Unclean

CHAPTER TWELVE

9-11 Kythorn, the Year of Risen Elfkin

Yaphyll looked around the shabby, cluttered parlor, a room in a nondescript house that Dmitra Flass probably owned under another name. It was easy to imagine a goodwife shooing her children out of the chamber so she could dust the cheap ceramic knickknacks and scrub the floor, or her husband drinking ale and swapping ribald jokes with his cronies from the coopers' guild. Today, however, the occupants were rather more august.

Voluptuous by Mulan standards, the "First Princess of Thay" was as annoyingly ravishing as ever. Samas Kul was as obese, ruddy-faced, sweaty, and ostentatiously dressed, while, as was so often the case, Lallara looked vexed and ready to vent her spleen on the first person who gave her an excuse.

Though Yaphyll remained dubious that attending Dmitra's secret meeting was actually a wise idea, she found it marginally reassuring that the tharchion seemed as ill at ease as everyone else. Oh, she masked it well, but every Red Wizard of Divination mastered the art of reading faces and body language, and Yaphyll could tell nonetheless. Dmitra likely would have manifested a different sort of nervous tension had she been engaged in a plot to harm or undermine her superiors.

On the other hand, Dmitra was a Red Wizard of Illusion, so how could anyone be certain whether to trust appearances where she was concerned?

At least, now that Samas had finally waddled in and collapsed onto a couch substantial enough to support his bulk, Dmitra appeared ready to commence.

"Masters," she said, "thank you for indulging me. Ordinarily, I wouldn't presume to take the lead in a meeting with my superiors, but since-"

"Since you're the only one who knows what in the name of the Dark Sun we're here to talk about," Lallara snapped, "it only makes sense. We understand, and you have our permission to get on with it."

"Thank you, Your Omnipotence. I'm concerned about the welfare of the realm, worried and suspicious because I have information you lack and have thus been able to draw inferences you haven't."

"What are they?" Samas asked, fanning his face with a plump, tattooed hand.

"That Szass Tam murdered both Druxus Rhym and Aznar Thrul, that he betrayed a Thayan army to its foes, and that he disseminated a false report of a Rashemi invasion."

Lallara laughed. "This is ludicrous."

"If we consider the evidence, Your Omnipotence, perhaps I can persuade you otherwise. May we start with the assassination of Druxus Rhym?"

"By all means," Samas said. "It seems like the quickest way to lay your suspicions to rest. As I understand it, the murderer used evocation magic to make the kill."

"As could any of us," Dmitra replied. "We all tend to rely on spells deriving from our particular specialties, but in fact, each of us possesses a more comprehensive knowledge of magic. Certainly that's true of Szass Tam, universally recognized as the most accomplished wizard in the land. My conjecture is that he used the spells he did precisely to throw suspicion on the order of Evocation, Aznar Thrul being one of his enemies."

"But Druxus wasn't," Yaphyll said. "He was Szass Tam's ally, no less than any of us. Szass had no motive to kill him."

"He had one," Dmitra replied, "to which we'll return again: to create a climate of fear. I'll grant you, that by itself isn't sufficient motive to turn on a supporter, and as yet I can't resolve the discrepancy, but I can demonstrate that Szass Tam hasn't sought the identity of the murderer with the zeal one would expect of a compatriot with nothing to hide."

"How so?" Lallara asked.

"I have the most competent spy network in the realm, and Szass Tam knows it. Over the years, it's served him well, yet he virtually forbade me to use my agents to seek the identity of the assassin. He said that you, Mistress Yaphyll, would attend to it."

Yaphyll blinked. "I tried for a while. In fact, Szass and I tried together. Then when our divinations failed to reveal anything, he suggested I turn my attention to other concerns and said he would continue to hunt for the killer by other means. I assumed he was referring to your spies."

"None of that proves anything," Samas said.

He looked about, spotted the drink and viands laid out on a table by the wall, and made a mystic gesture in their direction. A bottle floated into the air and poured red wine into a goblet. A knife smeared honey on a sweet roll.

"No," said Lallara, eyes narrowed, "it doesn't, but I'll concede it's curious, and I also agree that Szass Tam is one of the few people who might have been able to slip into Druxus's bedchamber undetected or sneak an agent in. He's also one of the few capable of thwarting Yaphyll's divinations, especially if he was actually present to undermine the efficacy of the rituals in some subtle fashion."

