"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.

Chapter Fifteen

Emmis had never ridden in a carriage before. He had rarely even seen a carriage; he doubted there was a single person living in Shiphaven who owned one. He wondered where Lord Ildirin kept his; he had never noticed anything like a stable or carriage barn connected with the Palace.

He had wound up facing backward as he rode, seated next to the guardsman, facing Lord Ildirin, with Gita diagonally across from him. The coachman and the other two guards were riding somewhere on the outside of the vehicle, where Emmis couldn't see them.

It was slightly disorienting, riding backward; he could not recall ever having done it before, as wagons usually didn't have any reversed seats. And they didn't have any seats upholstered in velvet like these, either, or lace curtains over glass windows. This was an adventure, riding in Lord Ildirin's coach – though it meant he wouldn't be making any stops on Bargain Street.

Gita was staring out the window, wide-eyed, as the carriage rumbled up Commerce Street; Emmis thought she looked more terrified than excited. Lord Ildirin was quite composed, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes closed; he appeared to be resting.

Emmis glanced sideways at the guardsman, but he looked bored, and not inclined to talk.

Emmis wondered who Zefna was. He had been hustled out to the carriage and had not seen who else the guard spoke to. From Lord Ildirin's phrasing it didn't seem as if Zefna could be any of the guards, or the coachman, or the innkeeper; who else was there?

He coughed, hoping the guard would take an interest.

Instead, Lord Ildirin's eyes opened. "Your pardon, Emmis," he said. "I was contemplating what I've learned today."

"Of course, my lord," Emmis said hastily. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"But you're bored and curious, and after the better part of a mile, the novelty of riding in a nobleman's carriage has worn off. I entirely understand, young man. I could continue questioning you, if you like."

"Oh, that's all right," Emmis said hastily. Lord Ildirin's interrogation had been exhausting.

"Or perhaps there are questions you would like to ask me?"

"Ah..."

"I can always simply decline to answer, should you pry into inappropriate matters, and I think I would find it amusing to learn what you consider worth inquiring about. Ask away, sir."

"Ah... who is Zefna, my lord?"

Lord Ildirin smiled. "A person in my employ," he said. "Someone adept at listening without appearing to, watching without being seen, and gathering information without being noticed. He is residing in the Crooked Candle at present, alert for anything of interest."

"A..." Emmis had started to say, "A spy?" but caught himself in time.

"An informant?"

"You could call him that. An observer. The common term would be a spy."

So much for tact, Emmis thought. "And he's staying at the Crooked Candle in case the foreigners come back?"

"Or in case anyone else comes looking for them, yes."

Emmis nodded. "I'm surprised to see you taking such an interest in all this, my lord."

"Oh?"

"I wouldn't have thought a single attack would attract the attention of someone as highly placed as yourself."

"Ah, but this is more than a single attack. It is a political matter, and one that may be of great interest to my nephew and the other triumvirs."

Emmis blinked. "Why?" he asked. "It's just another squabble among the Small Kingdoms."

"No, it is not," Lord Ildirin said, raising his hands and touching the tips of his index fingers together to form a point. "In two regards, it is not. Firstly, it involves the Empire of Vond, which is a new thing in the land we call the Small Kingdoms. For more than two hundred years, the number of nations there increased – at the end of the Great War there were perhaps eighty of the so-called kingdoms, though in fact several did not actually have kings, and five years ago, when my brother died and my nephew became overlord of this city, there were two hundred and four. Two hundred and four, Emmis, in an area perhaps a third the size of the Hegemony. That's a totally absurd number. There was no point in trying to maintain diplomatic relations with all of them, or to regulate trade with them all – there were just too many to keep straight, and their alliances and feuds and rivalries shifted so quickly that there was no possibility of maintaining any coherent policies toward most of them. We dealt with them as necessary, particularly those on our own border, or with operating ports, but for most the best we could do was to simply ignore them. We had treaties and agreements with Morria and Lamum and the like, but Azdara or Thuth might as well have not existed at all. If we did try to develop a policy, borders would shift, civil wars erupt, and we might well find ourselves facing two or three kingdoms where there had been one before.

It was hopelessly unmanageable. We had despaired of it."

He leaned forward, and stared Emmis straight in the eye, as he said,

"And then Vond the Warlock came along, and conquered Semma and Ophkar and Ksinallion, and the next thing we knew seventeen of the Small Kingdoms were combined into the Empire of Vond, and we had gone from two hundred and four to one hundred and eighty-eight. For the first time in recorded history, the number of governments in the Small Kingdoms, in Old Ethshar, had decreased.

For the first time."

"Oh," Emmis said.

Ildirin sat upright again. "We want to encourage this trend. Oh, we don't necessarily want all of Old Ethshar reunited; that might pose a challenge of an entirely different sort. But reducing the number from hundreds to dozens – that we would welcome. So we are very interested indeed in seeing what's to become of the Empire of Vond, on that count alone – and that's without even mentioning that it is ruled by an Ethsharite, and that the official language of the new government is Ethsharitic. We have hopes of dealing with Lord Sterren and his Imperial Council on a rational basis, untroubled by ancient feuds, byzantine family ties, absurd border disputes, irrational traditions, and the general barbarity of the region." He turned up an empty palm. "We may, of course, be wildly over-optimistic about this – but we certainly don't want to see the first Vondish ambassador to our city assassinated before we have even met him."

The carriage jerked and bumped just then as they rounded a corner; Emmis glanced out the window and saw that they had turned onto West Warehouse Street. It would never have occurred to him to take this route, but the coachman presumably knew what he was doing. Perhaps the horses didn't like the slope up to High Street.

Then he turned back to Lord Ildirin. "You said there were two things?"

"Yes." Ildirin nodded. "The other one is much simpler. The attack took place here, in Ethshar of the Spices. We don't allow that. That's been one way we handled all the two hundred-some Small Kingdoms, by imposing a very firm set of rules. One of those rules is that the Hegemony is neutral, that they shall not bring any of their thousands of petty squabbles here. We don't care whether the Imryllirionese think the Korosans are all demons in human guise, or the Korosans think Imryllirion is the Northern Empire reborn – here, in Ethshar, they will all treat each other as human beings, equal in rights and virtues, or we will either expel or hang them all, Korosan and Imryllirionese alike. They don't need to like one another, but by all the gods they will respect one another while they are within our walls, and they will obey our laws, or they will pay for it. If this Ashthasan, or these Lumethans, had hired an assassin in Hend or Ghelua or wherever he took ship to kill the Vondish ambassador, we would not be pleased, but we would do nothing. If they had hired a demonologist to sink his ship somewhere in the Gulf of the East, we would make no real protest. But once he set his foot on our docks, he was under our protection, and they either knew that, or should have known it. And for them to attack you, as well – an Ethsharite, in his home city – well, that privilege we reserve to our native-born scoundrels, and forbid to these imported troublemakers."

