The Vondish Ambassador

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Is Fendel’s Assassin gone?” Emmis asked, as he sank into a chair.

Ithinia held up her dagger, which gleamed in the lamplight, but only with the natural sheen of polished metal. There was no blue glow. “So it would seem,” she said. “It carried out its assignment and you gave it the honey you had promised, so it should be.”

“Good.” While it was true that the creature had defended him from Kelder, the thing made Emmis nervous. “So will you turn Lar back, then?”

“In a moment. When Lord Ildirin returns.”

Emmis nodded. Ildirin was out on the street with the guards, discussing what was to be done with Zhol’s body, and with Kelder; Emmis had been sent inside to rest.

He certainly needed rest; it had been a very, very long day. He wanted to curl up somewhere and go to sleep; a bed would be first choice, but at this point he wasn’t picky and would happily settle for a reasonably clean floor. A chair in the parlor would be more than adequate.

But he wanted to see Lar alive again, first. He glanced at the statue that had been his employer and frowned.

“Will the counter-spell take as long as the original spell? Maybe I could take a nap...”

“What? No, of course not! It just takes a moment to reverse the spell.”

“It does?”

“Yes, of course. There’s no way I could do another three-hour spell tonight — it would be dawn by the time I finished it. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I have no intention of staying up that late.”

Emmis refrained from pointing out that it was already ridiculously late. He leaned back in the chair.

The next thing he knew, Ahan was shaking him awake.

“Lord Ildirin thought you would want to see this,” the guardsman said.

“I... uh...” Emmis sat up, trying to clear his head and wondering how long he had been asleep. It was still full night outside the parlor window, so it couldn’t have been terribly long.

Ahan, Ildirin, and Ithinia were standing around Lar’s petrified form; Ithinia was holding the crystal goblet she had used in the petrifaction spell.

“Ready?” she said.

Ahan moved from Emmis’s side to a position behind the statue, ready to catch Lar if he started to fall. Emmis blinked; it seemed as if he should be doing something more than just sitting there, but he was still too bleary to think what it might be.

“Give me your truncheon,” Ithinia said, holding out her free hand.

Ahan drew the weapon and passed it over. Ithinia accepted it, hefted it, and nodded. Then she crossed the room and stood behind a small marble-topped table. She set the goblet on the table, and raised the guardsman’s club.

Emmis expected her to pause and speak an incantation, but she did nothing of the sort; instead, without any ceremony, she slammed the truncheon down on the goblet, smashing the delicate crystal to glittering splinters and sending droplets of brown liquid spraying across the room.

Emmis started. “What...”

Then a sound caught his ear, and he turned to see Lar, no longer stone and entirely normal in appearance, slumping into Ahan’s waiting arms. Emmis had been so muzzy, and so focused on Ithinia, that he had completely missed the transformation.

But he hadn’t been that distracted; it must have been almost instantaneous.

He got to his feet, wanting to help, but Ahan seemed to have the situation under control; Lar was blinking as if awakening.

“Oh, my,” the ambassador said, straightening up out of Ahan’s grasp. “Oh, that was strange!”

“Are you all right, sir?” Emmis asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Lar brushed at his sleeves as if removing dust, though there was no sign of any that Emmis could see. “Is... is it gone? The assassin?”

“It seems to be, yes.”

Lar put a hand to his throat. “My neck...”

“It tried to wring your neck,” Emmis said.

“Did it?” Lar took his hand away and looked at his spread fingers, apparently checking for blood and finding none, but Emmis could now see several long red scratches on the Vondishman’s neck — none of them deep enough to bleed, but probably enough to be painful.

“Indeed it did,” Lord Ildirin said. “Though only after our lovely hostess had cast a sleeping spell on you.”

Emmis would not have thought of Ithinia as “lovely,” but he supposed Ildirin was being polite — or perhaps his age gave him a different perspective.

“Is that what she did? I thought it was just the... the end of the first spell.”

Emmis noticed the phrasing, and guessed that Lar was not confident enough of his Ethsharitic to use the word “petrifaction.” “What was it like?” he asked.

Lar shuddered. “Everything went black. I was... I couldn’t feel anything at all. The world just faded away. It was as if I was floating in total darkness. But I could hear a little — just a little. I heard you ask if the creature was still here, and I heard Ithinia say that it was, that it wanted its honey and didn’t think I was dead. She said I was made of granite, but I felt as if I wasn’t made of anything.”

“And then what?” Ildirin asked.

“And then... I fell asleep. And I woke up as Ahan caught me, just now.” He brushed at his hair nervously, then felt his neck again. “What happened? How long was I... was I?..”

