by Jack Massa
Amlina waited, breathing deliberately, her palms sweating. Thoughts still jumbled through her mind: images of her friends, the Iruks. She had expected them to be among the spectators, but now could not sense their presence. Some trouble surrounded them, she could feel it.
When the speeches of welcome were concluded, the Mistress explained the day’s contest to the crowd.
“Wei-shen, the deepseeing, the art of perceiving thoughts, images, and events through no physical sense but through the mind alone. On the table in front of our esteemed judges lie three books containing a total of nine hundred ideograms. Each contestant, by turn, will be hoodwinked and placed at the mouth of the listening horn. The judges will then randomly select and point to a character on a page, which the contestant must name. Correct answers will be totaled for each witch’s score. The order of contestants has been chosen by lot. First is Liska Quenn of Hanjapore, sponsored by the Mage of Hanjapore.”
From the front of the line, Liska Quenn walked to the mouth of the listening horn. She was a short woman with broad shoulders, dressed in robes of green and gray. She removed her hat, and two acolytes placed a black silk over her head. An official asked if she was ready to proceed, and she nodded.
A black curtain was drawn in front of the table—concealing the five judges from the competitors and spectators alike. The gong sounded, and all grew quiet. Presently, Liska spoke into the horn, her voice a soft murmur.
Eyes closed, Amlina focused on seeing each picture in her mind. Before long, she found attunement and believed she was watching the pages turn and fingertips touching the ideograms. Some believed it was an advantage to go later in the competition, as it allowed the witch to practice in just this way. Others asserted it was better to go early, lest the mind become overstrained. By lot, Amlina was sixth of the seven contestants this day.
When her turn finally came, she felt calm and focused. The silken blindfold slid easily over her head. Relaxed, she waited for the vibration of the gong to fade, then started announcing the pictures that came to her.
“River … crown … barking dog … cherry blossom …”
For a time, her deepsight remained clear, her heartbeat slow. But gradually, hardly perceptible at first, a mist rose in her vision. The characters darkened, edges blurred.
“Fallen wall … motherhood … tooth …”
The darkness shimmered and thickened. The thought came that some force, some design, was deliberately obscuring her deepsight. That was supposed to be impossible. For an entire month preceding the Tournament, the House of the Deepmind brought vast energies to bear in fashioning barriers against such interference. A power able to pierce those barriers would have to be enormous …
Amlina shook herself. That very line of distracted thought had caused her to miss four or five images. Grinding her teeth, she strained to pierce the thickening fog in her brain.
“Butterfly … shield … white cloud …”
By the time her hundredth characters had been presented, her deepsight was all but blind and she plucked wild guesses from the darkness. The hoodwink was removed. Crestfallen, she slumped over to stand with the other competitors, wondering how badly she had failed.
She was forced to wait another quarter-hour while the seventh contestant took her turn, and then the scores were tallied. At last, the Mistress of the Tournament walked to the edge of the stage.
“August Tuan, esteemed witches, nobles and citizens of Larthang: here are the results of the first competition. In first place, earning seven points, Ulleena Tuvari of Minhang …”
Above the stage, a golden cloud condensed in the air. Written on the cloud in flaming red letters, the names, ranks, and points earned appeared:
Amlina had finished fifth and earned three points. Given her relative skills in the four remaining arts, she had hoped for at least a third-place finish in deepseeing. Her trinket and formulation would have to score very high indeed. Even more troubling was the power that had interfered with her vision. Was it truly some hidden deepshaper intent on destroying her chances? Or was it yet another weakness in herself, arising at this crucial moment to cripple her hopes?
Returning to the House of the Deepmind, Amlina wondered disconsolately if she now had any chance at all of winning.
Strands of power like glittering ribbons flowed and shivered in her vision-space. At the center, radiating the strands sat a bulky figure in a mirror of polished bronze: the Phingarr. Yes, the anti-self was the source, but she, Clorodice, wove the strands. One old book likened the sorcerer performing this work to a spider at the center of her web. Clorodice appreciated the aptness of that analogy. She was spinning a web of fates, not only for herself and her allies and enemies, but for the Land itself. The power was intoxicating.