"All right," Emmis said. "So you're serious about finding out what happened and punishing those responsible."

"Yes."

"But then why are we here? Why are you, personally, my lord, questioning people in Shiphaven and Allston? Why not hire magicians to tell you where you can find the Lumethans and the people who attacked me? I know the magistrates call in magicians sometimes – why didn't you?"

Ildirin smiled, and ran the fingers of his left hand through his long white beard. "Once again, there are two reasons," he said. "I did not choose to involve any magicians because this is a political matter, and I do not care to attract the attention of the Wizards' Guild or the Council of Warlocks to it. I do not want either of them, nor any of the other magicians' guilds, meddling in this. The possibility that the Wizards' Guild will decide that the existence of the Empire of Vond violates the prohibition on magicians in government, due to the way it was created, and that the Empire must therefore be destroyed and its seventeen provinces restored to their former independence, is not as unlikely as I would like. I do not want the Council of Warlocks to decide that they are Vond's rightful heirs and therefore should rule the Empire, under the terms of their own rules on Called warlocks. Most particularly, I don't want both of these to happen simultaneously, as the resulting conflict between the two orders of magic might well destroy the World. Magicians do talk to one another, and so I prefer not to involve any magicians in this investigation." He grimaced. "At least, not yet. I may resort to magic, should the matter prove intractable by other means."

"That's one reason," Emmis acknowledged. "What's the other?"

The old man's smile returned.

"I was bored," he said. "I thought that investigating this would be entertaining."

"You like asking all these questions?" Gita asked, startling the men.

Neither of them had noticed that she was listening, but she had indeed turned her attention from the window to her host.

Ildirin turned to her. "Why, yes, my dear, I do."

She shook her head in amazement. "I don't like answering them!"

"Well, answering them is rather different," Ildirin replied.

"I don't know anything about warlocks or treaties or the Small Kingdoms."

"But you know what happened in your uncle's inn," Ildirin pointed out.

"I already know about warlocks and treaties and the Small Kingdoms, so I don't need anyone to tell me any of that, but I do not know what's happened in the Crooked Candle these last few days, so I want you to tell me."

"I've told you, though!"

"Indeed, you have been very cooperative, but I suspect there are details that could be of use to me that you have not yet revealed, details that you know but do not realize could be of use. You may not even know you know them. So I ask questions, in hopes of stumbling upon these things that seem to you to be the most utterly mundane, boring, trivial, and irrelevant facts, but which might reveal to me entire vistas of possibility I had not considered – or that may instead close off doors that I had thought were open, and save my men hours of wasted effort in their pursuit of these criminals."

Gita stared at the old man, baffled, then threw Emmis a quick look.

Emmis turned up an empty palm. Ildirin's manner of speaking was a little hard to follow sometimes, but this last speech had been clear enough, and Emmis could not see how to make it much plainer.

"He thinks you might not realize some little detail is important,"

Emmis said, when Gita appeared unsatisfied with the gesture. "Something that will tell him where the guards can find the assassins. Some name they mentioned, some little thing they were carrying, something."

"I don't know anything like that!" Gita insisted.

"Perhaps you don't," Ildirin said soothingly, "but perhaps you do, and careful questioning may discover it."

"But I don't."

Ildirin sighed. "Then think of this as your chance to ride in a fine carriage, and perhaps visit a house in Allston, and spend more time in this pleasant young man's company, and be paid a round for your trouble."

"A round?"

"Eight bits. Yes."

"In copper? Not iron?"

Ildirin snorted. "Girl, I am the overlord's uncle. I haven't even seen an iron coin in the last twenty years!"

"Foreign sailors try to use them sometimes," Gita said. "My uncle gets furious if I accept them."

"As well he should," Ildirin said. "They haven't been legal currency in the city for more than two hundred years."

"We use them on the docks sometimes," Emmis said. "For gambling, when we don't want to risk real money, since we do get them from foreigners sometimes and they aren't accepted anywhere."

"Interesting," Ildirin said. "I hadn't known that." Then he focused on Gita. "Did any of the Lumethans try to pay with iron?"

"No," Gita said, and the questioning that had gone so long at the inn was begun anew in the carriage.

The nobleman switched back and forth between Gita and Emmis, trying to ferret out new details. Emmis did his best to answer Lord Ildirin's questions, but also looked out the windows every so often, trying to identify the route they were taking.

They rolled along Warehouse Street, almost into Spicetown, and then turned onto Moat Street, before turning again onto North Street, which brought them out onto the plaza in front of the Palace. It would never have occurred to Emmis to take so northerly a path, but it did avoid any sort of upgrade, and of course Lord Ildirin would be accustomed to routes that led to and from the Palace.

They did not stop in the plaza, though, but rolled across it at a stately pace as people hurried out of the path of the horses, and out the southeast corner, up onto Arena Street.

Here at last was an upgrade they could not avoid, but it did not seem to trouble the horses or the coachman; the carriage rolled on, unhindered, up Arena Street.

Lord Ildirin's questions were finally slowing, to Emmis's relief; he really could not see any significance in whether or not he had noticed the length of Hagai's fingernails – which he hadn't – or in some of the other details Ildirin was now asking about. He was relieved that Ildirin's questions had never approached too closely anything Lar had told him not to repeat; the old man seemed to be focused entirely on what had taken place at the Crooked Candle, or on his encounter with the two assassins, and not interested in why Lar had come to Ethshar.

And then, rather than asking another question, Lord Ildirin gestured toward the guardsman sitting beside Emmis and said, "This is Ahan, by the way.

He will be accompanying you on your errands."

"What errands, my lord?" Emmis asked, startled.

"Whatever errands your employer sends you on; I want you out of the house while the two of us speak. The coachman will be escorting Gita back to the Crooked Candle, but I assume the ambassador can find something more constructive for you to do."

"You're done with us, then?"

"For the present."

"And have you figured out who the Lumethans hired to kill the ambassador, or where they might be found?"

Emmis regretted the snide words even as they were leaving his lips, but apologizing would probably only make matters worse; he let the question stand.

Lord Ildirin smiled at him – not a nice smile this time, not like his previous expressions. "Not yet," he said. "Have you?"