“Hours,” Ithinia said.

“It’s a long story,” Emmis added.

“Well, I wish someone would tell me that story!”

“Of course you do,” Ildirin said, “And I would be delighted to oblige you.” He settled onto a chair facing Lar. “Have a seat, your Excellency, and I will tell you the entire tale. And then perhaps we can stop imposing on the Guildmaster’s hospitality and take to our beds; I think any further business can wait until another day.”

“But the Lumethans — have you caught them?”

“Not as yet, but we do have the man who young Emmis encountered in your home.”

Lar blinked, and sank into a chair; Ahan stepped back, taking up an unobtrusive position against the wall by the door. “Tell me more,” the Vondishman said.

“Well, as you are aware, the petrifaction spell worked perfectly...” Ildirin began.

Emmis sat back in his chair and closed his eyes as he listened.

It all seemed to be working out, he thought. The magical assassin was gone, the human assassin captured. The Lumethans were still out there, and that man Tithi, but with Lord Ildirin and Guildmaster Ithinia involved, that surely wouldn’t be a problem. Lar was safe, at least for now.

Poor Zhol was dead, and that was horrible, but Emmis had hardly known him, and a guard’s life was inherently dangerous. One of his killers was caught, and the other almost certainly would be.

The mysterious source of magical power in Lumeth of the Towers was still unidentified, and there was still the mystery of just what those sorcerous towers were and why wizards were protecting them, but those problems seemed far less immediate.

Ildirin’s voice was oddly soothing. Emmis was no longer really listening to the words, but just the tone.

And then he woke up, and opened his eyes, and saw an unfamiliar ceiling above him.

He was lying in a bed — a good bed, smooth and warm and comforting, just soft enough — and staring up at a gilt-and-plaster ceiling that depicted spiral patterns of golden stars on a gleaming white background.

Emmis had never seen that ceiling before, he was quite sure. He turned his head.

The rest of the room was equally unfamiliar. He was in a fair-sized bedchamber decorated in white, red, and gold, lying in a large and luxurious but oddly uncanopied bed, beneath a snowy white sheet and a red satin quilt. Two tables topped with white marble stood on either side; one held a white-and-gold bowl and pitcher.

This was, Emmis thought, by far the nicest place he had ever woken up in his life, and that was including not just the rented embassy on Through Street, but the bed of that shipowner’s silly daughter on Flood Street — though the company had been better there, as he was quite alone here.

He must have dozed off in Ithinia’s parlor, while Lord Ildirin had been telling Lar what had happened — or perhaps Ithinia had used her sleep spell on him, though he really doubted any magic was necessary to explain it. Was this room in Ithinia’s house, then? He threw off the covers and sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

His boots were gone — or rather, now that he looked, they were on the floor by the bed, rather than on his feet. He was still wearing his own familiar tunic and breeches, though, with traces of Zhol’s blood still smeared on his shoulders, and his socks were still in place. That was reassuring, and fit his theory nicely. He slid off the bed and stood up, then pulled aside the red-and-white draperies and peered out the nearest window.

Lower Street. He was in Ithinia’s house, and judged the room to be directly over the parlor. For a moment he wondered whether the wizard had somehow lifted him right through the floor, but then he decided that was silly; why would she do that, when she could just have someone carry him up here?

He looked at the light; the sky was still overcast, making it hard to judge the hour, but it was clearly long past dawn, and probably around midday.

“Emmis of Shiphaven?”

Emmis started; he hadn’t heard the door open, but a young woman was peering in at him. “Yes?” he said.

“The Guildmaster will see you now, or if you prefer, I can bring up some breakfast first.”

Emmis considered that, then said, “Breakfast would be very welcome, thank you.” After all, he had not eaten since supper the night before, and he had not exactly been resting on silken cushions all night. Food sounded like a wonderful idea, and this would give him time to compose his thoughts.

The door closed.

Emmis found the chamberpot under the bed and used it, then pulled his boots back on. He was just taking another look out the window when someone knocked on the door.

He opened it to find the girl had returned with a tray; she pushed past him and set it on the unoccupied bedside table, then curtseyed and left, closing the door behind her before he could think of a single thing to say.

The tray held beer, bread, and sardines — not his usual breakfast, but satisfying enough. A napkin was provided, as well. He ate enthusiastically; when he had finished he wiped his mouth and hands, and was trying to decide whether he should wait or find his own way downstairs when another knock sounded.

He opened the door, expecting to see the serving girl again, but instead found Ithinia standing there. He quickly adjusted his stance and bowed.

“Guildmaster,” he said. “I’m honored.”