"There's also this," Dmitra said. "Szass Tam made sure that you, Master Kul, would be elected Druxus Rhym's successor. I don't doubt you were a suitable candidate for the post, but still, why was he so concerned that it be you in particular? Could it have been partly because he knew you felt no great fondness for Rhym, and-forgive me for presuming to comment on your character-weren't the kind of man who would exert himself unduly to investigate a murder that worked to his benefit, even if the crime did constitute an affront against the order of Transmutation?"

Lallara snorted. "You have that right. All this hog cares about is stuffing his coffers and stuffing his mouth."

Samas glared at her. "I understand I'm your junior and that you have a shrewish disposition. Still, have a care how you speak to me."

"Masters, please," Dmitra said. "I beg you not to quarrel among yourselves. If my suspicions are correct, that's the last thing you should do."

"Is there more to say about Druxus's death?" Yaphyll asked.

"Unfortunately no," Dmitra replied, "so let's consider the battle in the Gorge of Gauros." She smiled. "I myself have a spy's nose for truth and falsehood, and from the start, something about the tale that came down from the north smelled wrong. Since Szass Tam figured prominently in the story, and he'd just piqued my curiosity by terminating my inquiries into Druxus Rhym's murder, I decided to look into the matter of the 'Rashemi invasion' instead.

"I found out there wasn't any. The barbarians weren't on their way south to attack us. Tharchions Kren and Odesseiron were marching north to invade Rashemen, but after a near-disastrous battle forced them to abandon their ambitions, Szass Tam supported them when, to avert the anger of the rest of you zulkirs, they claimed the Rashemi were the aggressors."

"And you think," Lallara said, "it was because, coming so soon after Druxus's murder, that story added to the 'climate of fear' Szass Tam hoped to create."

"Yes," Dmitra said, "but if we look deeper, we'll discern even more. Allow me to describe the battle in detail." She did so with the concise clarity of a woman who, though she wore the crimson robes of a wizard, also possessed the requisite skills to command troops in the field. "Now several questions suggest themselves: How did the Rashemi know our legions were coming and where best to intercept them? How were the witches able to counter the Thayan wizardry holding the river in check so easily? How was it that Szass Tam discerned the army's peril from wherever he was and translated himself onto the scene just in time to avert calamity?"

Yaphyll chuckled. "Perhaps the greatest mage in Thay perceives all manner of signs and portents invisible to lesser beings like ourselves." At the moment, she didn't actually feel like jesting, but they all had their masks to wear, and hers was the cute lass with the light heart and irrepressible sense of humor. Even after she rose through high in the hierarchy of her order, and any person of sense should have realized she possessed a ruthless heart and adamantine will, it had caused foes and rivals to underestimate her. "But you're positing that his spies reported Kren and Odesseiron's plans before they ever marched and he then somehow conveyed critical military and arcane intelligence to the Rashemi, providing them with the means to smash the Thayan host, and finally, he rushed to the tharchions' rescue."

"Exactly," Dmitra said, "because it isn't enough to frighten everyone. He also wants to convince the nobles, legions, and commons that he's the one champion who can end our woes. Obviously, the recent trouble in Pyarados must have seemed like a boon from the gods. It's given him the chance to play the savior not just once but twice."

Samas swallowed the food in his mouth, and then, his full lips glazed with honey, asked, "Why would he suddenly care so much about the opinion of his inferiors?"

"With your permission, Your Omnipotence," Dmitra replied, "before we ponder that, perhaps it would be well to finish our review of recent events, to consider the death of Aznar Thrul."

Yaphyll grinned. "Must we? I'd hoped that was one matter we understood already. In the wake of Druxus's murder, Nevron loaned the other members of his faction demons bodyguards. One of the spirits slipped its tether and surprised Thrul when he was amusing himself with a female slave and ill prepared to defend himself. It tore them apart and afterward some of Thrul's followers killed it in its turn."

"I suspect," Dmitra said, "the truth is more complex. From what my spies have managed to determine, it's not clear that the thrall's body has been recovered. We do know the creature that ran amok liked to kill by biting its victims in the throat and that some people remember it as originally being huge and male, whereas the entity the conjurors ultimately slew possessed the same four arms, scales, and what have you, but was no taller than a human being and female.