"No," Emmis said. "I'm just a dockworker and guide. I don't investigate anything."

"Of course." Ildirin glanced at Gita.

"I just help out my uncle!" she said. "None of this has anything to do with me."

"And I just help out my nephew," Ildirin said. "It seems a better use of my time than sitting around waiting to die."

Gita looked at him nervously, then turned away.

The exchange made Emmis uncomfortable; he looked out the carriage window just in time to see them negotiate the turn onto Through Street.

"We're here," he said.

Ildirin glanced out. "So we are," he said.

A moment later the carriage came to a halt, and three of the four inside passengers debarked at the front door of the rented house. Gita started to climb out as well, but Lord Ildirin held up a bony hand to stop her.

"You will stay in the carriage, please," he said. He reached for his purse and counted out eight bits; she crouched in the door of the coach, waiting, as he did. Then he held out the handful of money.

She cupped her own hands, and he poured the coins into them.

"Thank you, my lord," she said.

"You're welcome," he said. Then he called to the coachman, "Take her to Shiphaven Market and leave her there, then come back here and wait for me."

"Yes, my lord."

One of the two guards who had been riding on the back of the carriage had jumped down; the other remained in place. While Emmis and the disembarked guard unloaded Emmis's two bags, Lord Ildirin took a moment to whisper instructions to the man on the carriage, then turned away.

The coachman shook the reins, and the carriage rolled away, leaving Emmis, Lord Ildirin, and two guardsman behind. Emmis lifted his baggage, delighted to have it back. He wondered whether anything might be missing. He peered after the carriage, hoping for one more glimpse of Gita; she had saved his belongings for him, which had been kind of her, but it didn't mean he didn't think she might have gone through a few things and perhaps appropriated an item or two. She was pleasant enough, but he didn't trust her.

"Now, to meet with this ambassador," Ildirin said, and the four of them turned toward the big green door.

Chapter Sixteen

Emmis glanced sideways at the guardsman.

Lord Ildirin had said the man's name was Ahan, and had assigned the guardsman to accompany Emmis to the Wizards' Quarter. He had insisted that Emmis go away while he discussed matters of state with the ambassador, and Lar, after his initial surprise and reluctance, had agreed.

"It's nothing you'd be interested in," he had said.

That might well be true, but Emmis still resented being ordered out of his own new home. He had insisted on taking the time to put his miraculously-recovered luggage in his own room, with the door securely locked.

He had also insisted on a few words with Lar before allowing himself to be escorted out the front door.

Escorted he had been, though. Emmis and Ahan had then walked from Through Street up Arena to Wizard Street, and in all that time the guard had not said a word.

The other guardsman, the one Emmis and Lar had found on Games Street the night before, had been chatty and reasonably friendly; this Ahan, though, seemed to feel that talking on duty violated proper procedure. Even smiling seemed beyond him.

Emmis could not decide whether that was a good thing or a bad one. It meant that he didn't need to explain anything, and could rest his voice after Lord Ildirin's long interrogation, but it also made him a little nervous. What was the man thinking, behind those expressionless features?

It probably didn't matter, Emmis told himself. Lord Ildirin had told Ahan to accompany Emmis, so Ahan was accompanying Emmis; he hadn't told Ahan to do anything else, so far as Emmis knew, so Ahan presumably wasn't going to interfere in any of Emmis's business.

Of course, if Ahan weren't along, Emmis might have gone somewhere other than the Wizards' Quarter. The house still needed more furniture and kitchenware, and another trip to the market to replenish the pantry would not be a bad idea.

But trying to dicker with carpenters or farmers with a soldier standing at his shoulder did not appeal to Emmis. Magicians would be less intimidated, and he really did want to talk to a theurgist about that doorway shrine; even if he couldn't work in any other questions, it would be good to settle that.

And other questions were certainly a possibility. Lar's instructions, when they had discussed Emmis's intentions, had been interestingly vague, probably because Ildirin and two guards had been within earshot. Lar had agreed that the shrine needed to be identified, and the proper treatment of the idol therein determined, but then he had added, "And of course, if anything else comes to mind, you could ask the theurgist about that, as well."

"Anything else?"

"Yes – whatever you think we might need to know."

"Ah," Emmis had said.

That could cover a very broad range of subjects indeed, from Annis the Merchant to the towers of Lumeth, from Vond the Great Warlock to hiring assassins. Emmis wasn't sure just which of those questions Lar most wanted answered, but he couldn't very well ask with Lord Ildirin and his men there.

"You'll need to pay, of course," Lar had said, handing him a purse.

Emmis had not yet looked inside, but he had felt the surprising weight of that purse, and he suspected he was carrying a couple of rounds of gold –

far more than the cost of identifying a shrine. Which made the guard's presence a little more reassuring. Ordinarily Emmis was perfectly capable of defending himself from the city's more unsavory residents, but a purse full of gold was a considerably greater temptation than he usually offered.

Ahan's presence might make it difficult to ask any really interesting questions, but Emmis intended to try.

They passed Wizard Street, then Sorcery Street, then the mysteriously-named Gaja Street, and Ahan had still not said a word. Emmis glanced down Warlock Street, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of Ishta, but he did not.

Then finally they reached Priest Street, where he turned right – and stopped.

Ahan almost ran into him, but still said nothing.

"Do you know any of these people?" Emmis asked, with a gesture at the signs and shop-fronts.

"No," Ahan said. "Should I?"

"You never bought a prayer, or consulted a god's oracle?"

"No. My mother did when I was a child, but she dealt with an old man in our own neighborhood, she didn't come here."

Emmis sighed, and looked along the street again.

Theurgists were a little different from most other magicians; it wasn't always the magician's name on the signboard. Many of the signs instead announced the name of a temple or shrine, such as the Temple of Divine Peace, or the Sanctuary of the Priests of Asham.

Emmis had no idea who or what Asham was – perhaps a god, perhaps a high priest, perhaps a place, or a cult or, for all Emmis knew, a rock someone had decided was holy. He did not want to take the time to find out what Asham was, or what sort of divine peace might be offered; instead he looked further, hoping for more informative names.

Kirsha the Immaculate didn't sound especially promising, nor did High Priest Senesson of Southmarket. The Temple of True Healing at least gave him some idea what services it might provide, but was not what he wanted.

