The Vondish Ambassador

Chapter Twenty-Eight

At dinner Emmis found himself seated between Guildmaster Ithinia and Princess Shirrin of Semma, who he was informed was Lord Sterren’s fiancйe. She was a lovely young woman in her late teens; Emmis thought she was perhaps a bit young for Sterren, but that was the Regent’s concern, not his.

She also had a tendency to giggle that Emmis did not find endearing, but perhaps Lord Sterren did.

Sterren was seated on Ithinia’s other side, and for the first part of the meal the two of them spoke at some length. Emmis was not deliberately eavesdropping, but they weren’t being particularly quiet, so he listened to their discussion between sips of wine.

His earlier beer had convinced him to switch to the grape at dinner, and he was glad he had; the vintage, he was informed by the wine steward, was a fine one, from Dwomor. Emmis knew very little about wine, but he knew this one tasted very good and went well with the pastries and roast chicken he was served.

As they ate Ithinia explained the Guild’s demands to Sterren, and the Regent seemed very pleased with them.

“No invasions either way? We can’t touch Lumeth, and they can’t touch us?” he asked.

“Exactly. We’ll have journeymen putting up wards all along the border in a sixnight or so.”

“And you’ve given Ashthasa assurances we won’t invade?”

“Unless provoked. We don’t intend to interfere with your right to defend yourselves.”

“I’m delighted to hear it. I don’t suppose you could talk to the kings of Kalithon and Nushasla?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to do your own diplomacy there, my lord.”

“And Shassalla, and Hurla, and Trozdossa, and Ethirillion?”

Ithinia spread her hands, a fork in one of them. “Not our concern, my lord. Though we have declared warlocks unwelcome in Shassalla and Kalithon.”

“As well as in Lumeth and throughout the Empire.”

“And in Gajamor, Calimor, Yaroia, Zenda, and Eknissamor.”

Sterren smiled crookedly. “I’m not even sure where all of those are,” he said. “It’s taken me three years just to learn our eighteen provinces and our eight neighbors.”

“They’re Lumeth’s neighbors. Well, Eknissamor doesn’t actually share a border with Lumeth, but it’s close enough to the north that we included it.”

“That’s a great relief, and you will have my full support. If any of the Imperial Council object, I’ll be happy to remove them.”

“I trust that won’t be necessary.”

There was a pause then as both took a moment to eat; then Sterren remarked, “I tried to contact the Guild three years ago, you know, when Vond was still here. I sent a wizard named Emner to find you.”

Ithinia nodded. “Emner of Lamum. He reached us.”

“You didn’t do anything, though,” Sterren said. Then he added, “Did you?”

“Not much,” Ithinia admitted. “We were fairly certain that Vond would solve the problem himself, just as he did. We did have a few words with the Council of Warlocks, though, to discourage emigration in this direction.”

“Well, thank you for that much.”

“We spoke to the Chairman of the Council a little more vigorously a few days ago,” Ithinia continued. “Quite vigorously, in fact. And the Council owes us a debt from twenty years ago, when Azrad VI attempted to outlaw warlocks entirely, so they profess themselves eager to cooperate. They understand that no warlocks are to set foot within twenty leagues of Lumeth.”

Sterren nodded. He glanced around, then lowered his voice.

Emmis tried hard to listen without appearing to do so.

“Do you know,” Sterren asked quietly, “where Vond got his power?”

“Do you think,” Ithinia murmured back, “that we would tell you if we did? You, in particular?”

“I would only want to know so I could stay away from it!” Sterren retorted.

“Well, you know it’s in Lumeth,” Ithinia said. “And if you set foot in Lumeth, we’ll kill you. It’s nothing personal. And if you think you can protect yourself against wizards, well, we’ve sent word to the Cult of Demerchan.”

“Is it those towers?”

Emmis was just as glad he couldn’t see Ithinia’s expression as she replied; the tone of her voice was quite bad enough. “Didn’t I just say we weren’t going to tell you?” She spoke in a low tone that seemed to be coming through gritted teeth. “But I will tell you that the towers are a large part of why we’ve taken an interest. The Guild has reasons of its own to want those towers preserved, and we have safeguards in place — but a warlock of Vond’s abilities might be able to get through those safeguards, and might be mad enough to try, so we intend to ensure that there will never again be another warlock of Vond’s abilities. Which means you, my lord, more than anyone else in the World, would be well advised to not ask any more questions about anything in Lumeth.”

So Lord Sterren was the other warlock, Emmis thought. That was interesting — though it probably didn’t matter anymore.

He sipped his wine and turned to smile at Princess Shirrin.

