The Vondish Ambassador

Chapter Fourteen

Emmis ambled along High Street, mulling over what Lar had told him.

It all made sense, really. Vond the Great Warlock had been as much a menace to his own people as to anyone else, and the Imperial Council really didn’t want anyone taking his place. They liked being in power, with no emperor to answer to — apparently Lord Sterren, the Regent, was an easy master to deal with.

So they didn’t want any warlocks in the Empire, and most particularly they didn’t want any warlocks who might be able to hear the Lumeth Source, as well as the Aldagmor one. That explained why Lar had gone to see Ishta, why he had asked what kept warlocks out of Vond.

They wanted to know exactly what and where the second Source was, so they could destroy it. And they didn’t want any warlocks to know anything about it, because they assumed, with reason, that warlocks would want access to this second source.

The Source in Aldagmor was obviously more immediately dangerous; everyone near it had simply vanished on the Night of Madness. Apparently they had all heard the Calling, man, woman, and child. A little farther away there had been survivors initially, but they had all become warlocks, and were either murdered by frightened neighbors, or Called not long after. Even now, anyone venturing too deeply into that area would be Called, even if he or she had not been a warlock. The southeastern half of Aldagmor was now uninhabited, as a result.

Lumeth wasn’t depopulated. There were no warlocks there. There were no areas where people vanished, or where people acquired magical powers. It wasn’t obvious exactly where the second Source was, or how Vond had been able to “hear” it when no one else had.

So Lar had asked Kolar where Vond’s “hum” originated — and Kolar hadn’t been able to tell him.

Lar was interested in where one might hire thugs and murderers because the Empire might want to hire a few and send them into Lumeth to smash that mysterious source, wherever and whatever it actually was.

He was also worried that the Lumethans might have found out that they had an immensely powerful source of magic in their country, and might be looking for ways to use it against the Empire. The Empire was just as worried that Lumeth might invade them as the Lumethans were worried that the Empire might invade them. That the Empire had at least a dozen times the population really wouldn’t matter if the Lumethans learned how to use that magical power.

That was one reason Lar had insisted Emmis return to the Crooked Candle — to find out anything he could that might tell them what the Lumethans knew, or didn’t know.

That was pretty much all that Lar had actually told him, but Emmis thought he had picked up hints that there was another element at work. He remembered that Lar had said there had been two warlocks in Semma since the Night of Madness, and there had been vague implications that Lord Sterren took a personal interest in this whole situation.

Emmis could see two ways this might work. Lord Sterren might be the second warlock, and hiding it, or he might know who the second warlock was and be afraid of what he or she might do. The second warlock might be a family member, or a close friend, or a sworn enemy — or perhaps the princess Sterren was reportedly planning to marry.

If it was Sterren himself who was a warlock, would he really want the Lumeth power source destroyed?

He might; after all, Vond had come to a bad end.

But if he had the same sort of unchecked magical power Vond had had, why didn’t he use it? Why keep it concealed? Was he that afraid of the Calling?

Or was he, perhaps, that frightened of the Wizards’ Guild, which had forbidden magicians to hold high office?

That made sense. And if the Lumeth source was destroyed, well, Vond was so far from Aldagmor that he’d hardly be a warlock at all, would he?

It could be any of those; Lar hadn’t said, and Emmis didn’t know. Lar might not know either, for that matter. Emmis did believe, though, that Lar intended to track down the Lumeth source and see that it was destroyed.

Emmis thought that was probably a good idea. He was no geographer, but if there was a previously-unknown and unused source of warlockry in Lumeth of the Towers, its range presumably extended in all directions, just as the one in Aldagmor did. Lumeth of the Towers was northwest of Semma and the Empire of Vond.

And Ethshar of the Spices was northwest of Lumeth. Emmis was not at all sure of the distances involved, but he thought it was possible that the Lumeth source might be entirely too close for comfort if warlocks all learned how to use it.

Better for all concerned if no warlocks ever heard about it.

He turned from High Street onto Commerce Street, and noticed a few interesting shops — the house in Allston really did need more furniture, and kitchen supplies, as well as ordinary things like candles, lamps, and oil.

Perhaps he would go back by way of Bargain Street, rather than High, and see what he could find. Then at least this entire trip wouldn’t be wasted.

The truth was that he did not expect to find anything useful in Shiphaven. He was sure his belongings must have been stolen; if they hadn’t been he would almost be disappointed, as it would mean the thieves of Ethshar were not living up to their reputation. And surely, the foreigners must have all fled by now, and there would be nothing worth learning at the Crooked Candle.