“You have no idea,” she said wryly, stepping into the room. “I don’t even let my own servants sleep in my house. Now, you said you wished to speak to me in private?”

“Yes.” Before he could say anything else, though, the serving girl appeared behind Ithinia. She slipped past her mistress to collect the breakfast tray.

Emmis and Ithinia stood silently while she bustled out, closing the door behind her.

“I’m surprised you use human servants,” Emmis remarked. “She is human, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Ithinia said. “Her name is Irith the Brisk, and she’s from Fishertown. I could create magical servants, of course, and I do have a few — you may have noticed my gargoyles, I’m rather proud of them. But for household tasks, I’ve generally found hiring ordinary people more convenient. They’re better at understanding what’s needed, they aren’t prone to odd restrictions in what they can do or where they can go, and they don’t make guests nervous. Now, your business?”

“Are Lar and Lord Ildirin still here?”

“They left long ago, taking their guards living and dead with them, not an hour after you fell asleep, though they’re both expected to return this afternoon. I had plenty of time to talk to Lord Ildirin last night, while you were out dodging assassins and the ambassador was petrified, but there are still several matters to be settled and spells to be performed.”

That disturbed Emmis. While it wasn’t part of his official duties, he felt that his job included protecting Lar, and he couldn’t very well do that if the ambassador left him sleeping here while he went roaming the streets in the middle of the night. “Why didn’t they wake me?”

“I think they wanted to speak privately with one another. And I allowed it — encouraged it, actually — because you wanted to speak privately with me. Which you are doing now, though to very little purpose as yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Emmis said. “It’s something I heard from a theurgist yesterday.” He blinked in surprise at his own words — had it really just been yesterday that he spoke to Corinal?

“Oh?”

“Guildmaster, why have wizards put protective spells on the towers in Lumeth? The theurgist said there were several very powerful protections on them, but the towers themselves are sorcerous in nature, not any sort of wizardry.”

Ithinia froze, staring at him. Then she demanded, “What do you know about the towers?”

“I... not much, just what the theurgist told me. There are three of them, and each one is a sorcerer’s talisman hundreds of feet high...”

“Why was this theurgist telling you about them in the first place?” Ithinia snapped, interrupting him.

“Well, I asked. He consulted the goddess Unniel for me...”

“Why did you ask?”

“Because... I can’t tell you.”

“What? Why not?”

“I swore I wouldn’t.”

That was not literally true; he had merely accepted that Lar would have him killed if he revealed too much. Ithinia did not look as if she was interested in explanations at the moment, though.

“You swore.”

“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate; it was only after the word had left his mouth that he found himself wondering whether he was absolutely sure that wizards couldn’t always tell truth from falsehood the way witches could.

“Oaths have power, you know.”

“I know.”

“That was why the assassin lingered after its attempt had failed — your oath gave it the power to stay.”

“I know.”

“You need to be more careful what oaths you swear and what vows you make, Emmis of Shiphaven.”

“Honestly, I don’t swear them lightly, Guildmaster.”

“So you swore not to reveal something, and that something led you to ask a theurgist about the Lumeth towers. Didn’t he want to know why you were asking?”

“Not as long as I paid him, no. And I asked him a lot of questions; I don’t think that one stood out particularly.”

“But he told you that the Wizards’ Guild has been warding the Lumeth towers for centuries.”

Emmis blinked. “No. He told me wizards were protecting the towers. He didn’t mention the Guild or how long it had been going on.”

“He told you the towers were sorcerous, though.”

“Yes. Which just seems... I mean, talismans hundreds of feet high? Holding back poisons?”

“He told you that?”

“Yes. And that they’re guarded by wizards’ spells, powerful ones. And I thought that since you’re a Guildmaster, you might know why they’re guarded that way.”

“I do — but why do you care? I know the ambassador is concerned about a possible war between Vond and Lumeth, but what does that have to do with you, or with the towers?”

“Well, because... I can’t tell you all of it.”

“What can you tell me?”

Emmis grimaced; he knew he should have been ready for this interrogation, that it hadn’t been realistic to think Ithinia would answer his questions without asking her own, but he wasn’t ready. He was making it up as he went along.

“I think... I’m not sure,” he said, “but I think someone may be planning to destroy the towers, and I wanted to know just how much trouble that would cause.”

“Destroy them?”

“Yes. If they can.”

“They probably can’t, but still — who is this? Who is insane enough to attempt anything like that?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Young man, you are being extremely annoying.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you what I can, and when I’m done, you tell me as much as you can. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Emmis said, relieved. “That’s perfect.”

“Oh, it’s anything but perfect, but it will have to do. Sit down; this may take awhile.”