"I believe the original creature was a blood drinker and transformed the slave into an entity like itself so she would kill Aznar Thrul. In other words, it wasn't a demon in the truest sense, but rather some exotic form of vampire."

"Which suggests," Lallara said, "that it wasn't really a conjuror who summoned and bound it but rather a necromancer like Szass Tam, who then slipped it into Thrul's palace amid a troupe of Nevron's demons."

Samas nodded, his multiple chins wobbling. "Figuring that the murder of a second zulkir would spread that much more terror throughout the land. I understand, but we should also recognize that at least this death benefits us as well. Thrul was our enemy. With him gone, our faction controls the council, at least until the conjurors elect a new leader, and if he turns out to be sympathetic to our views, we can run things as we like for the foreseeable future."

"That assumes," Dmitra answered, "your faction remains intact, that you still view yourselves and Szass Tam as sharing common interests."

"Why wouldn't we?" Samas asked.

"I see it," Yaphyll said, and though she still wasn't certain Dmitra was correct, the mere possibility made her feel queasy. "Supposedly, Thay is in jeopardy. The Rashemi threaten from the north and undead marauders from the east. An unknown foe strikes down the zulkirs one by one. Fortunately, a hero has demonstrated the will and capacity to save the realm-if given a free hand to do so. You think that's the object of convening the council, don't you, Tharchion? Szass Tam is going to ask us to elect him supreme ruler of Thay."

Lallara grinned a sardonic grin. "Only temporarily, no doubt. Just until the crisis is resolved."

"He can't believe we would ever consent to such a thing!" Samas cried. "It's one thing to acknowledge him as the eldest and most accomplished of the zulkirs and the leader of our faction- first among equals, so to speak-but none of us fought all the way up to the loftiest rank in the land just to enthrone an overlord to command us as his vassals."

"I understand that," Dmitra said, "but I still felt it incumbent on me to warn you. Imagine if I hadn't. You've pledged your loyalty to Szass Tam, and knowing just how shrewd and powerful he is, you have no inclination to cross him. You take your seat in council worried over threats to the realm and your own personal safety as well. It appears the lich is the only person who's enjoyed any success confronting any of the various problems. Certainly that's what the populace at large believes.

"Now then: In the situation I've described, when Szass Tam requests his regency, or however he intends to put it, who among you, without knowing how the others feel, is bold enough to be the first to denounce the proposal?"

Yaphyll wished she could claim that she would find the courage, but she wondered if it was so. No zulkir could show weakness by confessing to fear of anyone or anything. But the truth was, even though he'd supported her in all her endeavors, she was afraid of Szass Tam, and she could tell that Samas and even Lallara, with her bitter, thorny nature, felt the same.

Lallara laughed. "Hear the silence! It appears, Tharchion, that none of us would dare."

"That means four votes in favor," Dmitra said, "and with Evocation's seat empty, at best three against. The measure passes. To forestall that, I hope the three of you will pledge here and now to stand firm against it."

"No," said Samas Kul, "or at least, not yet."

Dmitra inclined her head. "May I ask what more you require to persuade you, Master?"

"Yes, illusionist," the fat man replied, "you may. You've whistled up a host of phantoms to affright us, but I'd be more inclined to cower if I understood why you of all people would want to warn us. You're one of Szass Tam's favorites. If he crowned himself king, you'd benefit."

"You forget," Yaphyll said, "Tharchion Flass has sworn to serve all of us zulkirs, and I'm sure that, like all of us, she's concerned first and foremost with the welfare of the realm."

Lallara shot her a poisonous glance. "Your little drolleries are growing even more tiresome than usual." She shifted her glare to Dmitra. "The hog raises a valid point. If this is all a charade, it's hard to imagine what you could possibly be trying to achieve, but still: Why should we trust you?"

"Because Szass Tam no longer does," Dmitra replied. "In times past, he would have confided in me. Involved me in any scheme to which I might prove useful, even the assassination of a fellow zulkir, yet now, suddenly, he dissembles with me and only asks me to advance his schemes in a limited fashion, even though I've given him no reason to question my loyalty.

"Why? I can't imagine, any more than I know what he gained by murdering Druxus Rhym, or why, after contenting himself with being senior zulkir for so long, he's decided to strike for even greater authority. Not understanding alarms me.

"What I do know is that life in Thay as it's currently governed has been good to me. I have a nasty suspicion that, for whatever reason, I wouldn't find existence so congenial under Szass Tam's new regime."

