we talked about this, we were on the boat coming up the river. We said we needed to wait until Amlina had delivered the treasures and had a chance to heal herself. It seems we have come to that time, so I’m asking again: What happens next?”

  Lonn sat up straight. “Are you asking for a formal meeting?”

  “Not here and now,” Karrol replied. “No one needs to answer if they don’t want to. But we will need to decide soon, and I’m wondering what you all think.”

  “Fair enough.” Lonn settled down, leaning on an elbow. “My first thought is this: we had talked about staying with Amlina, if she wanted us to, as warriors of her household.”

  The Iruk’s all turned their eyes inquiringly on the witch. Amlina’s heart grew warm and she smiled.

  “Dear friends, nothing would make me happier than to have you stay with me. I truly believe I will be made Keeper of the Cloak. That is my path, as revealed to me during the purification rite—and I must hold to that belief, whatever doubts may come. But, even if that does not happen, I expect I will be given some post by the House of the Deepmind. That will allow me to keep a household and maintain a retinue. And there are no warriors in the world I would rather have as guards and companions.” She squeezed Draven’s wrist where it rested at her side.

  “Would that mean you might rejoin the klarn?” Glyssa asked.

  Amlina hesitated. She was aware how Glyssa missed having her as part of the klarn. Sometimes Amlina missed it too. The group soul had given her comfort and strength. But its wild influence was alien to the prescribed practices of Larthangan witchery.

  “I will have to wait and sort that out,” she said, “after I have met these other challenges. But let me ask you a question, Glyssa: I know you are continuing your magical practices, despite my woeful neglect as teacher. But here in Minhang you could get proper schooling. With just a word from the Tuan or Melevarry, you could be admitted as a student at the Academy.”

  Glyssa smiled. “I have thought of that, and I will not rule it out for the future. But I would have to spend so much time away from the klarn. My mates are most important to me.”

  With a moment of deepsight, Amlina glimpsed many paths open to Glyssa: witch, shaman, warrior; but also klarnmate and lover, perhaps wife and mother. All of the Iruks had different personalities and strengths and might choose different paths.

  “You each must decide what life will suit you best,” she told them. “The Tuan and the Archimage both have offered generous stipends of money as reward for returning the Cloak. That is a reward you all have earned. It will allow you to stay in Larthang or leave and go anywhere you wish.”

  “I am glad you said that.” Karrol stared moodily into her wine. “Because I don’t believe I will stay in Larthang, whatever the rest of the klarn might choose.”

  “She’s been saying that for a while,” Glyssa told Amlina. “I am still hoping we can change her mind.”

  “Well, staying in Larthang sounds fine to me.” Eben’s voice was slightly slurred. “I am finding this land most agreeable to my spirit.”

  “Yes, and not just his spirit,” Lonn laughed.

  “What do you mean?” Amlina asked.

  “Well, he won’t say much about it,” Lonn answered. “But it’s plain to us Eben has found a lady friend.”

  “Yes,” Draven added. “He came in drunk several nights ago from a poetry reading—but with more than poetry on his mind.”

  “Is this true?” Kizier asked him.

  Eben held up a hand with solemnity. “As I understand the etiquette of this lovely country, a gentleman is discreet and does not discuss such things openly.”

  The swan boat rocked with the group’s laughter.

  “I am glad, Eben,” Amlina said, “that you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  Brinda changed the subject: “As I understand things, the witches of the House of the Deepmind have special guards—the alatee or Warriors of the Chrysalis.”

  “Yes, warriors of that sect guard Ting Ta Roo,” Amlina replied. “And a high witch can request a retinue of alatee as a household guard. But it is not required. I would be free to keep you as my guards, or simply as guests in my residence.”

  Brinda still seemed curious. “Kizier has told us that these Chrysalis Warriors undergo special training, and also some kind of magical transformation.”

  “That is so,” Amlina affirmed. “First there is an evaluation for warriors who would join the order, just as there is for witches. Candidates then undergo a period of training, both in spiritual disciplines and techniques of combat. Finally, there is the Chrysalis process itself, in which the warriors experience a sort of magical regeneration.”

  “They are literally cocooned like bugs,” Eben said. “And can emerge with their bodies completely changed.”

  “Not just their bodies,” Amlina said. “Supposedly, both bodies and minds are transformed into a conformation more aligned with their true ideal. At least, that is the theory. If you are curious, I could arrange for you to visit the order’s academy. As you enjoy the friendship of the Tuan, I am sure you would be welcomed.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Lonn asserted. “It is always worthwhile to learn new techniques of arms.”

  “Agreed,” Draven put in. “Especially since this assassin was a Chrysalis warrior. If more of them come after Amlina, knowing how they fight would be helpful.”

  Twenty-Two

  Within Duke Pheng’s private apartments in Precious Stone Fortress was a wide, low ceilinged hall. Though located high in the castle, the chamber had no windows. Indeed, the stone walls were extra thick and the door solid iron. The hall was sealed with magical designs to ensure the secrecy of what passed within.

  At the center of the spacious floor, the Duke sat at a round mahogany table, dressed in armor and a headpiece indicative of his high rank. His fingers were steepled, his elbows propped on the table. The expression on his broad, bearded face was gloomy.

  At the table sat twenty of the Duke’s closest allies, the most stalwart men of his faction, the Iron Bloc. Two were his sons, Ting Le Pheng and Shan Pheng. Two others, the only civilians, were powerful ministers at the Tuan’s court. All the rest were military men, high-ranking officers in the army and navy. These included Admiral Shay-Ni Pheng, the Duke’s nephew.

  But it was another Admiral, Tavee K’un, whose droning report had the masters of the Iron Bloc in such low spirits. Tavee had just returned from the waters off Gon Fu where he commanded the fleet. His account made it dismally clear that, after fifteen months of war, the Larthangan forces were no closer to conquering the island.

  The campaign had started with high hopes. At the start of First Summer, eight squadrons of warships and a large expe
ditionary force had been dispatched in a surprise attack. This occurred soon after the death of the old Tuan, before the current successor had ascended the throne. The Duke had taken advantage of the unsettled conditions in the capital to move without imperial authorization. Gon Fu was an enviable prize, a rich island with a mixed population of Larthangan and Tathian descent. More, its strategic location made it an ideal launching point for future campaigns against the Tathian Isles.

  But the islanders had shown stout resistance to the initial attack and, within a month, reinforcements arrived from the Tathian city states. The expeditionary force was soon bogged down in the beachhead they established on the western coast. Larthangan attempts to blockade the island were met with stiff resistance by Tathian warships. The resulting stalemate had lasted now for over a year.

  A gigantic miscalculation, the Duke thought sourly. The Larthangan commanders had blithely overestimated the divisions among the Tathians. The assault on Gon Fu had spurred the city states to set aside their differences and band together into a formidable alliance. The Tathian princes seemed determined to spend whatever lives and treasure were necessary to prevent a Larthangan victory.

  “And so, my lords,” K’un was saying, “I must express the opinion that the mission as currently formulated is untenable. I can only recommend that it be terminated.”

  “You advise withdrawal to our own waters?” one of his fellow naval commanders asked.

  “Regrettably, I do.”

  “To be followed by what?” asked Shin Fo, one of the Tuan’s high ministers.

  K’un made a slight shrug. “That is for the war council—and of course the Tuan’s government—to decide. I would suggest we plan further campaigns, using what we have learned.”

  “A worthy suggestion,” the Duke allowed. “The game is long. Strategic setbacks must be viewed as lessons.”

  Around the table, several men nodded with somber agreement.