The Vondish Ambassador

Chapter Twenty-Five

The preparations took longer than Ithinia’s words had led Emmis to expect — and probably longer than Ithinia herself had expected.

The afternoon’s meetings with Lar and Ildirin went smoothly, so far as Emmis could tell; he was sent off while they were taking place, and did as Ithinia had suggested, packing a bag for a few days’ trip to the Small Kingdoms.

Or rather, what he thought might be appropriate. He had never been to the Small Kingdoms. He had never wanted to visit the Small Kingdoms. Ithinia, however, did not offer him a choice. “You started this,” she said. “You’re coming.”

When Lar returned to the house on Through Street that evening, accompanied by four guardsmen, Emmis met him at the door. “What happened?” he asked.

“We’re going to Lumeth,” Lar replied, bemused. “Ithinia insists. She says that if Lord Ildirin wants the assassination attempts to stop, they must be stopped at the source. She’s planning to leave in a day or two.”

“That’s... interesting,” Emmis said. “Do you think she knows anything about...” He glanced at the guards. “...about who’s behind the assassins?”

“We’ll talk upstairs,” Lar said.

A few minutes later, after posting the guards at the doors, they did exactly that, taking seats in the ambassador’s study.

“Did you ask the Guildmaster about the source of the hum?” Emmis asked.

Lar shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I want her to know anything about it; she frightens me. She isn’t anyone’s hireling; she has her own goals, and they may not match ours. But Lord Ildirin has brought her in to stop the assassination attempts and keep peace between Vond and Lumeth, and I think she can help with that.”

“I see,” Emmis said, hiding his unhappiness. He had hoped that the ambassador had brought Ithinia into his confidence; it would have simplified matters.

“Lord Ildirin had that man Kelder questioned this morning, by a magistrate and two witches,” Lar continued. “He’ll hang tomorrow, but in exchange for his cooperation Lord Ildirin let a warlock heal his arm, and the witches calmed him. He’ll be burned on a proper pyre, not left to rot.”

Emmis shuddered.

“He named his partner, Tithi Salman’s son,” Lar added. “Ildirin has magicians and soldiers tracking him down now, as well as those three Lumethans and the Ashthasan merchant.”

“That’s good,” Emmis said. “Isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Lar said. “But Lumeth and Ashthasa are going to be our neighbors for a long time; we need to be careful how they see us.”

Emmis nodded.

After a moment, Lar asked, “That theurgist you visited — the one who told you about Fendel’s Assassin. Did he tell you where the hum came from?”

Emmis hesitated. “Not exactly,” he said. “He said the Towers are gigantic sorcerous talismans, so it might be from those, but he didn’t say definitely.”

“The Towers.” Lar nodded. “I thought so. Sorcery, is it? That might be it. Interesting.”

Emmis waited for Lar to ask the next question, to give him a chance to say more, to explain about the Towers and why he had spoken to Ithinia, but the ambassador said nothing more.

And then the moment had passed, and Emmis couldn’t bring himself to say anything more about it. The rest of the evening was uncomfortable; Emmis had to watch everything he said, lest he reveal some part of his conversation with Ithinia best left unspoken. He went to bed early, claiming to still be tired from the previous night’s adventures.

And in the morning there was Zhol’s funeral, which Emmis and Lar attended as Lord Ildirin’s guests. Because Zhol had served honorably in Lord Ildirin’s escort the ceremony was held not in Camptown, as most city guard funerals were, but on a terrace overlooking the Grand Canal, between the Palace and the Old City. The pyre was built right on the edge, where the flames reflected in the murky water of the canal, and the event was well attended — not only were dozens of guards present, and a score of Zhol’s kin, but much of the city’s ruling elite; Lord Ildirin had seen to that. The overlord himself, Azrad VII, plunged the torch into the waiting kindling to light the blaze that would free the dead man’s soul to ascend to Heaven.

Emmis did not dare approach Azrad, but he did take a good look at him. The overlord was a heavily-built man in late middle age, his hair gray and thinning, but his face still relatively smooth, his stance still strong and upright. Although he must have weighed fifty pounds more than the slender Ildirin, the family resemblance was plain.

