Nuvielle turned up an empty palm. "In any case, you're all here now," she said. "Come inside, and I will show you the way." She turned and strode into the dim interior.
Kilisha followed, mentally cursing herself. Of course Lady Nuvielle would have provided soldiers! She was the Lady Treasurer, the overlord's aunt—she must have a hundred guards and servants ready to tend to her every whim. Just because she had come to a wizard's shop unattended did not mean she could not summon a dozen strong men in an instant in her own home; it wouldn't have cost her a thing.
And here Kilisha had brought three assorted strangers along uninvited, not just into the Fortress, but to the overlord's own apartments. She had wanted to be prepared, and to plan everything out in advance for once, but that was no reason to forgo common courtesy. She needed to use common sense, as well as plan ahead! She was glad that the light in the stone passageway was dim and cool, so that her flushed cheeks would be less noticeable, and she could attribute their color to stepping in out of the bright sun. She marched on silently, not trusting herself to say anything more. After a slight hesitation, Kelder and Opir and Adagan followed the two women inside. The two guards who had accompanied the Lady Treasurer then brought up the rear, closing the doors behind them, leaving the outside guards to resume their vigil.
Kilisha's upset at her own foolishness was sufficient that she had gone a dozen yards down the passage before she realized that she was inside the Fortress for the first time in her life, and she really ought to pay attention to her surroundings. She might never have another chance to see the interior of the overlord's stronghold.
Nuvielle was leading the party down a stone corridor, broad enough for Kilisha's three helpers to walk abreast without crowding, but still far taller than it was wide. Kilisha looked up to see an arched stone ceiling perhaps fifteen or twenty feet above her.
The stone was surprisingly plain. Kilisha knew that the Fortress had been built during the Great War as a bastion against the Northern Empire, and of course she had seen the unadorned exterior often enough, but she had still expected the interior of the overlord's home to display at least some of the trappings of wealth and power. After all, the overlord and his family had had more than two centuries to make improvements.
This corridor, though, was bare—no carvings, no tapestries or other hangings, no carpets. The stone blocks in the walls were square and unpolished, the corners not even rounded, and the joints in the masonry clearly visible. The few doors they passed were heavy oak planking bound in black iron, dark with age but uncarved and unpainted. The only sign of wealth was the numerous oil lamps that lit the passage; these were large and bright, and wrought of brass and crystal. Kilisha assumed they were not the wartime originals, but a later addition—for one thing, they didn't match the plain black iron brackets on which they hung.
Then Lady Nuvielle turned a corner and led them up a stone staircase, likewise straight and unadorned; sunlight trickled in faintly from an unseen window somewhere ahead and above.
They ascended two stories and emerged into another corridor, narrower than the previous one and with a ceiling no more than twelve feet high. Here, at last, the Fortress began to look less like a dungeon—the floor and walls were still plain gray stone, but a strip of lush red and brown carpet ran along the passage, and a few tapestries hung between doors that had been painted with bright floral designs.
Nuvielle led them down the passage, through a salon that was far more in keeping with Kilisha's expectations, along a side passage, and around a corner into an anteroom.
There she stopped dead, evidently surprised by the presence of four guards. Kilisha almost walked into her. The others had left a little more space, and halted without crowding each other—but by the time Nuvielle's own guards entered, the antechamber was rather full. The room was not especially large.
The four guards, standing two on either side of an elaborately carved pair of doors, had been chatting idly; at the sight of the treasurer they snapped to attention and thumped the butts of their spears on the stone floor. Kilisha blinked at them, noticing that their uniforms were much cleaner and better-made than Kelder's, and that their spears and breastplates were wonderfully polished. Two of the four wore unfamiliar golden insignia on their right arms.
"Wulran is in?" Nuvielle asked.
"Yes, my lady," the guard nearest the right-hand side of the doors replied. He was one of the two with the insignia.
"I thought that at this hour he would be conducting business downstairs."