He began walking down the street, looking at the window displays –

unlike the other streets, many of the buildings here didn't have ground-floor windows, but some did. He ignored shrines and fountains and altars; those didn't tell him anything. Many of the businesses were quite elaborately decorated, with gods and goddesses painted on doors or panels, with glittering tapestries hung in windows; bright enamel and gleaming gilt were everywhere.

Shrines were common on most streets in Ethshar, but here they proliferated wildly, with idol-filled niches seemingly every few feet, sometimes two or three built into a single wall one above the other.

Amid all this gaudy spectacle one shop caught his attention, and he stopped.

It was indeed a shop, rather than a temple, with a relatively plain wooden door painted purple, flanked by largely-empty display windows curtained with maroon velvet. If not for the signboard Emmis might have thought the proprietor was some other sort of magician entirely, since after all, there was no law saying that only theurgists could operate businesses on Priest Street. It was merely custom for the various sorts of magician to sort themselves out into individual streets, and several streets did mix multiple varieties.

This shop was so plain in comparison to its neighbors that it seemed to belong somewhere else entirely – among the warlocks, perhaps.

The sign above the door, however, read CORINAL THE THEURGIST, and a gilt-edged placard in the left-hand window proclaimed, "Practical Prayers for Many Purposes: We Can Summon More Than A Score of Deities!" Smaller print at the bottom added, "If We Cannot Aid You Directly, We Offer An Inexpensive Referral Service."

That sounded like exactly what Emmis needed. He crossed the street and tried the door.

It opened easily, and he peered in to what appeared to be a deserted study. Three high-backed chairs were arranged around a low table, and the walls beyond were lined with bookshelves. Although it was full daylight outside most of the room was dim – the curtains were drawn. An oil lamp was burning in a bracket above the table, however, casting a pool of light.

"Hello?" Emmis called.

A head suddenly appeared around the side of the chair most nearly facing away from him, as a white-haired old man turned to look at him.

"Oh, hello, there," the old man said. "Come in!"

There was a thump as he closed a thick book, another thump as he set it on the table, and by the time Emmis and Ahan had stepped into the shop the old man was rising from his chair and approaching them, hand extended. He was short, but solidly built, despite his obviously advanced age.

"I'm Corinal," he said. "How can I help you?"

Emmis blinked at him. "This looks more like a library than a magician's shop," he said.

"I like to read," Corinal said mildly.

Emmis nodded. "Of course," he said. "But you're a theurgist?"

The old man smiled crookedly. "It says so on my sign, certainly, and wouldn't it be foolish to advertise that if it weren't so?"

Emmis shook the offered hand, and returned the smile a bit sheepishly.

"I had a question or two," he said.

"Questions I can answer, or questions requiring divine assistance?"

"Probably requiring divine assistance," Emmis said.

Corinal nodded. "I'll see what I can do to get you your answers, then."

He glanced at Ahan, who had closed the front door and was now standing with his back to it. "Might I ask one of my own first, though?"

"I... yes, of course," Emmis said.

"Why is this soldier here?"

Emmis turned up an empty palm. "Ask him," he said.

Corinal turned to Ahan. "Well?"

Ahan cleared his throat. "Lord Ildirin has ordered me to accompany this man wherever he goes, to guard him against attack, to prevent him from committing any illegal acts, and to report back on his actions."

"Bodyguard, jailer, and spy, all on just two feet, then?" Corinal asked. "And why does Lord Ildirin care what becomes of him?"

"I do what I'm told, sir; I didn't ask why."

"This is Lord Ildirin, the overlord's brother... no, I'm sorry, the new overlord's uncle?"

"Yes, sir."

He turned back to Emmis. "Do you know why Lord Ildirin has decided you require such attention?"

"Because I work for the Vondish ambassador to Ethshar, and stopped an assassination attempt on him yesterday."

"Oh, really? That's charming! Honestly, I'm delighted to hear that. A Vondish ambassador, you say? From that upstart empire south of the Small Kingdoms?"

"Yes."

"And Lord Ildirin thinks the assassins might decide to retaliate against you for your interference, or perhaps you're secretly working with the assassins, or perhaps there aren't any assassins and this is all part of some complicated scheme you're involved in, or all of these at once, and so he's assigned this fine fellow to follow you around and make your life difficult until he's more nearly satisfied that he knows what's happening?"

"Something like that," Emmis agreed.

"And you've decided to come ask me your questions anyway? Then you have nothing to hide?"

Emmis grimaced. "I haven't done anything wrong," he said. "And I thought I'd have an easier time dealing with you with this guard at my elbow than I would trying to dicker with cabinet-makers and cutlers."

"You are wise beyond your years, young man. Come in, sit down, both of you, and tell me what you want to know." He gestured toward the chairs.

A moment later the three of them were seated around the table; Emmis could see that the book Corinal had been reading was entitled The Pursuit of the Shatra. He had no idea what a shatra was, or why anyone would pursue one; the book looked very old.

"Now, what did you want to ask me?" Corinal asked.

"Ah. The ambassador has rented a house on Through Street in Allston, and the house has a shrine by the door. We wanted to know whose shrine it is, and what would be appropriate for us to do with it."

"Oh, an easy one. That's exactly the sort of question best answered by Unniel the Discerning, goddess of information about theurgy, sorcery, and certain other topics. I can summon her for half a round of silver."

Emmis automatically said, "I'll pay two bits," but in fact he was relieved. As magical prices went, four bits in silver for anything was a bargain.

"Three bits in silver and one of copper," Corinal countered.

"Three silver bits," Emmis said. "No copper."

"Don't expect me to be so flexible on more difficult matters, should any arise," Corinal said, reaching up for something from one of the shelves.

"Unniel is easy, though, so you have a deal. Tell me about this shrine, and just where it is." He pulled out a thin book that had a quill inserted in it like a bookmark, set it on the table, then reached up again and found a small bottle of ink.

"It's on Through Street just a few doors east of Arena Street," Emmis said, watching as Corinal opened the book and laid it flat on the table. The right-hand page was blank; the left-hand one had a few illegible words hand-written at the top. "It's a yellow house we rent from Kather of Allston, and the shrine is just to the right of the front door."

Corinal uncorked the ink bottle, dipped the quill, and began writing in the book. "Go on," he said.

"The idol is a goddess – or a woman – in a green robe and a golden crown. Her hands are down and open, as if she's giving something, but she isn't smiling. There's an offering bowl at her feet, but there's nothing in it but dust."

"I think I know this one without even asking," Corinal said, nodding.

"You can have my guess for two bits, or I'll ask the goddess Unniel for you for three."

Emmis hesitated, then said, "I think you'd better consult the goddess."