Outside, in the physical world, she felt a disturbance. She squeezed up her face in irritation, opened her eyes. A furtive knocking sounded on her study door. She had left orders not to be disturbed.
“What is it?”
The door slipped open. The steward’s apprehensive face appeared in the crack. “Forgive me, my lady. Duke Pheng insists he must see you.”
Before she could answer the door swung wide. The Duke, in cloak and plain garb, pushed past the anxious servant.
“Very well. You may go.” Clorodice said.
The steward hurriedly closed the door. The Keeper of Keys made no effort to hide her irritation as Duke Pheng crossed toward her. Nor did she rise from her cushion.
Pheng loomed over her. “My lady, we must talk.”
“What is so urgent, Lord Duke, that you disturb these critical workings?”
A sour frown crossed his face. “I’m afraid this ogre of yours, this phingarr, has gotten out of control. He apparently attacked last night on the palace grounds and carried off a woman, a cousin of the Drell Ambassador. Now the Imperial Guard is investigating.”
Clorodice drew in her lips. “I am aware of it.”
Pheng’s forehead creased, his eyes bulging. “You are aware of it? And yet you sit so placidly unconcerned?”
“My Lord Duke, calm yourself. The phingarr, your nephew, remembers his former life and has an agenda of his own.”
Irked and agitated, the Duke threw out his arms. “And what is his agenda?”
Clorodice showed a sly half-smile. “He seeks revenge on those he feels have wronged him—yourself and your sons among them.”
“What?!”
“Take hold of yourself, my lord. Of course I won’t allow harm to come to you or your sons. But if the phingarr is to serve our purposes, his cooperation must be maintained. Therefore, I have channeled his lust for revenge against others, ones he believes caused his disgrace—the drell witch is one, Amlina and her barbarian warriors are others.”
“But he cannot be allowed to roam the palace at will!”
Reluctantly, Clorodice climbed to her feet. “I agree. I think he himself may have found a solution to that problem. He is seeking to adapt the drell’s gift of second flight to his own use. If successful, he’ll be able to transport his body outside the bounds of normal space—to appear and disappear at will, to some extent.”
Pheng’s jaw dropped. “So he will attack his next victim, at the palace or elsewhere, and then disappear?”
“Precisely.”
“I am not sure how that is any less risky for us. And I fail to see why you allow him such dangerous freedom.”
Calmly, Clorodice walked to a nearby table and picked up a crystal decanter. “I warned you at the start that the phingarr would have a will of his own.”
“Yes. But you led me to believe you could control him.”
“And so I am.” With steady hand, she poured amber wine into crystal tumblers. “And let me remind you of the benefits we are reaping. The powers I am able to manipulate through this design are enormous—enough to overcome all the barriers put in place by the House of the Deepmind to prevent interference in the Tournament. Today, I was able to obscure Amlina’
s deepsight and lessen her score in the first event. In a few days more, Elani Vo’Tang will be champion and the Cloak will be ours.”
She offered a tumbler to the Duke. He eyed it glumly, then accepted.
“I appreciate your abilities, my lady. As an ally, I value you most highly. Still, I advise you to keep the phingarr under better control. Delay any further attacks until after the Tournament. Then, if the ogre is discovered and killed, we are well rid of him.”
Clorodice returned his hard stare. She had in fact obtained the ogre’s promise to delay hunting any more victims until after the Tournament. But the Duke need not be appeased with this knowledge. Instead, she said: “I advise you, my lord, to leave the management of these matters to me. We are playing for high stakes, and some risks must be expected.” Eyes not leaving his, she sipped her wine.
The corner of his mouth quirked, and she could sense his rage. Would he challenge her further? No, he would see no advantage in that. Instead he smiled thinly and sipped.
