Reave the Just and Other Tales

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Apparently no one was able to recall my existence unless I stood directly before him. The stranger’s glamour effaced me entirely. He had enhanced his own substance by depriving me of mine.

  In my new lunacy, I meant to demand recompense for that theft. It was too personal to be suffered.

  Around me, manicured lawns defined by ornamental gardens, flagstoned walks, well-kempt stables, and gay pavilions swept gently downward to the Thal’s mansion. Widely spread rather than built high, the mansion rested in a hollow among gradual slopes—a vantage from which our Thal could look out and see nothing which he did not own.

  Throngs of Benedic’s highest citizens must have trodden the grass earlier. The Thal’s racing festivals were always multitudinous occasions, attended by every man of rank and woman of beauty or birth in the municipality. And the citizens were joined by the Thal’s chosen assortment of sycophants, relatives, advisers, and theurgists, as well as by a considerable number of lesser folk, aspirants and favorites of one kind or another, who augmented a veritable army of breeders and attendants, trainers and riders, stable hands, grooms, and farriers for the horses. However, all such guests and servants had departed now, or withdrawn to duties elsewhere. The grounds were empty—with the occasional exception of a gardener or sweeper here and there—and the engraved mahogany of the mansion’s portal stood closed.

  Ahead of me, the stranger still rode my nag as though he had become inseparable from the beast, approaching the portico which framed and sheltered the doors. Indeed, his escort had already hailed the pikemen standing guard, who had in turn announced “Sher Urmeny” to the doormen. As the stranger paused under the portico, the doors opened to admit him to the mansion and the Thal’s presence.

  Here was a difficulty greater than the outer gates. A tradesman could not have gained the servants’ entrance in my state. At the formal portal, I would surely be refused. Furthermore, the pikemen here must have observed the manner in which I had passed the gates. These men would be forewarned against my poor cunning—and uninclined to treat with me graciously.

  Beneath the portico, my usurper dismounted. His tone hinted at severity as he consigned my mount to the care of his escort. Another man might have taken a moment to brush some of the dust from his raiment before hazarding the Thal’s hospitality. But no other man would have dared to enter there clad as he was. Untouched by such concerns, he advanced on the doormen.

  My extremity and weariness had become a form of frenzy. Having no other recourse, I swallowed the remnant of my pride and called him by my stolen name. “Sher Urmeny, wait but a moment!” I urged weakly. “I must speak with you.”

  Doubtless his escort should have recognized me. However, their glaring eyes betrayed only hostility and incomprehension. They had forgotten me again. They said nothing to warn the men who warded the Thal.

  The pikemen gave no sign that they had watched me assault their comrades at the gates. Nevertheless they interposed themselves between me and the stranger. “Stand away, fellow,” they warned. “Sher Urmeny has been summoned by the Thal, and may not be delayed by the likes of you.”

  In my distress, I ignored them. “Sher Urmeny!” I cried past their obstruction. “Only a moment! Please!”

  One boot upon the portal stair, the stranger turned to regard me. Although I had seen it before, the complete clarity of his gaze shocked me as though I had been doused in springwater. Infernally mild, he stated, “I am in your debt. Interfere at your peril.” Without awaiting a response, he ascended the stairs and passed between the carved doors.

  Sadly, the shock of his gaze—or of his words—did not diminish my desperation. Frantic and unthinking, I attempted to force my way past the shoulders of the pikemen.

  They repulsed me roundly, so that I staggered and nearly fell. Then they aimed their pikes at my hollow belly.

  Since my earlier cunning would not serve me here, and every vestige of my dignity had been lost, I shrugged aside the last scraps of sanity as well. Drawing myself as erect as I could, I feigned hauteur.

  “Have care, fools,” I advised the pikemen scornfully. “I serve Sher Abener the necromancer. He has commanded me to observe both Sher Urmeny and the Thal. Do not be deceived by my appearance. If you thwart me in my master’s service, you will confront consequences greater than you can either imagine or bear.”