She smiled. "So I'm trying to keep things as they are, and hope to manage to do so with minimal risk to myself. I've taken pains to keep Szass Tam from learning of this meeting, and if none of you tattles that I sought to rally you against him, I shouldn't suffer for it."

Lallara grunted. "What you say makes a certain amount of sense, Tharchion, which isn't to imply I embrace it as complete and utter truth. And perhaps your motives don't matter so very much, because Samas was right about one thing: He, Yaphyll, and I are all averse to installing the lich in a new office higher than our own. It's clear from our manner even if we haven't declared it outright, so I say, yes, let's seal a secret pact of resistance, just in case."

Yaphyll nodded. "Agreed. No kingship or regency for anyone, ever, under any circumstances." Unless, of course, she could somehow, someday win such a prize for herself.

Samas Kul heaved a sigh. "I agree, too, I suppose."

It was as eloquent an oration as Szass Tam had ever given. He enumerated the dire menaces facing Thay in general and the zulkirs personally. He reminded the other mage lords of his accomplishments, recent and otherwise, and pointed out how divided leadership could prevent even the greatest realm in Faerыn from achieving its goals or coping in an emergency. The failed military endeavors of recent decades were obvious examples.

He also promised he'd step down as soon as he eliminated the threats to the common weal. He omitted, however, any mention of the hideous punishments he'd meted out to folk who had, at one time or another, balked or angered the oldest and most powerful wizard in the land. He was certain the other zulkirs recalled those without his needing to allude to them.

Yet when he saw the glances that passed among Yaphyll, Lallara, and Samas Kul, he realized that somehow the other members of his faction had already known what he was going to propose. Known, palavered in secret, and resolved to oppose him as staunchly as the remaining zulkirs, and that was staunchly indeed. The other three were his long-time enemies: Nevron with his perpetual sneer and the brimstone stink of his demon servitors clinging to his person; Lauzoril, deceptively bland and clerkish; and Mythrellan, who affected to despise everyone else on the council, who changed her face as often as other great noblewomen changed their gowns, frequently to something with an element of the bizarre but always exquisite nonetheless. Today her eyes were gold and her skin sky blue. A haze of unformed illusion ready for the shaping made her image soft and blurry.

Even though he recognized early on that he was almost certainly speaking in vain, Szass Tam carried on to the end then called for a vote. It seemed possible that, now that the moment for support or defiance had arrived, his supposed allies might lose their nerve.

Alas, they remained resolute. Only Szass raised his hand in support of the proposal he himself had introduced. Nevron leered to see his foe so humiliated. Even prim Lauzoril managed a smirk.

Though he hadn't expected to find Yaphyll, Samas, and Lallara united against him, Szass had thought himself prepared for the possibility that his ploy would fail. Still, the mockery inspired an unexpected paroxysm of rage. He yearned to lash out at every adversary, old and newly revealed, seated around the gleaming red maple table.

He didn't, of course. Attacking six other zulkirs at once might well prove suicidal, even for a mage more powerful than any one of them. Instead, making sure his mask of affability didn't slip, he inclined his head in seeming acceptance.

"So be it," he said. "We'll continue on as we always have, deciding all matters by consensus. Be assured, I don't resent it that you rejected my plan, prudent though I believe it was, and I'll keep working diligently to solve the problems that plague us."

At the same time, simply by thinking, he sent a signal. He'd prepared the magic beforehand, with sufficient concern for subtlety to ensure that even the extraordinarily perceptive Yaphyll wouldn't notice it thrilling through the aether.

After that, everyone blathered on for a while longer, and though he felt a seething impatience to depart, he supposed that really it was fine. His minions needed time to do their work.

As soon as the meeting broke up, he spurned Samas, Yaphyll, and Lallara with their slinking excuses and attempts at reconciliation and translated himself back to his study in the citadel of the order of Necromancy. It took the warlock waiting there an instant to notice his arrival, and then the fellow flung himself to his knees. Tsagoth knelt as well, albeit with a glower. Apparently the blood fiend had expected his master to liberate him once he accomplished the death of Aznar Thrul, but as demonstrated by that success, he was too useful an agent to relinquish when so many challenging tasks remained.

"Get up," Szass Tam said. "Tell me what's happening."