Corinal scribbled another few words, then looked up from the book. "And what else did you want to ask me? If anything else is in Unniel's bailiwick, I might as well ask her everything at once."

"You can do that?"

"Of course!"

Emmis glanced at Ahan. "I had several other questions, actually, but I don't think any of them have anything to do with theurgy or sorcery."

Corinal also cast a glance at the guardsman, then grinned, his thinning beard seeming to spread itself wider as he did. "Would you like to drive Lord Ildirin mad with curiosity, then?"

"What?"

The theurgist turned the book to face Emmis, then handed him the quill.

"Write your questions here," he said. "I'll sort them out and give you a price, and you won't need to say a word this fine soldier will hear."

Emmis looked from Corinal to Ahan.

"I won't stop you," Ahan said. "And I won't try to read it, because I can't read very well. But I'll tell Lord Ildirin about this, and he may not like it."

"Well, we'll have all the questions written down for him, won't we?"

Corinal said. "He can come and pay me for them. Not for the answers, of course

– you know the rules about customer privacy."

"I'll tell him some of the answers myself, if he wants them," Emmis said. "I want to know who the assassins I fought were, and where we can find them, and where the three Lumethan spies are..."

Corinal held up a hand. "Write it down!" he said. "Write it all down."

Emmis lifted the quill and looked at Ahan, who turned up an empty palm.

"I won't stop you," he repeated.

Emmis nodded, dipped the quill in the ink, and began writing.

The list took a surprisingly long time. As soon as he had finished one question, he thought of another, and another.

After a few moments of watching his customer scribble, Corinal had picked up The Pursuit of the Shatra and resumed his interrupted reading.

Ahan simply sat and waited, and in his meditative silence looked more like a theurgist than did Corinal.

Chapter Seventeen

There was a sudden feeling of pressure, as if the air itself had become heavier; Emmis's ears ached. A golden light appeared in the crack beneath the door to the theurgist's inner chamber.

"It would seem the spell worked," Ahan remarked, startling Emmis. The guardsman was not in the habit of speaking unnecessarily, but he had volunteered this comment without any prompting at all.

"Not necessarily," Emmis said. "He made something happen, but it might not be the god he wanted."

"True." Ahan nodded.

Emmis could not think of anything more to say, so the two fell silent again, and sat waiting in Corinal's parlor – or rather, Emmis sat, and Ahan stood.

The strange pressure in the air persisted, as did the glow, though odd shadows sometimes moved in the golden light. Emmis was not sure whether he could hear faint voices through the door, or whether he was imagining it; he certainly couldn't make out any words. He was tempted to get up and put an ear to the closed door, but Ahan's presence deterred him, and the knowledge that there was probably a god or goddess on the other side, and that the deity would know he was there, was downright intimidating. From what little Emmis knew of the attitudes of the gods he didn't think the god would mind, but there was still something disturbing about the idea.

He and Corinal had, after some dickering, settled on five silver bits for any answers Unniel could provide to the long list of questions Emmis had written, regardless of how many that might be, so long as it was three or more. Two questions would cost four bits, and one would be just the three he had paid in advance.

Emmis would then have the option of paying Corinal to invoke another god to answer questions Unniel could not, and Corinal had therefore appended a final question to the list: "Which gods or goddesses may best be able to answer any of the questions above that you have not answered fully?"

Any other invocation would cost more; Emmis fully understood that. He patted the purse Lar had given him; he had quietly counted its contents while Corinal had been preparing to invoke Unniel, and knew that it held three rounds of gold. That ought to be enough for almost any god in the pantheon.

And they might need almost any god in the pantheon; Emmis had let himself be carried away by the opportunity, and had asked questions about assassins, Annis, Hagai, Neyam, Morkai, the Empire of Vond, Vond the Warlock, Lar, Lumeth of the Towers, Ashthasa, warlockry, warlocks, Lord Ildirin, Azradelle the Tomboy, Gita, his luggage, swords, cookery, kitchen supplies –

he had never consulted a theurgist before and might never have the chance to consult one again, so he had gone a little overboard.

He wondered what Corinal thought of some of those questions; Emmis wondered just how much of a fool he had made of himself. He stared at the closed door, trying to imagine what was on the other side. What did Unniel look like? The traditional idols always showed goddesses as beautiful women, usually tall and thin and inhumanly perfect, but otherwise human in appearance. Was that right, though? He had heard that it was not, that goddesses were hard to look at, hard to see clearly; they were somehow both there and not there at the same time. The painters and sculptors had no way to represent them accurately, so they did their best to depict what they could see.

If he flung open that door, what would he see? A tall, glowing woman, or something else entirely? Why did the gods never appear in public? Why did theurgists work behind closed doors?

He should have put those questions on the list, he decided, with a wry grimace.

He realized, suddenly, that he did not know how long he had been staring at the closed door; something strange had happened to his sense of time. He turned and glanced at the curtained windows, and saw that no daylight was visible through them.

The voices he hadn't been sure he was hearing had stopped, and the pressure in the air was lessening; his ears were ringing.

Then the golden glow vanished, and he heard footsteps. He rose from his seat.

The door opened to reveal Corinal silhouetted in perfectly ordinary lamplight. He stepped out into the parlor, smiling wearily. A trickle of blood was seeping from one nostril into his beard; he held the book where Emmis had written his questions in one hand, and a sheaf of paper or parchment in the other.

"Well, that was interesting!" he said, a little too loudly. "I have never before had Unniel's company for so long. She found your list of questions rather challenging, I think." His voice cracked a little on the final phrase.

"Are you all right?" Emmis asked, suddenly concerned for the old man.

"Oh, I'll be fine," Corinal said, waving him away. "Let us just say that the presence of the divine can be wearing on us mere mortals."

Suddenly feeling guilty that he had apparently endangered the theurgist's health, and perhaps his life, for a few bits in silver, Emmis said, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You can step aside and let me sit down, my boy. I've been chatting with Unniel for fifty-odd years now, ever since I was an apprentice; I've nothing to fear from her." He grimaced. "However, I normally only speak with her for a few minutes at a time, no more than a quarter of an hour, while you, sir, with your infernal list, kept her occupied and in my study for half the afternoon."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Corinal interrupted, as he settled onto a chair. "It was most instructive!" He dropped the book on a table and lifted his sheaf of paper. "Let me tell you some of what she said, though I won't promise this is in any particular order."

Emmis glanced at Ahan. "Couldn't I read it, perhaps?"