  All Benedic knew who had brought about my ruin. Certainly Sher Obalist’s manner had indicated as much. The pikemen lost their composure as swiftly as their contempt. Both retreated a step, and their weapons wavered in their hands.

  Still they made some attempt to outface my threat. “A scruffion such as you?” protested one of them unsteadily. “What use has a great necromancer for your service?”

  “My appearance suits my duties,” I retorted without hesitation. Reasonable doubts and reconsiderations were no longer of any use to me. “Stand aside while you may.”

  My clarity of purpose—or perhaps my equally obvious lunacy—conveyed conviction. Shuffling their boots, the pikemen opened my way to the portal, where the doormen admitted me with uncertain courtesy to the mansion of the Thal.

  I entered as though I could still claim a welcome there, in the name of my wealth, and of my father’s honor, if not of respect for my person or reputation.

  At another time, the shaded cool and comfort within would have been bliss to my aggrieved flesh, balm for my abraded nerves. Now, however, I hardly noted such sensations. The urgency of my mission outweighed them.

  In its furnishings and appointments, the mansion lacked only a certain restraint and subtlety to be exquisite. By any lesser standard, it was delicious to both eye and ear, soothing of scent, plush and pleasant to the touch. From the bedecked atrium where I had entered, high halls and chambers followed each other ahead of me and to either side—rooms for display or assignation, ballrooms public or intimate, galleries where musicians or charlatans might perform. Great candelabra charmed the ceilings, garlands and tapestries graced the walls, rugs of imponderable depth consoled the floors. Yet I wasted no time on admiration. I cared only to descry which way the stranger had gone.

  When I caught sight of him and the servants guiding him, he was nearly beyond recall ahead of me.

  By passing the Thal’s guards and breaching his sanctuary, I had already accomplished a seemingly impossible feat. However, I had so far gained nothing of significance, other than a dramatic increase in the hazards of my plight. I had entirely failed to deflect my usurper from his purpose. Worse, my enemy himself might attend this audience with the Thal, biding the outcome of his wishes. That was a threat I could not confront, no matter how profoundly it imperiled the stranger. Yet even if Sher Abener were not present the dangers of my position increased with every step.

  Pikemen guarded each room and passage. They did not thwart my progress now, but they would certainly act against me if they were ordered to do so. And the audience to which the stranger strode with such impenetrable confidence would include the Thal’s counselors and theurgists, as well as Sher Abener’s malice. Any of those greedy, grasping men was more than a match for me. A counselor might denounce me at his whim. The theurgists could strike me to salt where I stood.

  My task was too great for me. Bitterly, I abandoned all hope of redeeming my name by suasion or appeal. I did not call out after the stranger, or hasten to overtake him. Instead I merely followed at a distance. As best I could, I strove to project the impression that I must not be interrupted in my course. However, I had no higher intention than to await events.

  Yet at the last I diverged from my aim. I was well familiar with the mansion, for I had attended fetes and celebrations without number here. And I was soon certain that I knew the chamber toward which my usurper was guided. It was a broad space, parquet of floor and gilt of wall, which the Thal called his “hall of wisdom,” perhaps because a dais to one side, and an odd concentration of light caused by the domed ceiling, gave him stature. I also knew of other, less public approaches to that cha
mber. Seeking to avoid peril, I drifted into a side passage, and there followed a sequence of smaller rooms connected by archways in the direction of my goal. Because they were less frequented, these rooms were unguarded.

  Barefoot, I made no sound as I moved. Thus it was that I heard men ahead of me without warning them of my presence.

  Instinctively timorous, I slowed my pace in order to approach the entryway to the last room sidelong and unseen.

  Like the other arches through which I had just passed, the one before me held a heavy velvet curtain which could be closed for purposes of discretion, but which was at present drawn aside. The room ahead of me joined on the hall of wisdom, however, and that entry curtain had been pulled shut.

  At the velvet hunched two men, peering past its edges into the hall where the Thal and his adherents gathered against me.