"Yes, Master," said the younger necromancer, rising. Szass had the conceit that if he peered deep into his subordinate's eyes, he could glimpse an indefinable wrongness there, a hint of the psychic shackles binding the live wizard to silence and obedience, but perhaps it was only his imagination. "Our agents are spreading the tidings that, in their arrogance, folly, and ingratitude, the other zulkirs denied you the authority you need to preserve the realm."

"With the proper enchantments in play to make the news seem as infuriating as possible."

"Yes, Master, just as you directed."

"Good." Szass Tam turned to Tsagoth. "You know what to do from here. Go tell your partners."

Nular Tabar glanced back at the shuttered three-story brick house behind him. It wasn't the primary stronghold of the order of Conjuration in Eltabbar. That imposing citadel was on the other side of town, but despite a lack of banners, overt supernatural manifestations, and the like, everyone in the neighborhood knew this was some sort of chapter house. People saw the mages and their retainers passing in and out.

They weren't coming out now. They were leaving the protection of the property to Nular and the dozen legionnaires in his patrol, and at that point, it remained to be seen just how hard the job would be. Though in normal times, no commoner dared annoy Red Wizards, scores of people had gathered to glare, mill about, and shout slogans and insults at the house. Apparently, they all wanted Szass Tam for their king, were angry they weren't going to get him, and had decided to hold Nevron, notoriously one of the lich's enemies, responsible for their disappointment. The zulkir of Conjuration wasn't here to bear the brunt of their anger, but a structure belonging to his order was.

Nular had formed his patrol into a line to block the approach to the house as best they could. The problem was that a dozen soldiers couldn't form a very long line without standing so far apart as to give up the ability to protect one another's flanks. He wasn't about to order that, which meant that a fool hell-bent on getting at the building could dart around the end of the formation.

Sure enough, a wiry, dark-haired youth with a sack clutched under his arm lunged at the gap on the southern end. The warrior last in line pivoted and swung his cudgel but was too slow. The lad sprinted on unbashed.

"Hold your positions!" Nular shouted then raced after the youth himself.

The adolescent was quick, but so was he, and he possessed the advantage of long Mulan legs. He caught up, lifted his baton to bash the lad over the head, then thought how the brutal sight might further enflame the mob. He dropped the cudgel to dangle from the strap around his wrist and grabbed the youth with his empty hands instead.

The boy dropped the bag to wrestle and turned out to have some notion of what he was doing. He tried to jam his knee into Nular's groin, and the guard twisted and caught the attack on his thigh. Next came grubby fingers gouging for his eyes. He protected them by ducking his head then butted the adolescent in the face. The lad faltered, and Nular threw him down on his back. That seemed to knock the fight out of him.

Clad in rags, the lad was plainly a pauper. The stained sack gave off a fecal stink. Most likely he'd meant to use the contents to deface the Red Wizards' door.

"Stay down," Nular panted, "or I swear, next time I'll use my sword on you."

The boy glowered but didn't move.

"What in the name of the Kossuth's fire is the matter with you?" Nular continued. "Would you throw away your life on an idiot prank? You know the wizards punish disrespect."

"Szass Tam has to be regent!" the youth replied.

"Why do you care? What difference do you think it will make to the likes of you?"

And as long as Nular was posing questions, how had the boy and his fellows learned the outcome of the zulkirs' deliberations so quickly? As often as not, lesser folk never even heard the council had met, let alone what it decided.

It was a mystery, but someone shrewder than Nular would have to puzzle it out. His job was simply to keep order in one section of Eltabbar's labyrinthine streets.

"Get up," he said, "and pick up your bag of filth. Now go home! If you're still here in forty breaths, or if I catch you out of doors again tonight, I'll gut you." He prodded the youth with the tip of his club to start him moving.

Once he'd herded the lad to the other side of the line, Nular scrutinized all the others like him. Feeding off one another's outrage, they were growing more agitated by the moment. It was only a matter of time before the stones started flying.

He was no orator, but he had to say something to try and calm them. He was still trying to frame the words in his mind when some of them cried out, and they all flinched back.

He turned to see what had alarmed them. Standing behind the line was a towering four-armed creature with dark scales and gleaming scarlet eyes.

Nular felt a strange blend of fear and relief, the former because every sane person was leery of demons, and the latter because it was plain the conjurors in the house had sent the creature to help him.