“I didn’t expect to see him here,” Emmis whispered to Lar, as they watched the flames spread across the pyre. “Even if Zhol was chosen for Lord Ildirin’s escort, he was still just a guardsman, after all.”

Lord Ildirin, on Lar’s other side, heard; he leaned over and replied, “The man served honorably, and died performing that service. His family deserves to see that my family respects him for it. My nephew understands that.”

Chastised, Emmis said nothing more.

And that afternoon there was the hanging. Emmis talked his way out of attending that, but Lar and Ildirin did not. That left Emmis sitting alone in the makeshift embassy on Through Street, and he busied himself cleaning and straightening — though he wasn’t entirely sure why he was bothering. He was fairly sure that after this planned trip to Lumeth, if it happened, he would no longer be Lar’s aide and guide. The truth would come out, that he had given Ithinia the hints she needed to guess Lar’s secrets.

Still, hauling furniture around was a good way to keep himself occupied.

Once again, the evening was uncomfortable. Emmis found Lar giving him puzzled looks every so often during the awkward silences, as if wondering why his aide had suddenly turned sullen and uncommunicative.

Emmis wished he could just tell Lar everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to begin. If Lar had asked questions Emmis thought he would have eventually worked his way around to a confession, but the Vondishman did not seem to have any questions to ask.

The following day Emmis removed himself from the house at the first opportunity and spent every daylight hour roaming the city and talking to tradespeople, seeing that the Vondish embassy would be properly furnished and the kitchen well-stocked. He resisted the temptation to visit the Wizards’ Quarter or Camptown; he had passed that responsibility on to Ithinia.

Of course, Corinal probably still had several answers to questions that were purely personal, but Emmis was in no mood to deal with those, not when the Guildmaster intended to ship him off to the Small Kingdoms at any moment,

That night Emmis dreamed he was back in Ithinia’s home, where the wizard instructed him, “This is the Spell of Invaded Dreams. You and your master are to be at my door by noon tomorrow; if you aren’t here on time, I will send my gargoyles to fetch you, which will not be pleasant.”

He awoke with a start, unsure whether the dream had really been a magical message or not. At breakfast, though, Lar said, “Did you have a dream about Ithinia last night?”

“Yes,” Emmis admitted.

“Her door at noon?”

“Yes.” He was relieved; if they had both dreamt it, then it had been a sending.

“She could have just paid a messenger two bits.”

Emmis turned up a palm. “She’s a wizard,” he said.

Lar nodded, and took another bite of cheese.

Noon found the pair turning the corner from Arena onto Lower Street, with the guards Ildirin had posted surrounding them. Emmis had expected to see the street much as usual, with a handful of people going about their business, but instead he found a throng already waiting at Ithinia’s door.

Lord Ildirin’s coach was there, with Lord Ildirin and several others still in it; a dozen guardsmen were gathered around it. Standing between the coach and the door were a handful of strangers; three of them were wearing elaborate robes and were presumably wizards, while one wore the white and gold garb of a priest, another the red and black attire of a demonologist.

Above, on the eaves, two gargoyles were moving about, staring down at the crowd, though neither appeared threatening.

“That’s a lot of magicians,” Emmis said.

“And a lot of guards,” Lar agreed, glancing at his own nearest escort.

Then the doors swung open and Ithinia appeared, resplendent in a blue and white robe far more ornate than the relatively plain robe Emmis had seen her wear before. “Welcome to you all!” she called, her voice seeming unnaturally loud and clear. “If you will all follow me, please?” She stepped out into the street, closing the door behind her, and led the way around one side of the house and along a narrow passage — a passage open to the sky but too clean to be called an alley, the walls gleaming with fresh yellow paint and the floor paved with brown bricks.

The entire crowd followed her, the guards helping Ildirin and the other passengers out of their coach; Emmis did not wait to see who the old man had brought with him, but hurried after the wizard and found himself surrounded by magicians as he marched through the passage into the wizard’s garden.

Lar caught up to him as they emerged onto a pleasant little terrace. “Who are all these people?” the Vondishman asked in Emmis’s ear, gesturing at the magicians.