But Lar had sent him to check, so he would check. He was being paid to do what he was told.

He pushed quickly through Canal Square without stopping to look at any of the merchandise on display. This was not much of a market; the better goods wound up in Shiphaven Market or the shops of the Old Merchants’ Quarter, and Canal Square got the leftovers, the bits of this and that that had been discarded by the successful merchants and salvaged by scavengers, the items pilfered from cabins and cargo holds by sailors, the things that thieves had been unable to fence elsewhere.

It occurred to Emmis when he was three blocks down Twixt Street that perhaps he would have found some of his own former possessions offered for sale there — most of what he had had was not likely to bring any real money, which meant it was just the sort of merchandise that someone might try to sell for a few bits in Canal Square.

Well, it wasn’t worth turning back at this point. He strode on, across Shiphaven Market, past the farmers, fishmongers, and recruiters, into Commission Street.

And there he stopped, twenty yards from the Crooked Candle.

There were guards at the inn door, two of them, trying to look casual, as if they just happened to be lounging there.

Emmis didn’t believe that for an instant. Guards did not lounge on Commission Street. It wasn’t on the way from any of their usual posts to anywhere they would need to go. If guards were needed on the Shiphaven docks or at the shipyards they would be sent from Westgate and would come down Shipwright or Captain Street, not Commission. If there had been a disturbance in Shiphaven Market, as sometimes happened, they would lounge in the market itself, not on Commission Street. If it were evening, and the guards were planning to get a drink when they went off-duty, it might have just barely been possible, but in the morning?

So they were watching the Crooked Candle.

Which meant there was no chance at all that Annis or the Lumethans or the assassins would be there. The foreigners weren’t that stupid.

Why were the guards being that stupid? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have a few men out of uniform inside the inn, ready to pounce if one of the foreigners or assassins came in?

Well, that wasn’t Emmis’s problem. He already knew coming here was pointless, but Lar had told him to go to the inn, so he would go to the inn. He marched forward.

At the door of the inn he paused; the two guards were watching him closely, but neither of them had said anything or reached for a weapon. These two, he noticed, were wearing swords, as well as bearing truncheons, which meant they were definitely not simply ordinary guards varying their patrol.

“Is there something going on?” Emmis asked, pointing to one guard’s sword.

“Nothing that concerns you,” the soldier replied.

“It’s all right if I go inside?”

“We won’t stop you, but mind your own business.”

Emmis nodded, and stepped through the door into the inn’s common room.

A third guard looked up at his entrance, and Emmis was startled to realize that he recognized this one. This was one of the two who had come up from the Palace last night to investigate the attempted assassination.

A white-haired old man was seated at a table just behind the guardsman, speaking intently with someone Emmis recognized as the innkeeper, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table. The innkeeper’s face was toward Emmis, and he looked worried; the old man was facing away.

A few customers were scattered about — very few; Emmis counted four. Gita was serving one of them a mug of beer. No one was else was in sight.

The familiar guard looked at Emmis, then tapped the old man on the shoulder. “My lord?” he said quietly.

The old man cut off whatever he was saying to the innkeeper in mid-sentence and looked up. “Yes?”

“My lord, Emmis of Shiphaven just came in.”

So much, Emmis thought, for any hope that he might be able to get a quiet beer and slip away unnoticed.

The old man turned and looked at Emmis. Emmis stood where he was and smiled politely. He had no idea who the old man was, but anyone addressed as “my lord” was not someone he wanted to antagonize.

“Ask him to join us,” the old man said.

The guardsman stepped forward, and Emmis came to meet him. “I heard,” he said.

“I’ll have to ask you to give me your knife,” the guardsman said.

Startled, Emmis drew his belt-knife and handed it over, hilt first. Whatever was happening here, the soldier was taking it seriously; ordinarily no one even thought of a belt-knife as a weapon. Disarmed, he approached the table cautiously, and took a chair under the watchful gaze of the guard and the old man. The innkeeper was too busy looking confused and miserable to pay any attention to Emmis; he just stared ahead blindly as the young man settled into his seat.

“Hello,” Emmis said. “I’m Emmis of Shiphaven.”

“My name is Ildirin,” the old man said. He did not offer a hand or make any other polite gestures, but his gaze remained focused on Emmis.