  From their drab apparel and rude features, I might have guessed that they were caravaneers. They had the sturdy frames, blunt movements, and insolent eyes which I associated with Tep Longeur’s drovers and carters. But no caravaneer of my acquaintance moved freely about the Thal’s mansion. And both of these men held in their fists long, evil blades so well whetted that reflected illumination grew sharper along their edges.

  In alarm, I studied the men from the covert of the archway behind them. For my life, I could not imagine why the Thal’s guards had admitted armed ruffians to the mansion.

  They spoke softly, but their words were plain. Velvet protected them from being overheard in the hall of wisdom.

  “I dislike it, Rowel,” one of them whined. A misfocused squint in one eye suggested that his wits were not as keen as his blade. “Does our lord mean us to murder this Urmeny in full view of all these folk?”

  Murder— I could hardly credit my hearing. Did Sher Abener intend to slay me outright? Had his malice toward me grown so extreme that only butchery would appease it?

  I trembled in dismay.

  How had I become so dangerous to the necromancer?

  The man called Rowel continued his scrutiny of the hall. “If needed, Scut,” he answered his duller companion with practiced patience. “If needed. One of our lord’s theurgists is there”—he pointed cautiously past the curtain—“do you see? And he has bribed another to aid him. They will cast a mood for blood upon the gathering.”

  These tidings were fearsome to me, but the speaker said more. “Benedic’s brave Thal is already in a muck sweat, lathered with fear.” His tone conveyed a feral pleasure. “Our lord has given him certain hints concerning the price of opposition. Likely our work will be done for us, with his command or without it.”

  Scut remained stubbornly uncertain. “Yet we are instructed—”

  “And wisely so,” answered Rowel. “Fear is an imprecise tool.” The man was a philosopher. “As is theurgy, when it must be worked in secret. Our lord is not ready to declare his mastery of this demesne. He seeks to daunt opposition indirectly. Therefore—” He left his study of the hall to regard his companion. “If it becomes clear that we are needed,” he stated in cold tones, “we will act. The theurgists will provide for our escape, and our lord will reward us.”

  Scut spat his disgust. “It is filthy work, Rowel. I prefer honest killing at night in solitary alleys, when the moon is dark—and no pikemen in earshot.

  “Still, I would not displease our lord,” he added more conscientiously. “My blade follows yours.”

  Holding my breath, I drew back. For a moment, I could not conceive what I would do. My desperation so nearly resembled stupidity that I saw no alternative but to assail these ruffians with my fists, hoping to raise enough clamor so that aid would find me before I was slain. However, the thought of theurgists halted me. If miraculously I foiled Rowel and Scut—and survived—I would still have gained little, for Sher Abener’s other servants would remain to work his will.

  Theurgy could deliver wounds as fatal as any knife cut or sword thrust—and could do so secretly, as Rowel had intimated. A man might perish without knowing who had harmed him, or how. Yet for that very reason, those who served Sher Abener in the hall of wisdom were a greater danger than these ruffians.

  Clearly, I must find some other path to my goal.

  Flinching on damaged feet, I retraced my passage from room to room with the most elaborate caution until I had regained the passage where I had turned aside from the stranger’s progress.

  Here were guards aplenty, stationed wherever a corridor joined the larger chambers. I approached the nearest pikemen. They eyed me mistrustfully. Doubtless I did not appear to be a man who should walk freely within the Thal’s domicile. They must have wondered who had admitted me to these halls—and how that error would be punished. Nevertheless I did not hesitate to accost them. My manner was one of assurance, which was entirely feigned, and urgency, which was quite sincere.

  “Heed me well,” I instructed before they could challenge me. “My time is short, and I must act quickly.” I meant, Ask no explanation, for I have none. “Assassins have entered the mansion. I overheard two men—armed men—plotting murder. In those rooms adjoining the hall of wisdom.” I indicated the archway from which I had just emerged. “They did not make it clear whom they mean to slay. But I fear for the Thal.

  “Do not shout,” I added, “or you will forewarn them before they may be apprehended.”