“I have no idea,” Emmis replied.

They were clustered in one corner of a tidy little garden, and at first Emmis wondered why the leaders hadn’t moved further in, to make more room.

Then he saw the gargoyles.

The things appeared to be carved of ordinary gray stone, except for the fact that they were moving. Each stood about five feet tall — or rather, crouched about five feet tall, as neither stood remotely straight. Both had claws and fangs and wings, but the details were very different from one to the other; one of them had so many fangs, and such large fangs, that it seemed unable to close its mouth at all.

Emmis had seen the gargoyles on the front of the house, and had seen that they were animated, but looking up at such monstrosities from twenty feet below did not have at all the same effect as seeing them six feet away from you on the ground. Their threatening appearance was much more immediate when they were on the same level.

He glanced up at the back of the house, and sure enough, there were empty niches on either corner that were surely where these two normally stayed.

Then Emmis glanced over to see Lord Ildirin hobble around the corner, followed by his guardsmen dragging several others; Emmis turned to stare as he saw who else had been in the nobleman’s coach.

Annis, the Ashthasan merchant, was there, with her hands bound behind her. And beside her was Hagai, the Lumethan theurgist, who not only had his hands tied, but who had a gag in his mouth. His hooded robe was open, the hood flung back. Behind them were the other two Lumethans, hands bound, hoods back, mouths gagged. All four had been disarmed, their belt-knives removed.

And behind the four foreigners was an ordinary-looking Ethsharite in a drab brown tunic, with his hands tied and his ankles hobbled; it took Emmis a moment to recognize him as Tithi, Kelder’s partner in crime.

“What are they doing here?” Emmis whispered to Lar.

Lar turned up a hand. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Thank you all for coming!” Ithinia called, as the last of the crowd squeezed into the garden. “I’m sure many of you have questions, but I prefer not to take the time to answer them. I think all will become clear as events progress. I am about to perform a spell called Hallin’s Transporting Fissure — some of you are familiar with it, some aren’t. I think it will be obvious why it could not be done inside my house, and why I thought it unwise to do it in Lower Street. I will ask you all to follow me; these gargoyles of mine will bring up the rear and make sure we all arrive safely.” She gestured toward the two monsters. “I must warn you, do not attempt to turn back, for any reason — the results could be very unfortunate. If you feel it necessary to pause to catch your breath or steady yourself, that should be safe enough, but do not turn back. Is that understood?”

A mumbled chorus of yeses and several nods seemed to satisfy her.

“Good,” she said. Then she pulled a wooden flute from her sleeve, held it to her mouth, and began to play.

It was an odd little tune, mostly a pleasant enough melody, but with certain notes that seemed off and out of place, notes that served to transform the cheerful ditty into something strange and uncomfortable. The wizard played through a dozen measures, more or less, and then held the final note.

It grew louder and louder in a way that would not have been possible for any natural sound, adding deeper and deeper undertones, until it seemed as if the earth itself was shaking.

And then the earth really did shake as the garden before Ithinia’s feet vibrated, humped up, and split open like an overripe fruit.

“Gods!” someone said.

The opening in the ground widened, becoming a crevice three or four feet wide and fifteen or twenty feet long. Emmis stared in amazement as Ithinia, still holding that impossibly-sustained note, stepped forward into it.

She held the flute in place with one hand, still blowing, while her other beckoned for her guests to follow her as she descended; then she began playing a tune again — not the disconcerting one she had played before, but a sprightly little melody with many trills.

Most of her audience simply watched at first, too surprised or nervous to move, but the other magicians followed her down into the opening in the earth, sinking slowly out of sight as if walking down a flight of stairs.

Then one of the gargoyles spoke, in a voice like stone grinding on stone — and, Emmis asked himself, what else would it sound like? “Go,” it said.

That seemed to break the tension and everyone began moving forward, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Tithi and Annis seemed especially reluctant; the Lumethans, oddly, appeared more resigned than frightened. Emmis found himself somewhere in the middle of the line marching into the rift, with a soldier ahead of him and Lar behind him.

