In the center of the room, directly under the dome itself, was a raised dais and several magnificently carved chairs of raven-wood, harder than iron itself—a wood that was no longer found anywhere. Surrounding this dais like the arcs of a wheel, like the perfect structure of the room, was a gallery for the Council of Mages, those wise and eminent seers, prophets, philosophers, and masters of spells for the Empire of Izmer. In truth, some would say, here was the true power of the empire, and thus of most of the known world.
At the moment, Azmath, a dark-robed mage with a precisely cut goatee, was addressing the council from one of the raven-wood chairs. Seated beside him was Profion, and standing next to him, properly servile and beautifully dressed, was the wily Damodar—standing, because no one but council members were allowed to sit in this hallowed hall.
“There is much to talk about,” Azmath said, whose voice, fortunately, was perfectly audible in this perfectly acoustical room. “Much to talk about, and much to do. We have a new Empress on the throne. As our powers have warned us, we have a troublesome cycle of years ahead. We have, of course, suffered greatly from the fire. I am pleased to tell you, however, that the Royal Palace and the Library of Alchemy suffered only minor damage, and repairs are under way now.”
Cries arose from the gallery, cries of anger and fear, one mage shouting over the other, so that none could clearly be heard.
“What about my lands, my estates?”
“My property! My homes!”
“Who’s going to recompense me for my losses? My entire collection of ancient silver urns is gone!”
“What about my—?”
“Please, Brothers!” Azmath held up his hands. “I understand your concerns. We have all lost precious possessions, but we have not lost our lives.”
“No, we have not,” Profion said, “and we should be most grateful for that.”
The council went silent as Profion grasped the arms of his chair and let his dark, penetrating eyes sweep across the faces of the seers. There he saw concern, rage, fear, and—perhaps crowding all other emotions out—the almost visible stink of greed. Poor, benighted fools, thought Profion. You have no knowledge of what grand schemes, what daring, glorious deeds are under way before your unseeing eyes.
“Your losses are not the reason I called you here. There are far graver problems facing this body today, problems that must be dealt with at once, if we are to survive.”
Profion paused to let his words sink in, to prepare them for the cunning tale, the enormous lies that he intended to plant in their addled heads.
“I must tell you,” he went on, “a terrible, shocking truth, one I can scarcely credit myself. I regret, Brothers, that I must tell you the first official act of our new, esteemed Empress Savina is to disband this worthy council and rule Izmer without our good wisdom and advice!”
Every mage in the gallery rose as one—all but the oldest and infirm—to stamp his feet and shake his fists.
Once again, Azmath managed to turn an unruly rabble into a council of dignified, respected old men.
“You make a shocking accusation!” one shouted as a semblance of order returned to the room. The mage’s eyes bored into Profion’s. “I trust you have some solid proof of what you say. It would be well if you do, sir, for this council demands it!”
This time, no one spoke. No one wanted to miss what Profion had to say.
Excellent, Profion thought, fighting to keep a triumphant smile from his lips. They are furious now, and ready to be angrier still….
He stretched out the silence, letting the tension come to a boil. Bringing one hand to his chin, he frowned as if in deep thought, then rose and stared up at the brilliant glass dome, as if invoking higher help.
“I am wondering, with the rest of the members of this council, what will become of our property. Who will repay the losses we have suffered? In your concerns, Brothers, do you not wonder how such a terrible conflagration could have started? Has that question crossed you minds?”
The councilors stirred like so many waking bees, but all ebbed quickly into silence.
“How, indeed?” Profion spread his hands in wonder. “Not even the power, the magic of fifty of us combined could have caused such devastation.” He swept his gaze across the gallery again. “No, this was not magic, my friends, not the magic of our kind. This terrible fire was caused by the blood of a dragon. I know this is so, because we discovered its blazing, rotted carcass washed up on the shore downriver.”
The very room itself seemed to hold its breath.
“Dragons die,” Azmath said, breaking the intense silence. “That alone is not proof our Empress is responsible. It is unthinkable, Profion, to imagine that she is.”
“They die, yes,” Profion said, “but who has the power to control such a creature? More, how to bring about its demise? I ask you: Unless this near immortal beast were summoned by the Empress’ scepter, what would it be doing here?
“And, if the question cannot be answered, it is harder still to imagine how this monster died on the very shores of Sumdall City. Yet, if logic and reason is not enough for this distinguished gathering of mages, the wisest of the wise, hear the truth for yourselves.”
With that, Profion paused, swept one hand slowly to his right, and let it point directly at the patient Damodar.
Damodar nodded with respect, then walked to the center of the dais, head bowed, hands interlocked across his chest. He had even left his startling, crimson uniform behind. Here, he was telling them in silence, is not the head of the feared Crimson Brigade, but a simple, loyal servant of the Empire.
No one, Profion thought, can give a better imitation of an angel than the devil himself.
“I am honored to be in your presence,” Damodar said, “and grateful to the Lord Profion for asking me here, yet I come to you saddened and reluctant to speak, for I take no pleasure in what I must say.”
“Don’t push it,” Profion said under his breath. “Some of these men are fools, but many of them are even more cunning than you.”