“As you say, Lady Clorodice, the phingarr is your creation and must be yours to control. I only ask that you minimize the risks as best you can—for the success of our most worthy causes.”
He drained the tumbler and set it down.
The Duke departed a few moments later, leaving Clorodice to ponder his intent. Would he dare to denounce her and expose her sorcery? Unlikely. His hand was too deep in the affair. But the Duke was an expert conspirator. No doubt he had more than one scheme in mind to dispose of her and her circle should the need arise.
Clorodice touched a finger to her lips. The day might come when she would need to turn the tables on Duke Pheng, eliminate him and his sons.
No doubt, that would make the phingarr very happy.
Thirty
Don’t you think we should at least inform Amlina?” Eben stared belligerently at his mates around the table. “Trippany is her friend too.”
“No,” Glyssa answered. “If there was something Amlina could do that is not already being done, I might agree. But there is nothing.”
The Iruks were sharing a spiritless supper with Kizier and Ting Fo. The paneled doors of their common room were closed against the evening chill.
“Besides,” Draven added, “she is isolated in the House of the Deepmind. The only time we might contact her is when she is on her way to the next event. Should we rush up from the crowd shouting our story to her, when she is trying to concentrate? It would only distract her and hurt her chances.”
“Your mates are correct, Eben,” Kizier said. “The Archimage assured Prince Spegis that she and her acolytes are applying all their powers to discovering the ogre. I cannot imagine there is anything more Amlina could do.”
Eben gazed numbly down at the table, his food mostly untouched, a wine cup he had refused to even fill. He had sworn off drinking until Trippany was found. He knew his friends were right. Everything that could be done was being done. Still, the helplessness infuriated him.
All day the klarn, the Imperial Guard, and the Drell Ambassador’s guard had searched the palace grounds and along the lake shore. In the afternoon, while the Tuan’s forces examined the forests on the southern shore, the Iruks and drells had crossed the bridge over the north canal and inspected the vast City of Tombs. They had found no trace of the ogre. Likewise, the drell Allenawey reported that she had discovered nothing using second flight, that potent concealments had obviously been invoked. Tomorrow, the Iruks and drells planned to search the city warrens beyond the canal, the district where the ogre’s earlier attacks had been reported.
“There is one more thing we can do,” Lonn announced.
Eben and the rest fixed him with expectant gazes.
“It seems we have been called to a new hunt,” Lonn said. “I think it’s time to raise the klarn.”
The Iruks nodded. Without another word they rose from the table. Glyssa picked up a clean goblet and filled it with water. Lonn led the way to the terrace door and slid it open. Across the terrace and down the steps, they came to the corner of the garden where six spears stood, thrust into the ground. They formed a half-circle.
Eben watched, nerves humming, as Lonn took the cup from Glyssa’s hand. Holding it, Lonn paused to look each of the mates in the eye.
“Now is the time for hunting,” he said. “We awaken the klarn and call its strength into our hearts, our limbs, our blood.” He took a sip, then poured a libation on the spot where his spear-point pierced the earth.
Lonn handed the cup to Glyssa. She repeated the ritual and passed it on to Brinda.
As each libation was poured, Eben attuned his mind to his mates, calling the klarn-soul into his body. The familiar presence rose in him, as it had so many times before, but not in these past few months. When his turn came, he spoke the words and sucked the air deep into his chest. Handing the cup on, he felt calmer and more filled with purpose than he had since coming to Minhang.
Under a gray sky, cold drizzle descended on the plaza. Discouraged by the chilly weather, a smaller crowd had gathered to watch the second event of the Tournament of Witches.
The Tuan occupied his usual place at the center of the plaza, a protective awning stretched over his high ceremonial chair. But the Archimage’s curtained box beside the stage was vacant. From the rumor Amlina had heard, Drusdegarde and many of her Councilors were absent due to a critical security matter they were investigating. The members of the Inner Council who were sponsoring candidates in the Tournament occupied their usual seats on the stage, Melevarry among them.