Ildirin. The guardsman had addressed him as “my lord.” The age was about right. Emmis swallowed. “The overlord’s uncle?”

“Yes.”

That explained why the inn was being guarded. “I am honored.”

“We have been discussing your contention that this man has allowed people to hire assassins in his inn.”

“Oh.” Emmis threw the innkeeper a quick glance. “Well, I don’t know that the actual hiring took place here, but one of his guests did tell me her companion had hired assassins, and sure enough, I was attacked in my employer’s home as soon as I got back there.”

“I can’t possibly be expected to know everything that people do here!” the innkeeper burst out.

“So you said,” Lord Ildirin replied dryly. “And I have acknowledged the truth of your claim. Nonetheless, it would behoove you to tell me everything you have ever known, every whisper you have ever heard, about the four foreigners who slept under your roof.”

“But I don’t know anything,” the innkeeper wailed. “They paid every day, in good coin, and then yesterday afternoon they all departed hurriedly. They settled their bill and took their things and they were gone!”

“And you can’t tell me anything they said, anything they ate, anything they drank, anyone they met, anyone they declined to meet.”

“No! I mind my own business and let my customers mind theirs!”

Lord Ildirin nodded, and turned to Emmis. “And you? Can you tell me any more?”

“A little,” Emmis admitted.

“Then do.”

Emmis blinked, then began describing how Gita had first brought him to meet Annis and the three Lumethans.

Lord Ildirin stopped him.

“Gita?” He glanced at the innkeeper.

“My niece,” the innkeeper said.

“She’s over there,” Emmis said, pointing.

Lord Ildirin gestured to the guardsman. “Fetch her.” Then he turned to the innkeeper. “You may go, but do not leave the premises.”

“Why would I leave? It’s my inn!”

“’Why’ does not concern me. Just don’t.”

“Yes, my lord.” The innkeeper slid from his chair and fled to the kitchen.

A moment later Gita took the chair her uncle had vacated. “My lord,” she said, with a bob of her head. Then she turned to Emmis and said, “I have your bags.”

Emmis blinked in surprise. “You do?”

“Yes. When I saw you run out I asked Annis what was going on, and she said it wasn’t anything but she would be leaving, and I saw the bags and asked if those were hers — I thought she might have already packed — and she said no, they were yours, you’d left them, so I put them aside for you. They’re in the scullery, in the locker with the special china.”

“Thank you!” Emmis felt a rush of relief. He had not been looking forward to replacing his lost belongings, and now he wouldn’t need to.

Gita smiled warmly. “You’re welcome,” she said.

Lord Ildirin cleared his throat. The others turned their attention to him.

“If you would be so kind as to explain how you came to introduce this young man to the foreigners?..”

“Oh, well, we had this Ashthasan woman here, she said she was waiting for someone, and then the day before yesterday she asked about another foreigner who was staying here, a man with a plumed hat and red coat, whether I knew anything about him, and I said I’d seen him and his assistant. She seemed surprised he had an assistant, and asked if I could arrange for her to speak to him without the foreigner knowing about it...”

Emmis sat and listened silently as Gita explained, and as Lord Ildirin backtracked and went over her entire story in relentless detail, asking her question after question.

Then Lord Ildirin started on him, asking him to describe his conversations with Annis, then the encounter with the two would-be assassins, and then backing up to how he had first met Lar Samber’s son.

The interrogation went on and on, and Emmis began to become nervous. He glanced at the angle of the sunlight outside, and finally said, “My lord, the ambassador wanted me back not long after noon, so that I could bring his papers to the Palace.”

“I do not think you need concern yourself with that,” Ildirin replied. “After all, who is it you would be presenting those papers to?”

“Ah — yes, of course. To you. But I don’t want him to worry about me; after all, there are assassins...”

“Yes.” Ildirin looked up over his shoulder, then beckoned to the guardsman who still stood there.

“Yes, my lord?”

“We’re done here for now. Send for the carriage, fetch the other two in, and tell the innkeeper that we will be taking his niece with us, to assist us further. She will be compensated for her time. And tell Zefna.”

“Yes, my lord.” He hurried toward the door.

Ildirin turned back to Emmis and Gita. “You two will come with me. One of the guards will accompany you, Gita, while you fetch Emmis’s belongings from the scullery.”

“Where are we going?” Gita said.

“The Palace?” Emmis asked.

“No,” Ildirin said. “Through Street, in Allston, to talk to the ambassador.”