“During the dark of night,” Damodar went on, “upon hearing of the Emperor’s tragic death, I went at once to watch over our blessed Savina, heiress to the throne. Much to my bewilderment, I chanced upon her slipping quietly out of the palace with only the smallest complement of guards.
“Soon, it became clear to me that she was meeting with others, that this was a clandestine appointment. She was not meeting with a gathering of sages like yourselves, but with—I hesitate even now to speak the word—with commoners, the worst kind of rabble from the sinkholes of Oldtown. Rebels, if you will, known for their seditious acts. Members of my Crimson Brigade have watched their activities for some time, but never, never amongst this filth, did they see a princess of the Empire.
“You know who these people are. They have always been with us, the unwashed herd dedicated to bringing about our destruction, the destruction of Izmer itself.” Damodar paused, as if it was most difficult to continue this shameful story. “I saw, I witnessed myself, the Empress summoning up this dragon, showing the rabble the power she could bring to their cause. And, summon the monster she did, but in so doing, she also caused its agonizing death. It was clear to me the lady was careless in the use of her instrument of power. She did not understand the strength that lies within the scepter. To her—if you’ll forgive me—it seemed a mere plaything for a young girl’s idle hours.”
Damodar let the silence stretch for several heartbeats before continuing. “Forgive me, Lords, but it was a sight I had sooner never seen.”
The gallery stared at Damodar, too stunned to speak.
Finally, it was Azmath himself who broke the silence.
“And what became of this dragon’s carcass? It is clearly not there now.”
“The rebels, the commoners she gathered there, disposed of the thing at her command. And none too happy at the task, if I might add.”
“Come, Azmath,” Profion said, slapping at the arm of his chair. “Let�
��s be honest here. We have all watched the young lady grow up. We have all heard her misguided chatter on… justice for all, I believe. Commoners, beggars, the lot. You can blame her fool teacher for that. The honorable Vildan Vildir, who, I note, has shunned us again today.
“The Empress Savina is too young to know her heart from her mind. I will not condemn her for that. She should be raised under the thoughtful guidance of this council, as royals have ever been in the past.” Profion shook his head in wonder. “And if she does not have our guidance, what will she do when she does learn how to use the monarch’s scepter to enforce her will? On the people? On us? Your fate is in the hands of this child. Ask yourselves: are you willing to put your future in her hands?”
The council broke into loud discussion. Profion let them stew a while. Finally, the mage Ferilanius stood.
“What are we to do, then?” he asked. “You cannot remove an Empress from her throne. That goes against our sacred laws.”
“By all the gods, no.” Profion pretended horror at the thought. “I only intend that we remove the threat that hangs over our head, that we vote to insist she give up the scepter so the future will be safe for us all.”
“And if she does not agree?” asked Azmath.
“Then we will know her true intentions—” Profion’s countenance melted into a mask of sorrow—“and we must do whatever is necessary for the sake of keeping Izmer strong. So, what say you?”
As he expected, as he knew, the entire council was on its feet, shaking their fists and crying for action at once.
Profion lowered his head, as if in obeisance to the inevitable will of the mages of Izmer. He did not risk a look at Damodar, and he prayed that serpent could restrain himself until the vote was done.
CHAPTER
6
The day seemed long, and the sun was masked by a pall of smoke from the fire that had swept down the river. Fishing boats, barges, and trading ships that had sailed upriver from the sea were now no more than charred, skeletal masts rising above the water’s foul and ash-covered surface. The hapless crewmen of these vessels had been consumed in flame in the blink of an eye.
Warehouses, businesses dependent on the river, were victims of the fire as well. Most of these structures were owned by the rich of Sumdall City high above. The greater number of people who perished in the river of flame were the poor, those who lived in the overcrowded—and highly flammable—tenements along the riverbanks of Oldtown.
Ridley and Snails, along with many other citizens of the lower city, spent much of the day helping dig through the ravaged remains, recovering few of the living and many of the dead. There were many opportunities for “salvaging” items that no longer belonged to anyone, but Ridley and Snails would have none of that.
“We are thieves,” Ridley explained to Snails, “not looters. Those fortunate souls who have not been affected by the fire, well, that’s a different thing.”
Snails felt there was little difference in taking things that didn’t belong to anyone, and things that did. He didn’t mention this to Ridley, who clearly had his mind set.
“Besides,” Ridley reminded him, as they finished a very late supper at the Hoof and Hair, which served a marrow soup Ridley liked, “we are not simple cutpurses and snatchers anymore. We have graduated to greater things.”
Snails looked pained. “I’d hoped the grim events today had sobered you, Rid, and flushed you of this ridiculous scheme of yours. But I see that isn’t gonna happen, and if that’s so, I must sadly tell you I can’t rob the magic school. I won’t. I’m sorry, but this is the most witless, suicidal plan you have ever come up with! I have gone along with your fool ideas in the past, but I won’t let you talk me into this.”
Ridley waited, but apparently that was all.
“That was a fine, remarkable speech. I believe it’s the best—and the longest—I’ve ever heard you give.”