A few minutes later, as the chicken bones were cleared away and plates of iced fruit set out, Ithinia turned to Emmis.

“I suppose you heard everything the Regent and I said,” she said.

“Well, most of it,” Emmis admitted.

“You wouldn’t have, had I been concerned about your trustworthiness,” the Guildmaster said.

“Thank you,” Emmis replied.

“You did well, bringing back Zhol’s body. And you showed good sense dealing with Fendel’s Assassin.”

“Thank you,” Emmis repeated, throwing Shirrin a quick look, but she was entirely caught up in a lively conversation in Semmat with the man on her other side.

“I hope you didn’t mind being dragged along on this trip; I suppose your presence wasn’t really essential, but it did seem as if you were the one who started the whole thing.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, Guildmaster. It’s been very educational.” He hesitated, then added, “I would like to know how many more of those flutes you have up your sleeve, though.”

Ithinia smiled at him. “Just one,” she said. “The one that takes us full circle, back to my garden in Ethshar.”

“So each flute...” Emmis hesitated. “How do they work? I never heard of this Transporting Fissure thing until a few days ago, but it seems as if they could be awfully useful.”

“They can be,” Ithinia agreed, “but they’re also very difficult. Each flute can only work once per enchantment, and it must be purified before it can be enchanted again. It’s a seventh-order spell that takes hours to prepare — in fact, I had to use time-distorting spells to prepare these four in the two days I had. You need... well, there’s no reason to go through the ingredients list, but rest assured, my boy, it’s not a cheap spell, nor an easy one. And determining exactly where the passage will come out — that’s tricky, as well. Not to mention that if I had played a single wrong note it wouldn’t have worked right, and of course the fissure closes up again the instant I stop playing.”

“But still...”

“It’s not exactly subtle, either,” she continued, before Emmis could finish his sentence. “It’s noisy, and effectively causes a small earthquake at each end. And there are places it just can’t go — some where the magic doesn’t work, or the terrain won’t allow it, but even in ordinary places, if you try to come out in a building that isn’t big enough you’ll bring the whole thing down around your ears. Generally speaking, we prefer other methods. One of the best takes roughly a full year to prepare, but once it’s done it can be used indefinitely. It’s instantaneous, completely silent, easy to hide — much nicer than Hallin’s Transporting Fissure.”

“What would happen if you played a wrong note?” Emmis asked, glancing at the sleeve he believed held that fourth and final flute.

“That depends,” Ithinia said. “We might just come out a few feet away from where we planned — or a few miles. Or the passage might be too narrow, or not solid enough, and if it crumbles while you’re inside it you can fall out of the World entirely.”

“Oh,” Emmis said. He swallowed.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I always have to go in first, after all — if there’s any danger, it’ll probably get me before you even take the first step. And I didn’t get any notes wrong on the first three, did I?”

Emmis acknowledged that she had not. Still, his enthusiasm for the journey home was somewhat dimmed, and he was relieved there would be no other stops along the way.

He was also glad Ithinia hadn’t told him any of this before they walked through the first three fissures.

“We gave Morkai of Crooked Hill an enchanted flute twelve years ago,” Ithinia said, as she scooped chilled melon from her plate. “To use if anything ever threatened the towers and he couldn’t contact us by other means.” She thrust a well-filled spoon into her mouth.

“So he was working for the Guild, and he betrayed you?”

“Not exactly,” Ithinia said, pulling out the empty spoon. “He was a member of the Guild, like every wizard, and because he lived right below the towers we asked him to let us know of any threats, and we gave him the flute. We had plenty of spells in place to warn us of trouble, but a human observer may work when magic doesn’t. He wasn’t working for us, in the sense of having any regular duties or being paid; he just had instructions to let us know if anything went wrong, and we gave him the flute and a few other things to that end.”

“He lives near them? I didn’t even see the towers while we were there,” Emmis griped.

“The New Castle was in the way,” Ithinia said. “If you had gone around it you would have been able to see the tops of the towers in the distance; they’re a few miles northwest of the city.”

“That fortress thing?”

“That’s the New Castle, yes.”

Emmis nodded. “I was surprised you didn’t do anything more to Morkai,” he said. “I mean, if he betrayed the Guild’s trust, and then hired an assassin...”

“More?” She put down her spoon and turned to stare at him.

“Well, you broke that dagger, and obviously that hurt him somehow, but...”

“Emmis,” Ithinia interrupted, “there was a piece of his soul in that dagger. We destroyed it. He’ll never get it back. He’ll never be able to perform magic again — not any magic, so far as we know, and certainly not wizardry. He’ll never again be whole.”