He gazed up at its wolfish face. "Do you understand me?" he asked.

The entity chuckled. "Yes."

"Good. That will make things easier. The sight of you has frightened the mob. We need to keep them intimidated. With luck, scare them into going elsewhere."

"No, warrior. We need to slaughter them. Don't worry, fighting in concert, we'll manage easily."

Nular frowned. "Maybe we would, but I'm hoping it won't be necessary."

"It already is. The rabble's impudence is an affront to my masters and must be punished accordingly."

"Do your masters understand that the unrest isn't just happening here? The 'rabble' have taken to the streets across the city. If we kill people, the violence could spread and spread. We could end up with a riot far worse than those we've endured already."

The demon shrugged. "That's nothing to me. My masters command, and I obey. Are you not obliged to obey Red Wizards, also?"

Nular hesitated. "Yes, but you're not one. If we're going to do this, I at least need to hear the order from one of the conjurors." He started to walk around the creature toward the house.

The spirit shifted so as to remain directly in front of him. "That isn't necessary," it said, and its crimson eyes flared brighter.

Nular rocked backward as though something had struck him a blow. He felt bewildered, as if he'd just awakened from a dream so vivid that he couldn't be certain what was real.

Then he caught his balance, and his confusion passed. Or partly so. "What… what were we saying?" he asked.

"That we're going to kill the rebels."

"Yes." That sounded right, or at least familiar. "Swords!"

A couple of his men-the clever ones, who might rise from the ranks one day-eyed him dubiously, but they were all well trained and exchanged their truncheons for their blades without protest. He did the same.

"Now forward!" Nular shouted. "Keep the line and cut the bastards down."

The mob might have had the stomach for a fight with a dozen legionnaires, but legionnaires and an ogre-sized demon were a more daunting prospect. They screamed and tried to run, but their numbers were such that they got in each other's way. The ones closest to their attackers couldn't evade the soldiers' swords and the creature's fangs and talons, and thus they had no choice but to turn again and fight.

It was all right though. The soldiers' training, armor, and superior weapons aided them, of course, but it was the demon's ferocity that truly rendered the mob's numerical advantage inconsequential. Striking quickly as a cat, ripping men to pieces with every blow, the spirit butchered more foes than all its human allies put together, until a rioter charged it from behind and buried an axe in its back. Whereupon the demon screamed, collapsed to its knees, then melted away to nothing at all. Nular could scarcely believe that a creature, which had seemed the very embodiment of inhuman might, could perish so easily, but evidently it was so.

"I killed it!" yelled the axeman, brandishing his gory weapon. "I killed it!" His comrades roared in triumph then hurled themselves at the legionnaires with renewed savagery.

With the fiend gone and rioters circling to get behind their remaining adversaries, the advancing line wasn't viable anymore.

The legionnaires needed a formation that would enable them to guard each other's backs.

"Square!" Nular bellowed. "Square!"

But they couldn't form one. The enemies swarming on them from every side, grabbing and beating at them, made it impossible to maneuver. Pivoting, fighting with his sword in one hand and his cudgel in the other, Nular realized the press had suddenly grown so thick that he couldn't even see his men anymore, just hear the clangor of their opponents' blows pounding on their shields.

That clashing noise diminished as, no doubt, the legionnaires fell one by one. Something smashed or cut into Nular's knee, and he dropped too. His injured leg ablaze with pain, he glimpsed men running toward the conjurors' chapter house, then a burly laborer lifted a shovel high and plunged the edge down at his throat.

At first, Faurgar Stayanoga thought, it had made sense. They'd take to the streets as the priest in the alehouse had urged, and when the zulkirs saw how many they were, and how displeased, they'd have to rethink their decision.

More than that, it had been fun. Intoxicating. His whole life, Faurgar had walked warily in the presence of Red Wizards, legionnaires, or any Mulan really, but tonight, roaming the streets with hundreds like himself, he hadn't been afraid of anyone. They'd all said whatever they wanted as loud as they wanted. Defaced, smashed, and torched whatever they wanted. Broken into shops and taverns and taken whatever they wanted.

But he was scared, because the legions had turned out in force to deal with the disturbance, and he and his friends were trapped, with blood orcs advancing from one side and human warriors from the other. The orcs leered and howled their piercing battle cries. The men strode quietly, with faces like stone, but despite their differing attitudes, both companies looked entirely ready to kill.