Snails lowered one brow. “If that’s all you think it was, then you missed the point, Rid. It was not intended as a speech. It’s more in the order of a declaration, and I didn’t intend it as a joke.”
“And I didn’t take it as one. I know you meant every word you said. And I can’t tell you, Snails, how it grieves me to hear that I won’t have your support, wise counsel, companionship, and, ah—all your other fine qualities I can’t quite recall. I don’t know how I’ll manage to continue alone. All I see is a dismal and lonely road ahead.”
Snails looked pained, the look he usually got when he ate bad fish. “Lonely and dismal? Because I’m not there?”
“Worse, if that’s possible, though I can’t see how it could be.”
Ridley gave a deep sigh, full of sorrow and regret. He stood, then, dug in his pocket for a copper coin, dug and found another, and laid the pair on the table by his empty bowl of marrow soup.
“I would pay for yours if I could,” he told Snails, “but that’s truly all I have.” He held out his hands. His eyes glistened with tears. Either that, or he was bothered by the sun. “Good-bye, old friend. I’ve never had a finer companion and don’t hope to find one half as good again. I trust, when I come home safely from my task up there tonight, we’ll have a chance to chat once more.”
“Tonight?” Snails drew back his hand. “You’re going up there tonight?”
Ridley shrugged. “Of course. Why not?”
“Uh, what’s the rush, you know? Why not wait for another night, give it a little thought before you go?”
Ridley ran a hand through his hair. “We talked about this. Everyone up there will be occupied with the aftermath of the fire. We’ll slip through their hands like grease. They won’t be expecting any trouble at all.”
“You mean you, not we.”
“What?”
“You said ‘we.’ I’m not going.”
“Yes. I quite forgot.” Ridley turned away and sighed, staring past the grimy window of the inn, apparently at nothing at all.
Snails felt a tug below his heart. Was it possible, or was the light simply bad? Was there a sadness in his old friend’s eyes that he’d never seen before? That, and moments ago, the faint possibility of a tear?
“I… wish there was some other way,” Snails said. “I truly do, Rid.”
“No, now don’t be wishing that.” Ridley shook his head. “In truth, I think you’ve made a wise choice.”
“You do? Honestly, Rid?”
“Yes, I do. I’ve talked you into some pretty shaky schemes in the past, and I’m not proud of that. You don’t need to be hanging around with a scoundrel like me. You need to get a new life, find your own way…”
Snails shook his head. “I don’t want a new life. I want to steal things, like I always have. I just don’t want to do it up there.”
“And I don’t think you should. It’s a foolhardy mission, like you said. I doubt very much I’ll come back. I don’t want your death on my hands, friend. I’m much too fond of you for that.”
Snails drew in a breath. “But you didn’t say that. You said we’d be fine.”
“I lied. I lied because I wanted you to be there with me. I was selfish, Snails, and beyond that, if we did come back with riches beyond compare, I wanted you to be a part of that.”
“Rid—”
“No, say no more, dear companion. It will only hurt me the more.” Ridley drew Snails out of his chair and held him to his chest. “I doubt we’ll see each other again.”
Before Snails could speak, Ridley was gone. Out the door of the Hoof and Hair, out into the evening’s smoky light.
For a long moment, Snails simply stood there, watching the spot where Ridley had disappeared. He felt that familiar tug again. He knew in his heart that he was right, that this scheme was clearly a disaster in the making, far worse than any Ridley had dreamed up before. Though Snails earnestly wished he could put the thought aside, there was another, greater reason he didn’t want to go up to Sumdall City or anywhere near it.
He was scared, plain frightened out of his wits
at the mere thought of that place. It was bad up there. The people were powerful and rich, and they practiced strange and evil ways. There was magic everywhere, and now there was this story of a dragon, which everyone said had started the fire.
Snails felt a chill at the back of his neck. Dragon’s blood—blood that could set a whole city on fire. What else might there be up there?
Whatever it was, Snails didn’t want to find out—not even if he was feeling so lonely already that he hurt all over, just wondering what he’d do with himself. Since Ridley had come into his life, he’d never had to think about that.
CHAPTER
7
The chapel always smelled of candles, not the foul and odorous candles made of animal fat—the Empress Savina had never even seen such a candle as that. The candles she knew were made of the finest beeswax, sweetened with the faint perfume of flowers and spice, the heavenly scents of fir and pine. For as long as she could recall, Savina had thought of the gods of Izmer as beings made of cinnamon, roses, and mountain lilies pale as ice.
Now, kneeling before the great altar, beneath the marble pillars and golden light, she did not feel the presence of the gods, only a dark and lonely emptiness, a cold, eternal night.
Why did you leave me, Father? I am not ready. I cannot take your place. Send me a sign, Father. Tell me, what I must do… please.
No answer came. In truth, none had ever come before. She had not expected the gods to speak to a young and foolish girl. They had better things to do. But her father, surely he could help. The dead were said to have all the time that was and could ever be. What was there to do in the afterworld, more important than answering a frightened daughters prayer?
As hard as she tried to stop, the tears began to flow again. She was flooded with shame and quickly wiped her sorrow away with the edge of her long sleeve.
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