  This intelligence would have perplexed even the cleverest of the Thal’s guards. Plainly, the men I addressed were not among them. Their hands assumed readiness on their pike shafts, but no comprehension illuminated their eyes. My words struggled against the distrust on their blunt features.

  I recognized their confusion, however. Indeed, I relied upon it. Sharper-witted men would surely have troubled me with questions. But these dullards might obey almost any command issued in a peremptory tone.

  Therefore I snapped, “Fools! Will you bring death down on this house? Go! Otherwise the deed will be done, and all who serve here will be held accountable.”

  Then I turned and hastened away.

  Behind me, I heard the clatter of their boots as they began to run. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw them race toward the rooms I had indicated.

  I feared that they would forget me—and my words—as soon as they lost sight of me. The stranger’s glamour threatened death to us both. I could only pray that my desperation would inspire the guards with a lingering alarm persistent enough to outlast my immediate presence. I did not doubt that Scut and Rowel would soon shed blood, if they were not interrupted.

  Swallowing thirst and dread, I directed my steps to the Thal’s misnamed “hall of wisdom.”

  Soon it became apparent that I had correctly guessed the chamber where Benedic’s sovereign meant to express Sher Abener’s displeasure. I heard a gathering of voices, hushed but numerous, and ahead of me a laggard or two hurried toward the hall. As they took no notice of me, I spared myself all pretense of stealth. In any case, the effort would have been wasted, for the last corridors offered no concealment. They were at once open and guarded. Nothing remained to assist my approach except a demented confidence in my strange insubstantiality.

  Yet when I gained the polished parquet and condensed illumination of the hall of wisdom, I did not push forward to the center, but rather lurked back against the walls. They were behung with plush draperies, a few of which concealed entries, although most were entirely decorative. Praying that I might encounter no more assassins, I positioned myself as near as practicable to hangings behind which I might hide at need. The chamber held a throng of the Thal’s counselors and sycophants, courtesans and near relations, guards and theurgists, in addition to retainers, servants, and interested spectators, and I had no wish to be snared among them. My madness was not yet so extreme. By mischance or intent, someone would certainly remark upon my presence, and then I would be lost. For that reason, I kept to the walls, and fretted.

  For the moment, the stranger faced no visible peril. Forty or fifty citizens of Benedic were in attendance, but S
her Abener was not among them. And none of them approached the supposed Sher Urmeny. While the throng awaited the Thal’s appearance, even those who wished me well distanced themselves from my usurper. He stood silent in a clear space before the dais, his arms folded upon his chest, his features composed to mildness, his confidence plain.

  Undistracted, I gnawed anxiously upon the daunting challenge of identifying those who meant to work Sher Abener’s will.

  One of our lord’s theurgists is there, Rowel had told Scut. And he has bribed another to aid him. They will cast a mood for blood upon the gathering.

  There lay the chief danger, as I conceived it. Benedic had no history of dire punishments. During our prolonged years of wealth and indolence, we had grown unfamiliar with the bloody-handed practices which reportedly characterized other demesnes and lands. When apprehended, pickthieves were compelled to honest labor. Bolder burglars risked incarceration. A vandal might suffer flogging. However, expulsion from the municipality was the worst retribution exacted upon miscreants. We lacked the vehemence for more fatal measures. If Sher Abener sought to snuff my life, he must first overcome decades of tradition, habit, and sloth. Beyond question a mood for blood would be necessary.

  That, among other practices, was the work of theurgists.

  As Rowel had remarked, however, theurgy was often imprecise. Especially when it must be worked in secret—for surely the necromancer’s henchmen would not wish their labors known. Even in fright, our Thal might withhold action against me if he suspected that he had been urged to it by arcane means.

  I had been taught that the farcasting of glamours and suasions—indeed, of any theurgy—was chancy at best, liable to run wild. To control the effects of their arts, those who served Sher Abener must be present. But they would not put themselves forward. Rather they would feign uninvolvement, doing all they could to remain unremarked among the gathering.