"The overlord found the discussions wearisome and decided to take a brief rest, my lady."
"Ah."
Kilisha thought that Nuvielle's tone managed to convey an amazing amount of information in that single meaningless word; it was clearly a tone of unsurprised resigned disapproval.
For a moment no one spoke; the eleven people in the room simply stood there, considering the situation. Then Nuvielle said, "I suppose I'll want to speak with him sooner or later in any case; could you tell him I'm here, please, and that I've brought guests?"
The guard bowed, but stayed where he was; it was the other insignia-bearing guard, to the left, who opened the door and stepped silently through.
The door closed, and the party waited.
Kilisha was uneasy, standing here surrounded by soldiers; even Kelder seemed slightly threatening now. She glanced at the others in her group, and saw Adagan studying the overlord's guards with evident interest while Opir looked acutely uncomfortable.
That was hardly surprising. She had told him that they were going to the Fortress to retrieve the couch; she hadn't said anything about meeting the overlord himself!
She hadn't expected it herself; she had assumed, as Nuvielle apparently had, that the overlord would be busy elsewhere, allowing them to slip into his apartments and take the couch without his knowledge.
His presence did complicate matters, but after all, it really was Ithanalin's couch, it wasn't as if she had come to steal something.
Nuvielle and the others would all testify that it was Ithanalin's couch. The overlord would surely have no objection to letting them take it back.
She might need to explain how it had come here, though. It wouldn't do to lie to the overlord, or even to seem to lie; she started to plan out what she would say, if he asked.
And she needed to remember to curtsy, as deeply as she could—or would it be better to bow? He was the overlord, ruler of the city and master of one-third of the Hegemony, heir and direct descendant of General Gor, who had turned the Western Command into the peacetime city of Ethshar of the Rocks; she wanted to be as deferential as possible.
She could feel herself starting to tremble at the thought of speaking to him, and she tried to prevent it. She reminded herself that Wulran III was just a man, even if he was the overlord. He was only twenty-six, not so very much older than herself. He deserved respect and deference, but there was nothing to be frightened of. ...
Well, except that he could order the soldiers to kill or imprison or torture her on his slightest whim.
But he wouldn't. He was said to be a generous and kind young man, and besides, even an overlord didn't dare anger the Wizards' Guild by abusing a wizard's apprentice without cause. The Guild had never yet killed an overlord, but they had reportedly come close more than once—most recently Azrad VI, in Ethshar of the Spices, was said to have been given a very direct threat over his treatment of the early warlocks a quarter century ago.
She took a deep breath and stood up straight. She started to put her hand on the hilt of her athame—she always found the feel of the knife reassuring—but then noticed one of the guards watching her closely and shifting his spear slightly, and she stopped before her fingers touched the leather.
She hoped she would be permitted to carry the weapon into the overlord's rooms; if she needed any magic to restrain the couch, she would need her athame.
Then the door opened and the guardsman reappeared. He bowed to Lady Nuvielle.
"My lady," he said, "the overlord consents to see you, but says he would prefer not to deal with a horde of strangers just now."
Nuvielle glanced at the others, then said, "Of course. I will be accompanied only by Kilisha, and the others will wait here."
The soldier bowed again, then turned, and he and his partner swung open the doors. Nuvielle strode in, Kilisha following with a gait far more timid; the two guards stepped in behind them, then closed the door, leaving Kilisha's three friends, Nuvielle's two guards, and the overlord's other two guards in the antechamber.
The two women found themselves in a large and elegant room; Kilisha could not tell whether the walls or floor here were stone, as they were all covered with draperies and carpets, but the high ceiling was painted wood, depicting clouds and birds and butterflies against a blue background. A few sculptures, mostly statues of young women, stood about; a gilded shrine gleamed in one corner. Assorted couches, tables, and chairs were arranged in three neat groupings. Kilisha took all this in quickly, but then her attention focused on one specific couch in the nearest group.