Corinal shook his head. "I scribbled it down as quickly as I could, and I doubt you could read it. My handwriting is not one of my more impressive accomplishments." He lifted the papers. "Your doorway shrine is, as I suspected, an idol of Piskor the Generous; as long as that house is under her protection, no one within its walls shall starve, and all drinking water therein shall be pure and wholesome. To maintain her blessing you should place a copper bit in the bowl at least once a year; if it's stolen, that's fine, the goddess will consider it well spent. Should the goddess intervene directly on your behalf, extending your food supplies or cleansing your water of disease, you may be called upon, through dreams or other divine messages, to perform certain minor services on her behalf for the poor and unfortunate of the city – distributing food in the Hundred-Foot Field, perhaps. Nothing too onerous. You do not want to shirk these duties, should you be summoned; not only will Piskor's protections be withdrawn, but you will find your neighbors becoming hostile."

"Thank you," Emmis said.

Corinal glanced at his papers.

"Hagai of Lumeth was able to locate Lar Samber's son at any time, and in fact can still locate Lar at any time, by means of a blessing bestowed upon him by the god Aibem. It would seem this Hagai is a moderately-accomplished theurgist himself, though I flatter myself that I'm his better at the art. At any rate, as long as the blessing lasts Hagai can see an unnatural glow in the sky above Lar, no matter how near or far he might be, and he can simply follow this glow to locate our dear Vondish ambassador, at any time of day or night."

"I... he can do that?" Emmis asked.

"So it would seem. It's a good stunt, really; I've never encountered it before. I suspect someone in the Small Kingdoms only recently stumbled upon the idea." He cleared his throat. "On all your questions concerning Azradelle of Shiphaven, Unniel refers you to the goddess Mazhom. Since Mazhom is the goddess of courtship, I think you can guess what the tenor of those answers is likely to be."

Emmis felt himself blushing.

"On the subject of warlockry, Unniel declines to say anything useful at all, except that she knows of nothing in Lumeth that has any connection with warlocks. In every other question on your list that relates to warlockry, she insists that there is some great misunderstanding of what's happening, one so profound that she cannot explain the truth to humans in an even remotely intelligible fashion. People have been trying to get the gods to explain warlockry ever since the Night of Madness, and it just isn't coming across."

"That seems strange," Emmis remarked.

"Yes, doesn't it? Nonetheless, it's so, and the gap in understanding is so great that Unniel can't even suggest another god we might consult on the subject." Corinal shook his head. "Even the gods have their limits."

"And the other questions...?"

"Well, Unniel has no idea where any of the foreigners can be found; she suggests consulting Aibem, who is obviously capable of locating specific individuals, as Hagai's little spell demonstrates." He shuffled the top sheet of paper to the bottom and peered at the next page. "She did know how the three Lumethans got to Ethshar so quickly, though – by means of a spell called Hallin's Transporting Fissure. That took them from Lumeth to Ethshar in a matter of minutes."

"I never heard of it," Emmis said. He glanced at Ahan.

"Neither have I," the guardsman said. "I have little to do with magic."

"If it got them here that fast, it must be powerful magic," Emmis remarked. "Is it wizardry?"

"Probably. Unniel offered no details; you'd best ask a wizard if you want to know more about it." Corinal glanced at the papers. "Annis the Merchant was already in the city, and was contacted by means of the Greater Spell of Invaded Dreams."

"More wizardry?"

"That one I am familiar with; yes, it's wizardry." He turned to the next paper. "You asked what in Lumeth is guarded by protective spells; she reports that the list is relatively short. Several rooms in the government fortress they call the New Castle have wards and protections of one sort or another, the castle itself has a few spells on it, and the various entrances to a miles-long tunnel used by the Cult of Demerchan are all booby-trapped in various ways. Of course the famous Towers themselves are massively guarded by every sort of magic, dozens of spells, on all three of them, and a few assorted diaries, spell-books, lock-boxes, and the like have protective runes, wardings, and such."

"A tunnel used by the Cult of Demerchan?" That was interesting; Lar had mentioned them. They were assassins – and they were active in Lumeth. Did that mean anything?

"So she said. She gave no further information."

Emmis nodded, and considered the rest of the list. Spell-books and important government offices, yes, but...

"Why the towers? Why do they have so many protective spells? They aren't just pre-war ruins, then?"

"As it happens, you asked what the towers are, and Unniel answered, after a fashion, and that might give us a clue. She said that the towers are sorcerous talismans, the oldest and greatest sorcery in the World."

Emmis blinked. "Sorcery?"

"So the goddess tells me, and it's our understanding that the gods cannot lie. Their answers are sometimes misleading, but they don't actually lie."

"They're talismans?"

"So she says."

"But... they're towers. Fifty or sixty feet high, aren't they?"

"Three hundred feet high, actually. You asked that, too."

"Nothing is three hundred feet high," Emmis protested.

"The towers of Lumeth are."

Emmis had trouble comprehending that. He knew that the big towers in Westgate were no more than sixty feet, and they were huge. The lighthouse at the end of the eastern breakwater was perhaps ninety feet, and the Seacorner watchtower was said to be a hundred or more, and that was so tall that it took a brave man to climb it. Courage aside, Emmis had heard that some of the largest soldiers were excused from serving there for fear their weight would cause it to collapse.

And the Lumeth towers were three times that height?

Of course, they might be much, much larger at the base; they would have to be. But that made the other point all the more unbelievable. "And they're talismans?"

"So she says."

"But – talismans are mostly little things, things a person can carry.

I've seen a few on the docks, and none were too big for a man to lift. Unniel says there are three of them three hundred feet high?"

"Indeed she does. I must confess, Emmis, I hadn't realized you were so interested in this particular subject; you didn't seem to emphasize it on your list."

"I hadn't realized I was, either," Emmis said. "Not until you told me they were sorcerous. So are there sorcerers guarding them?"

"Not that Unniel mentioned; she said they have many powerful protective spells, but they were mostly put there by wizards, not sorcerers."

"Why would wizards be guarding sorcery?"

"I have no idea, and Unniel did not happen to volunteer any information on the subject. Perhaps you should ask a wizard."

"Perhaps I should," Emmis agreed. "Or a sorcerer. What do the towers do? I mean, a sorcerer's ordinary talismans can find things, or talk to people far away, or knock down buildings, or answer questions, or a dozen other things – they're magic, and they're all small enough to carry. What kind of magic could possibly call for a talisman three hundred feet high?"

"According to Unniel, they keep out poisons."

Emmis blinked, and stared at Corinal. "They do what?"