Faurgar looked up and down the street and found nowhere to run. Some of his companions pounded on doors, but no one would open to them. Evidently hoping the legionnaires would spare the lives of any who surrendered, others raised their hands or dropped to their knees. The rest, defiant still, brandished the knives and tools that were all they possessed in the way of weapons.

Faurgar simply stood, mouth dry, heart pounding, uncertain of what he ought to do. It didn't look to him as if the guards intended to spare anyone, and if so, it seemed better to go down fighting. But if he was wrong, if there was even the slightest chance of surviving…

By the Great Flame, how had he come to this? He was the son of respectable parents and a journeyman mason. He didn't belong in the middle of this nightmare.

The orcs reached the first kneeling man. Steel flashed, blood spurted, and the penitent collapsed to flop and twitch like a fish out of water. Soldiers trampled him as they continued to advance.

All right, thought Faurgar, now we know for certain that they mean to kill us all. So fight! But he didn't know if he could. Tears were blurring his vision, and even if they hadn't been, the urge to cringe was so strong that he could hardly bear even to look at the warriors. How, then, could he possibly strike a blow?

As if too full of bloodlust to permit their human comrades an equal share in the killing, the orcs abruptly screamed and charged. One ran straight at Faurgar.

Fight! he told himself, but when he tried to raise his trowel, his hand shook so badly that he dropped it. Knowing it was craven and useless, but powerless to control himself, he crouched and shielded his torso and face with his arms.

And as if the Storm Lord were responding to the spectacle of his wretchedness, the night burned white. Prodigious booms shook the earth, and torrents of frigid rain hammered down, ringing on the legionnaires' armor and drumming on everything else.

The legionnaires faltered in shock. Barely audible over the thunder and the downpour, the commander of the orcs bellowed at his troops. Faurgar couldn't speak their language, but he had a fair idea of what the gray-skinned creature was saying: It's only rain! Go on and kill the rabble as I ordered you to!

The orcs moved to obey, then a flare of lightning struck a peaked rooftop on the right-hand side of the street. The flash was blinding, the crash loud enough to jab pain into Faurgar's ears, and everyone froze once more.

One of the human soldiers shouted and pointed. Blinking, Faurgar reflexively glanced to see what had caught the legionnaire's attention. He expected to observe that the thunderbolt had set the shingled roof on fire, but it wasn't so. Rather, a tall, thin man in a red robe stood in the middle of the charred and blackened place where the lightning had struck, as if he'd ridden the bolt down from the sky.

"That's Szass Tam!" someone exclaimed, and certainly the guards were coming to attention and saluting. Faurgar and his fellows knelt.

The lich's dark gaze raked over them all, warrior and cornered troublemaker alike. "This won't do," he said. He seemed to speak without raising his voice, yet despite the din of the storm, Faurgar could hear him clearly from yards away.

"Unlike some," Szass Tam continued, "I'm not eager to see Thayan soldiers slaughtering Thayan citizens, not as long as there's any hope of avoiding it. Accordingly, you legionnaires will give these people one last chance to disperse and retire to their homes in peace."

"Yes, Your Omnipotence!" the commander of the human guards shouted.

"And you citizens," the necromancer said, "will do precisely that. I understand that you've behaved as you have out of concern for the realm, and to that degree, your patriotism does you credit, but you can't accomplish anything by damaging your own city and compelling the guards to take harsh action against you. I promise a better outlet for your energies in the days to come.

"Now go," he concluded, and a heartbeat later, inexplicably, he was gone. Faurgar had been looking straight at him, yet had a muddled sense that he hadn't actually seen the wizard vanish.

The human officer barked orders. His company divided in the middle, clearing a corridor for Faurgar and his companions to scurry along. The orcs scowled but offered no protest. Szass Tam was their zulkir too.

Their zulkir, and the greatest person in the world. Thanks to him, Faurgar was going to live.

Malark stood at the casement watching the lightning dance above the city. The peaceful city. Even those folk who hadn't had the opportunity to hear Szass Tam speak had discovered that cold, blinding, stinging rain washed the fun out of looting, vandalism, and assault, or in the case of the legionnaires, it dissolved their zeal to chase those guilty of such offenses.

The door clicked open behind him, and he smelled the perfume Dmitra was wearing tonight. He turned and knelt.