When he reached the opening he was not particularly surprised to see that there really were stairs leading down into the earth, carved from the soil of the garden. Something was wrong with the perspective, though — the stairs seemed to go on forever without ever reaching the far end of the rift. He could see and hear Ithinia far ahead and below, still playing her flute, and then the other wizards, and the theurgist and the demonologist behind them, then Lord Ildirin, and a few guards, spaced along what seemed to be a hundred yards of earthen steps that somehow fit into a twenty-foot trench.

Then he put his foot down on the first step himself, and it felt as if the World twisted beneath his feet; the midday sky was somehow behind him, more than above him. He tried to ignore the disorienting effects of the magic as he marched on down into the earth.

“Oh, gods!” Lar said behind him, as he, too, took that first step. He muttered something more, but it was in a language other than Ethsharitic that Emmis did not understand.

The warning against turning back had been a good idea, Emmis thought as he walked, because there was a wrongness to these stairs that made him want to turn and flee. He wondered whether there was really any danger, or whether Ithinia had said that to ensure that all her desired guests arrived at their destination.

He wasn’t about to test it; there wasn’t really room to squeeze past Lar and the others to get back out, and it was entirely possible that the Guildmaster had spoken the simple truth when she said it was dangerous.

Then a shadow blocked out the sunlight and Emmis glanced back to see that the gargoyles were entering the fissure — the entire party was now on the stairs.

Those stairs were changing. It was not that the one he stood on was any different from those above and below it, but that from where he stood they all appeared to be altered now. Instead of packed earth, the steps were stone now, and the slope was much shallower, and they weren’t level — he felt as if he were walking forward on the edges of the steps, rather than walking down on their tops.

The walls on either side were stone as well, rather than earth, though he had been unaware of any change, and when he looked back they appeared to be stone all the way, there was no transition.

And then everything shifted again, and he was walking up a flight of steps, and the daylight behind him was gone entirely but he could see daylight ahead, where Ithinia was emerging from the stone tunnel into the midday sun.

If he could have picked up his pace Emmis would have done so, but the guardsman in front of him was trudging on at the same steady march he had maintained all along.

Finally, though, Emmis found himself climbing up a set of stairs in the middle of a broad paved plaza, where a crowd formed a large circle around the new arrivals, giving them a wide berth. Ithinia stood on the stones a few feet from the rift, playing her flute.

This was no plaza that Emmis had ever seen before, he was sure of that. One side was completely dominated by a tall and forbidding fortress of gray stone; the other five — yes, five; the plaza was hexagonal, like Hempfield Market, but larger and more regular — were lined with shops and tall, narrow houses.

On the side opposite the fortress the gaps between buildings, and the mouths of the streets, gave a view of empty air — there was obviously a slope on that side dropping away rapidly from the plaza. To either side of the fortress, streets climbed up a gentle slope. This plaza, whatever it was, was partway up the side of a large hill.

The architecture surrounding the plaza was subtly unfamiliar; the clothes worn by the observers weren’t quite right, either, though Emmis had seen such garb before, on visitors from the Small Kingdoms. This was not in Ethshar of the Spices, he was sure. It was presumably somewhere in Lumeth of the Towers.

He stepped out onto the stone pavement — made, he saw, of the same stone as the tunnel walls — and moved to one side, to allow those behind him to emerge.

No one spoke as the guards and their prisoners climbed up out of the fissure in the pavement. When the gargoyles emerged, though, Emmis thought he heard gasps from the surrounding crowd.

Then Ithinia ended her tune with a final flourish, and slipped the flute into her sleeve; the instant the music stopped a loud rumble sounded, and the opening in the pavement closed itself up. As the two sides met the stones merged, leaving not the faintest crack; there was no indication that there had ever been a fissure.

Both the newly-arrived travelers and the watching natives murmured at this sight. Emmis wondered how they were to return to Ethshar; had Ithinia brought the materials to perform the spell again?

The wizard paid no attention to the closing fissure, though. Instead she raised her arms above her head and faced the fortress, looking up at a small enclosed balcony where a handful of men were standing.

“Lords of Lumeth of the Towers!” she shouted, her voice ringing out clearly. “Listen to the judgment of the Wizards’ Guild!”