After speaking hasty greetings and welcomes, the Mistress of the Tournament introduced the day’s contest.
“The competition in jai-dah, known as formulation, the creation of mental constructs that are stored in the Deepmind and then released at a chosen moment. In the time prior to the Tournament, the competitors have woven their formulations. Now they will come forward, in the order chosen by lot, and cast them before our eyes. Our esteemed panel of judges will tally their scores based on the revered criteria of felt potency, presumed difficulty, and stylistic beauty. Although these evaluations may appear subjective, they are in fact based on ancient codified systems of measure. The judges’ decisions are final.”
Nervousness rising, Amlina scanned the crowd. Toward the back, she thought she spotted Kizier standing beside the Iruks’ tutor, Ting Fo. But once again the Iruks themselves were not to be seen. Their absence caused Amlina not only curiosity, but a gnawing worry. She resolved to send a message to the palace after the competition to inquire after her friends.
The gong was struck, its solemn note reverberating across the stage.
The first contestant, Elani Vo T’ang, stepped forward. She cast upon the stage the illusion of a series of bronze and iron doors. Each door swung open amid smoke and flames and clashing sound. The final door opened to reveal the serene avatar of a goddess seated in perfect poise.
Next, Von LuiTong presented an orchestra of musical instruments which, though lacking players, produced a creditable rendition of a popular song.
Liska Quenn of Hanjapore misfired on her attempt, creating only vague outlines of a giant puppet play with blurred figures and muffled sounds.
Tolanga of Gon Fu’s effort was more impressive. With the wave of two swords she cast forth a pair of automaton warriors who dueled and roared across the stage with convincing skill and ferocity.
Amlina observed the performances with a mild, detached air. Her pulse was slow, her mind focused on summoning her own formulation when the time came.
When her name was announced, she moved easily to the center of the stage. But as she shut her eyes and called the formulation to mind, a blankness descended—the same interference she had felt the day before. The act of releasing a formulation was simple; she had not expected the unknown force might trip her again.
After an instant of panic, she instinctively reached a hand to her wet hair and touched the moonstone fillet—the trinket of protection she
had fashioned long ago. The touch reassured her. Flinging out her arms, she cast her power.
Her woven vision flashed above the stage. Auspiciously chosen for such a dreary day, it revealed a lucid blue sky illumined by a faint sun and streaming with flocks of spiraling birds. A vision from the far polar region of the world, it drew exclamations of awe and delight from the audience.
When the last witch had performed, the judges totaled their scores. Once again, the rankings for the day and the running total were displayed in a cloud above the plaza.
Amlina had finished third, not as high as she had hoped. The five points gave her eight overall, putting her in fifth place—but only two points behind the two witches who were tied for second. At least she was still in the running.
As she joined the procession back to the House of the Deepmind, she brooded over the obstruction she had felt again at the crucial moment of performance. She wondered if this mysterious force might be related to the security matter that had caused the absence of the Archimage and her Councilors.
Phingarr Pheng moved through a curling tunnel of cloud set with rings of orange flame. Of course, those visual manifestations were an illusion: in fact his body moved in a realm beyond space. Directed by will, steered by ravenous desire, he flew eagerly toward his prey.
Ahead, the tunnel ended in jagged portal of light. Arriving there, Pheng stared down into normal space. He peered into a bedchamber of the Tuan’s palace. Below on the bed two people slept—an Iruk man and woman. It was the woman he wanted.
Effortlessly, the phingarr’s body seeped through the portal. Floating toward the bed, he reached down for the one named Glyssa. His claws had almost touched her when her eyes shot open. She gasped, then growled like a warrior in a sword fight. She flung up her arms to push him away. Sneering, Pheng floated toward her, talons extended.
But the man beside her moved with sudden speed. Roaring, the Iruk dropped an arm down beside the bed, then twisted his body and lunged, a sword in his fist. Pierced in the belly, Pheng gasped in shock and pain.