There it was, at last—the crimson velvet couch that had stood so long in Ithanalin's parlor. It blended surprisingly well with its surroundings.
And a handsome young man who she realized must be the overlord was sprawled on it, looking at her.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Kilisha managed to not burst out, "You're on my couch!" Instead she caught herself, remembered her manners, and curtsied deeply.
Beside her, Nuvielle said, "Hello, Wulran."
"Aunt Nuvielle," Wulran said, folding his hands on his chest. "What brings you here, and who is this young lady?"
Kilisha hastily curtsied again and said, "I am Kilisha the Wizard's Apprentice, my lord." She thought that sounded more suitable for the situation than "of Eastgate." When her head came back up from the ceremonial bob she took a good look at the overlord.
He was a tall, thin man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, his complexion rather pale; his face was narrow and his jaw pointed, the sharp angle exaggerated by a neatly trimmed triangular beard. He wore a loose beige tunic embroidered in three shades of brown, black suede breeches, and very practical-looking brown boots, one of which was hooked under an arm of the couch, as the seat was really rather short for a man of his height to lie on.
Under other circumstances she wouldn't have minded meeting such a man at all, but this man was the city's overlord. His clothes might not be especially fancy, and he wore no crown or medallion or other token of office, but still, he had the power of life and death over tens of thousands of people.
"A pleasure to meet you," he said, nodding politely. "I hope you'll forgive me for not rising, but my bowels are in knots and my head is throbbing. My advisers have been shouting at me all morning about this blasted usurper in the Sands, and I haven't been eating well for the past few days, and I'm afraid it's all catching up to me."
"Have you been sleeping well?" Nuvielle asked.
"No, I haven't been sleeping well," he snapped. "Aunt Kinthera and Uncle Ederd and Ederd's father are out at sea somewhere with this madwoman threatening to kill them all, and there's talk that I may be next after them, and dozens of people are already dead and Ederd's palace is full of thieves and beggars sleeping wrapped in the tapestries—how am I supposed to sleep?"
"I hadn't realized how much it troubled you, my lord," Nuvielle said. "When we spoke yesterday you seemed quite calm."
Wulran flung one arm over the back of the couch and pulled himself up partway to shout, "I'm supposed to seem calm! It's part of the job." Then he sank back down, letting his arm fall across his eyes, and said, "What did you want, my lady? Is there some new complication? Has Tabaea turned all our gold to seawater?"
"No, my lord, nothing like that. Nothing to do with Tabaea at all. I'm here because this wizard's couch has run away."
For a moment Wulran did not move, or respond in any way, and Kilisha wondered whether he had heard; then he said slowly, without moving, "Her couch has run away?"
Kilisha decided that the time had come to speak for herself, even to the overlord. "My master's couch, actually, my lord," she said. "The one you're lying on." She managed to keep her voice steady.
He lifted the arm from his face and turned his head to look at her. "This couch?" he said, tapping the velvet-upholstered back with one finger.
"Yes, my lord."
"It ran away?"
"And came to the Fortress to hide, my lord, yes." Each sentence came more easily than the one before; the overlord was too human, too ordinary, to stay frightening.
"It came here under its own power, then? It was alive?"
"Well, animated, anyway. I'm not sure alive is quite the right word."
"That's how it got in here? The servants didn't bring it?"
"It ran away, my lord, and seems to have come here by its own choice."
"And it just walked in here? How did it get past my guards?"
"I don't know, my lord. I've wondered that myself. It's apparently quite clever."
"I see." He let his raised arm drape over the back again. "And you've come here because you want it back?"
"Yes, my lord. Without it, I can't undo a spell that has transformed my master."
"Interesting." He stroked the velvet upholstery. "You say it was animated—it doesn't appear to be animated now, I've never seen it move."
That had puzzled and troubled Kilisha. "I can't explain that, my lord—it should still be animated."