After an awkward moment of silence, Emmis said, “Oh.” He suddenly took an intense interest in slicing the pear on his plate.

That, he thought, explained that. Changing the subject, he asked, “Are your gargoyles getting any supper? Do they need to eat?”

“What, Glitter and Old Rocky? No, they’re fine; they live on magic.”

That led to a harmless and interesting discussion of animation spells, and the odd uses some people put them to, and the rest of the meal passed cheerfully enough.

After dinner there were introductions and speeches, and all the Vondish nobles present were officially informed of the Wizards’ Guild’s ultimata, which they accepted happily. There were toasts proposed, and Emmis found himself drinking rather more of the Dwomoritic wine than he had intended.

Finally, though, servants appeared to escort the guests to their quarters for the night.

“We’re staying?” Emmis asked, as the travelers gathered by the door to be sorted out. He had somehow missed that decision.

“Yes,” Lord Ildirin told him. “Ithinia says we’ll leave for home in the morning.”

Emmis nodded happily. He turned to Lar. “I’ll be glad to get back to Through Street, won’t you?”

Lar frowned uneasily. “Actually,” he said, “I won’t be going back. My job in Ethshar is done — as much by the rest of you people as by me, but done. Tonight I’m going back to my own room in Semma Castle, and I’m staying there. Lord Sterren agreed.”

“Oh, but...” Emmis stopped.

That was that, then. His brief career as a diplomatic aide was coming to an end. It would be back to the docks, loading and unloading cargo, for him.

“And I just got the embassy properly furnished,” he said.

“You can live there if you want,” Lar said. “But I’d think somewhere closer to the water would be more reasonable.”

Emmis shook his head. “I can’t afford the rent there, even if I wanted to,” he said.

“Yes, you could,” Lar said. “But Shiphaven or Spicetown would probably be better.”

“I think you misjudge how much a dockworker makes,” Emmis said. He wondered whether his old room near Canal Square might still be available.

“Dockworker?” Lar sounded genuinely puzzled.

Emmis let his annoyance into his voice. “Yes, dockworker. What did you think I did for a living?”

“I know you did,” Lar said, “but didn’t Lord Sterren or Lord Ildirin talk to you?”

Emmis blinked. “Talk to me about what?”

“They agreed you would be the best man for the job,” Lar said.

“Yes, we did,” Lord Ildirin interjected, coming up behind him, “but we hadn’t spoken to him yet.”

Emmis turned to the old nobleman. “About what?”

“About your new job, should you accept it.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I had reservations about your age, but Lord Sterren pointed out that he’s been Regent for more than two years now without causing any disasters, and he’s no older than you are. The ambassador and Guildmaster Ithinia both consider you trustworthy enough for the position.”

“What position?”

“Customs inspector. It will be your responsibility to ensure that no warlocks board any ship bound for the Vondish coast. You will have guardsmen working under you — I’m not sure how many, we’ll see how it goes — and will be given full authority to search any vessel in Ethsharitic waters, from Shiphaven to Seacorner.”

“But... warlocks?”

“You will employ magicians as needed; we can discuss your budget for that later.”

“I...”

“Your experience on the docks should be very helpful,” Ildirin continued. “I’m sure you know a good many tricks about hiding things aboard ship.”

“A few,” Emmis admitted.

“And your pay will be six bits a day, in silver.”

“A round,” Emmis said automatically.

Ildirin smiled a humorless smile. “Six bits,” he said. “If it works out well for a year, perhaps it will increase to seven.”

“Six bits,” Emmis agreed. “Thank you.”

That was when a footman in red and gold appeared and said, “Lord Ildirin? Your room is ready.”

“We can continue this discussion in the morning, my lad,” Ildirin said. “I’m sure it will work out well for all concerned.” Then he turned and followed the footman down the corridor.

Emmis watched him go.

“You could stay here, if you want,” Lar said. “I don’t know what Lord Sterren has planned for me, but there’s plenty of work for a talented young man.”

Emmis glanced at him, startled. “No, thank you, sir. I’m an Ethsharite.”

“So was Sterren, and look where he is now.”

“I think being a customs inspector sounds far more appropriate for me, sir.”

“As you please, then.” He held out his hand. “I know where my room is, and I don’t need an escort to get there, so I’ll be going now. May you live long and well.”

Emmis took the hand. “If you’re ever back in Ethshar...”

“I’ll make sure to see you.”

Emmis watched the Vondish ambassador walk away, until a footman with an abominable accent said, “Emmis of Shiphaven? Your place is ready.”

Emmis smiled. “I’m sure it is,” he said.