"She says they keep out poisons, poisons that surround the entire World."

"What poisons?"

"I have no idea. She did not trouble herself to explain further, and at that point I was simply trying to get through your list before my eardrums burst, or I choked on my own blood, so I did not ask for more details. I thought perhaps you would know."

"Me? I'm a dockworker. I don't know anything about sorcery or poisons or any of this!"

"That's unfortunate."

Emmis grimaced, then glanced at Ahan, but he had already turned up an empty palm, signifying ignorance. Emmis turned back to Corinal.

"It seems as if there's a lot of wizardry in Lumeth," he said. "That transporting whatever-it-is, and the protective spells on the towers, and all that. Isn't that more than most of the Small Kingdoms?"

"I wouldn't really know," Corinal said. "I agree, though, that it does not accord well with the popular image."

"And where does that tunnel go? Why are there assassins there?"

"That was not on your list of questions; shall we start compiling a new list, to present to Aibem or Bellab or Mazhom?"

Emmis considered that for a moment.

He certainly had plenty of questions – Unniel's responses had raised almost as many as she had answered. On the other hand, Corinal said none of the gods would give useful answers about warlockry, and that was the topic Lar most urgently wanted addressed. Consulting Mazhom at all would be a waste of time; Emmis knew that Azradelle was no longer any of his business, and nothing could come of asking a god to confirm that. This Aibem might be useful in locating the assassins before they could make another attempt...

"Wait a minute," he said. "Didn't I ask whether there would be further attempts on the Vondish ambassador's life?"

"Ah, yes, thank you for reminding me!" Corinal shuffled through his papers. "You did indeed ask that, and Unniel denied any foreknowledge on the subject; she claims to be unable to see the future except when it's inevitable, and this is not such a case. However, she also said that there had been two assassination attempts, rather than the one you mentioned; the second involved a wizard's spell called Fendel's Assassin, which was performed earlier today." He looked up from the scribbled notes. "I'm sorry, I really should have mentioned that one sooner, shouldn't I?"

Emmis stared at him. "Yes, you should!" he said. He snatched up his purse and started toward the door.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Pay the magician," Ahan said.

"But he said..."

"I heard him. But the ambassador may already be dead, or the spell may have failed, or it may not strike for days, and not paying a magician is a very bad idea."

Emmis stared at Corinal. "Do you know anything about this Fendel's Assassin?" He fumbled with his purse as he spoke.

"Not a thing," Corinal said. "Assassination is something I try to avoid. Perhaps..."

"...I should ask a wizard. Yes. Thank you." He finally found the coins he wanted, and thrust them at Corinal.

"Thank you," the theurgist said, accepting the handful of silver. "And I wish you the best of luck in dealing with... well, whatever it is you're dealing with."

"Thank you," Emmis said, as he pulled tight the drawstring on his purse and ran for the door. "If you know a good deity to pray to for me, I would appreciate it."

He was outside the shop by the time he finished the sentence.

Ahan was close on his heels, and the two men sprinted up Priest Street together.

Chapter Eighteen

Emmis's breath gave out two blocks north of the Arena, and he slowed to a trot. This was the second time he had gone running across the city to warn Lar of an assassination attempt; he really hadn't expected it to become a habit.

Ahan slowed beside him. Emmis threw him a glance. "I don't suppose you could run on ahead?" he asked.

"I was ordered to accompany you."

"You don't think this situation might justify bending those orders a little?"

Ahan looked at him, then turned his attention to the street ahead again. "If I were still just another guardsman, it certainly would justify some reinterpretation, but I'm not. I'm one of Lord Ildirin's elite escort, and we have very strict instructions – we are to obey Lord Ildirin exactly, unless doing so would endanger Lord Ildirin or the overlord himself. No one else. We get a very generous bonus every sixnight, and stretching my orders in the slightest would probably mean losing that. I have three younger sisters and a widowed mother living on my pay, and I'm sure you know that an ordinary guardsman's pay is not going to support the five of us comfortably."

Emmis did indeed know that. Guards generally slept in a barracks free of rent, and were fed at the city's expense, not to mention being provided with their uniforms, but their actual pay, while steady, wasn't all that much.

An unmarried soldier, with no one to look after but himself, could live on it well enough and even save up a tidy sum, but add a family and everything changed. They couldn't sleep in the barracks, or charge their meals against an innkeeper's taxes. That was why most guards didn't marry, or found other work when they wed.

He considered asking why Ahan's mother and sisters didn't have any other means of support – even if none of them could find paid employment, didn't any of the girls have apprenticeships or husbands?

But that was really none of his business. Perhaps they were ill, or crippled, or under a curse. If Ahan thought he had to wait hand and foot on Lord Ildirin to keep his family out of the Hundred-Foot Field, it wasn't Emmis's place to argue.

"Oh," he said. He sighed, and picked up his own pace.

Ahan matched him, and the two ran on, drawing stares from the crowds on Arena Street.

Emmis was panting by the time they rounded the bend on Through Street and came in sight of the yellow house. Two guardsmen were standing on either side of the front door; they straightened, suddenly alert, at the sight of Emmis and Ahan.

"Any trouble?" Ahan called.

"No," one of them replied. "Why?"

"The theurgist..." Emmis had to stop and catch his breath; he gulped air, then said, "The theurgist told us that an assassination spell has been cast on the Vondish ambassador."

The door guards exchanged glances.

"You'd better go in," one of them said, reaching for the latch.

A moment later Emmis and Ahan were in the parlor, where Lar and Lord Ildirin were seated comfortably on either side of a small table, drinking tea.

The two officials looked up.

"And what brings you two back here, looking so concerned?" Lord Ildirin asked.

"I talked to a theurgist, my lord," Emmis said. "Corinal, by name. On Priest Street. He consulted a goddess called Unniel the Discerning, and she said that someone had cast a spell called Fendel's Assassin on the ambassador."

Lar went pale.

Lord Ildirin's eyebrows rose. "Did he, indeed?" He glanced at Ahan.

"Yes, my lord," the guardsman said. "Exactly as Emmis says."

"Did the theurgist inform you of the method Fendel's Assassin intends to use?"

Emmis blinked at him. "What?"

Ildirin sighed. "Fendel's Assassin is a well-known spell; it summons or creates an invisible being that will make one attempt to kill the intended target, and only one attempt, using a method specified by the wizard who cast the spell. Strangling is the most common means chosen, since it requires no special weaponry – the creature's claws are strong enough to do the job.