"Well, perhaps it's been getting the sleep I haven't. If you can prove it's yours, then I'll be happy to return it—though it's been quite comfortable having it here."
"I saw it in the wizard's parlor," Lady Nuvielle offered, before Kilisha could reply.
"And I have neighbors who will attest to it, as well, my lord," Kilisha said. "One is in the antechamber right now."
"She brought some friends to help carry it," Nuvielle explained.
The overlord sighed. "Then I suppose I had better get off it and let you take it," he said. He started to lower his arm, to push himself into a sitting position—and the couch bolted.
It dashed wildly across the room, narrowly dodging a table; its stubby curved legs were moving so fast Kilisha could see only a blur. The overlord was still half-lying, half-sitting on it, one foot hooked under an arm and his eyes wide with astonishment as it bounded in a zigzag across the carpet.
The couch's arm was not its original gracefully curved shape, Kilisha saw; it had closed down on Wulran's ankle, trapping him.
"Guards!" Nuvielle called, far louder than Kilisha would have thought possible for a woman her size.
The two guards in the room were already moving, arms spread and knees bent, spears held horizontally, trying to corner the couch and force it back against one wall, away from any doors. At Nuvielle's shout, however, the door burst open and the other four guardsmen—no, five, Kilisha saw, as Kelder was with them—came rushing in.
The couch was rocking madly back and forth, bouncing first one end off the floor, then the other; the overlord was clinging to the velvet with both hands. He looked terrified.
The couch knocked over a pedestal, sending a large vase crashing to the floor; flowers, peacock plumes, shards of porcelain, and dirty water sprayed across the carpets as the vase shattered spectacularly. One of the first two guards shied away, raising his spear for a moment, and the couch dashed forward, ducking underneath. The overlord did not duck quite as quickly, and the shaft of the spear caught Wulran on the top of the head with a horrifying crack.
Then the couch was past that pair, and the other five had not yet had time to take in the situation; the maddened sofa charged through them, knocking one man to the floor, and leapt through the door to the antechamber.
Where it had previously moved freely in every direction—forward, backward, or side to side—it now seemed to have settled onto treating the end that held the overlord's foot as its front, and the end where t
he dazed young man's head rested on a pillow as its rear. Rather than bouncing about wildly it was now running full tilt, like a fleeing animal, with the overlord on its back.
"Catch it!" both Kilisha and Nuvielle shouted. Suiting her actions to her words, Kilisha ran after the fleeing furniture; she had been quickest to react, but the soldiers followed close on her heels.
Nuvielle did not join the pursuit, but Opir and Adagan, after watching in motionless surprise as the couch, the apprentice, and half a dozen soldiers ran past, fell in behind, chasing the couch up the passage from the antechamber.
Kilisha had expected the couch to turn left at the salon and head for the stairs by which she and her party had arrived, but instead it scrambled straight across, past a drapery into another passage, then turned right at the next crossing.
That brought it to a staircase, but a staircase going up. It bounded upward, almost catlike in its motion.
Kilisha followed, but even as she ran she tried to think of something she could do to stop the berserk thing without hurting either it or its passenger. While it would be bad enough if the couch smashed itself, Kilisha really didn't want to be involved in anything that injured the overlord—or worse, killed him. That would be bad enough at any time, but now, when a usurper had already disrupted the government of the Hegemony, and Wulran had not yet sired an heir, it might be disastrous. Kilisha suspected that wizard or no, the Guild notwithstanding, if she got the overlord killed her head would wind up on a pike on the Fortress ramparts.
She reached for the flap on her belt pouch, trying to think what she could do with the spells she had prepared. Would the Spell of Stupefaction work on a couch?
Even if it would, the spell took several seconds to prepare, and she couldn't do it while she was running. Maybe if the couch ever held still for half a minute. .. .
The couch wheeled about on the next landing and bounded up another flight, Kilisha struggling to keep up.
Ethshar 08 - Ithanalin's Restoration Page 22