"Rise," she said, crossing his darkened, austerely furnished room, a silver goblet in her hand. "I've received a message from Szass Tam. He's retiring to his estate in High Thay for the time being. I can contact him there, but the implication is that I should refrain except in case of an emergency."

"Do you think he knows you warned the other zulkirs of his intentions?"

"By the Black Hand, I hope not. I also hope it was the right thing to do. My instincts told me it was, and they've rarely played me false, but still…" She shook her head.

"If I may say so, Tharchion, you look tired. If you don't feel ready to sleep, shall we sit and watch the storm together?"

"Why not?" He moved a pair of chairs up to the window and she sank down into one of them. "Do you have anything to drink, or must I call for a servant?"

"No wine." Now that she'd come closer, he knew what she'd been drinking. He could smell it on her breath despite the overlay of perfume. "But some of that Hillsfar brandy you like."

"That will do."

As he passed behind her to fetch clean cups and the decanter, he automatically thought of how to kill her where she sat. One sudden blow or stranglehold, and no magic would save her, but he didn't actually feel the urge to strike. Aside from the inconvenience to himself, obliged to give up a congenial position and flee Thay just when life here was becoming truly interesting, there wouldn't be anything profoundly appropriate or exceptionally beautiful about the death. Dmitra was his benefactor, perhaps even in a certain sense his friend, and she deserved better.

She sipped brandy and gazed out at the tempest. "You have to give Szass Tam credit," she said after a time. "First he incites what could have been the worst riot in the history of Eltabbar. He even tricks the mob into believing Nevron and the conjurors sent demons to kill them. Then he ends the crisis in the gentlest way possible, making himself a hero to every person who feared for his life and chattels, every rioter who escaped punishment, and any legionnaire who was squeamish about killing other Thayans."

Malark smiled. "While simultaneously demonstrating just how powerful he is. I assume it's difficult to spark a storm in a clear sky."

"Yes, though we Thayans have been the masters of our weather for a long while. I'm actually more impressed by the way he appeared in dozens of places around the city all at the same moment. Obviously, people were actually seeing projected images, yet by all accounts, the phantasms didn't behave identically. They oriented on the folk they were addressing, and if anyone dared to speak to them in turn, they deviated from the standard declaration to answer back. I'm a Red Wizard of Illusion, and I have no idea how one would go about managing that." She laughed. "And this is the creature I opted to betray."

"But with considerable circumspection, so instead of fretting over what can't be undone, perhaps it would be more productive to contemplate what's just occurred. What game is Szass Tam playing now?"

"I don't know, but you're right, he is still playing. Otherwise, what's the point of the riot?"

"He must realize now that the other zulkirs will never proclaim him regent no matter how much he makes lesser folk adore him."

A gust of wind rattled the casement in its frame.

"I wonder," Dmitra said. "Suppose he murders another zulkir or two. Suppose he tempts one or more of those who remain with the office of vice-regent, subordinate to himself but superior to all others. Sounds better than death, doesn't it?"

It didn't to Malark, but he didn't bother saying so. "Now that I think about it, the various orders must be full of Red Wizards who'd love to move up to be zulkir, even if the rank was no longer a position of ultimate authority. It's easy to imagine one or more of them collaborating with Szass Tam. They work together to assassinate Nevron, Samas Kul, or whomever, get the traitor elected to replace him, and afterward the fellow acts as the lich's dutiful supporter."

Dmitra nodded. "It could happen just that way, but not easily, not when Szass Tam needs a majority on the council, and not with all the other zulkirs now striving assiduously to keep themselves safe. I actually think the game has entered a new phase."

"Which is?"

"I wish I knew." She laughed. "I must seem like a pathetic coward. It's one zulkir against six, who now enjoy my support, yet I'm frightened of the outcome. I have an ugly feeling none of us has ever truly taken Szass Tam's measure, whereas he knows our every strength and weakness. I can likewise imagine our very abundance of archmages proving a hindrance. The lich is a single genius with a coherent strategy maneuvering against a band of keen but lesser minds bickering and working at cross purposes."

"Then you'll have to make sure that, no matter what the zulkirs imagine, it's actually you calling the tune."

"A good trick if I can manage it, whereas your task is to figure out what Szass Tam means to do next."

Malark grinned. "Even though I've never met him, and you tell me he's a genius. It should prove an interesting challenge."