Sometimes other methods are specified to make it look like suicide, or to cast blame in a particular direction, but the need to smuggle in weapons can be very inconvenient. The assassin itself can apparently pass through solid walls, while weapons cannot." He shook his head. "The spell hasn't been used in years, to the best of my knowledge, but it's a common way for the Wizards'

Guild to dispose of its enemies."

"How can we stop it?" Emmis demanded. Lar turned his full attention to Lord Ildirin, obviously just as interested in the answer as was Emmis.

"Well, it would help if we knew the method," Ildirin replied. "And the time and place, if the wizard specified those. We need merely prevent the one attack from succeeding, and the assassin will dissipate, vanish from the World without a trace. Suppose the spell was cast with instructions to strangle my friend Lar in his bed at midnight tonight; well, we need merely ensure that he is not in his bed at midnight, but here in this room, and at a minute past the hour the creature will cease to exist."

"I think I see."

"And if the creature was instructed to whack Lar's head off with an axe, but we ensure no axes are available, or if we somehow turn the blow aside..."

Lar shuddered, and Emmis interrupted, "Yes, I understand, but how do we know...?"

"Your theurgist gave you no clue? No mention of anything?"

"I didn't give him time," Emmis admitted. "The moment I knew a death-spell had been cast I came running back to warn you."

Ildirin nodded. "A natural reaction, but perhaps unfortunate in this instance." He turned to Lar. "Is there any particular method of assassination preferred by the people of Lumeth?"

"There is, but I don't know the word in Ethsharitic," Lar said, a bit unsteadily. "Nagrop – a... a thin cord around the neck."

"A garotte," Ildirin said. "Charming. And easily improvised, if they haven't just told the beast to use its claws."

"How fast does the creature move?" Emmis asked. "How soon could it be here?"

"Oh, it probably is here," Ildirin said. "It could be in the room with us right now, listening. It's far faster than any human."

Emmis stared around the room – and noticed Lar and Ahan doing the same, though Ildirin did not. Lord Ildirin obviously recognized the foolishness of looking for something you know is invisible, but Emmis had still hoped to see some sign.

"If it's already here, why hasn't it made its attempt?" Emmis asked.

"I couldn't say," Ildirin replied. "I presume some condition has not been met. Either a time has not yet come, or His Excellency is in the wrong place, or perhaps the creature was told to attack him when he's alone, and he's been in my company for most of the afternoon."

"Well, is there any way we can find out which it is?"

"In fact, there is," Ildirin said thoughtfully. "If I could just remember..."

"Remember what? A spell? A warding?"

"The creature has its own appetites," Ildirin said. "I believe there's a way to bribe it."

Emmis felt a wave of relief, but then recalled that just because a way existed, that didn't mean they would be able to use it in time. "Do we need a wizard?" he asked.

"No." Lord Ildirin frowned, and stroked his beard. "I knew this; Lorret the Mage mentioned it to me years ago, after Lord Habuk used Fendel's Assassin to kill Lady Asseyr. It's... something sweet. The creature likes something sweet."

"Honey?"

"I believe so, yes."

"We don't have any," Emmis said. "I bought a few things for the pantry, but no honey."

Ahan cleared his throat.

Lord Ildirin looked at him. "Yes?"

"Zhol generally keeps a bag of honey drops handy," Ahan said. "He likes to suck on them while standing guard."

"Go fetch him, then!"

Ahan turned, then hesitated. "Am I done escorting Emmis, then?"

"Yes, yes. At least for now."

Ahan bowed slightly, then marched out.

"Who's Zhol?" Emmis asked.

"One of the guards at the door," Ildirin replied. "I hope candy will do; the creature may insist on liquid honey. We shall see."

"I hope so," Lar said. "I must say, I don't like this. The idea that there is an invisible creature lurking here, waiting to kill me, is... is...

gharget. Shalbet. I don't know the Ethsharitic."

"I'm sure it must be, whatever those words mean," Lord Ildirin said.

"Still, it could be far worse. You know it's here, and you have the opportunity to stop it, and once stopped, it's over. If your foes had hired a warlock, you would already be dead. Had they been willing to pay their wizard more, and had they the means to ensure you triggered it, they might have used the Rune of the Implacable Stalker, in which case the creature would never give up so long as you lived. I am sure there are other more lethal spells of which I am unaware, as well. And if they had approached a demonologist – well, the options there are plentiful, and all of them quite hideous."

"You are not comforting," Lar said.

"But really, my friend, that you are still alive now bodes well,"

Ildirin insisted.

"It's still not comforting," Lar retorted. "What if the creature is to kill me when I finish my tea? What if sunset is the time? The shadows I see through the window are getting very long." He looked at his cup, and carefully set it down on the table with half an inch of liquid still undrunk in the bottom. "And even if we stop this one – I hadn't expected them to try again! I don't understand why they think they must kill me. Paying a wizard – the next time maybe it will be a demonologist!"

"There won't be a 'next time,'" Ildirin said. "At least, not unless they're very quick about it. Because this is a violation of Ethsharitic law, and an affront to the overlord. I had treated the previous attack as an amusement, something I could use to entertain myself, but that was because I had not thought they would try again, and certainly not that they would use magic. Now I know better. They have escalated to magic; we shall return the favor, and we have access to far more powerful magic than anything a few travelers from the Small Kingdoms are likely to possess, or to be able to purchase. If we can deal with this immediate threat, the next step will be to call upon Ethshar's magicians to find and capture those responsible. If they meant to prevent an alliance between the Empire of Vond and the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, they have utterly failed in their purpose; I will be informing my nephew at the first opportunity that it is essential we aid your empire in any way we can."

"Thank you, my lord," Lar said, visibly somewhat relieved – but only somewhat.

After all, Emmis thought, the invisible creature, Fendel's Assassin, was still around. "So you can bribe it to go away, and not harm the ambassador?" he asked.

"No," Ildirin said. "I'm afraid that's not possible. The original spell binds it more strongly than anything we can do. But we can coax it into telling us what it's required to do, and perhaps we can find a way to prevent it."

"Perhaps?" Lar said, tensing again.

"Perhaps, yes. There's no certainty to be had here, your Excellency. We will do what we can."

"But... but..." Lar struggled to find the words to express his dismay, and failed.

Then Ahan reappeared in the doorway, holding out a handful of golden lumps. "My lord?"

"Ah, Ahan!" Lord Ildirin said. "Hold those out, just as you have them, but be ready to close your fist instantly."

Ahan obeyed, looking about nervously.

"Now, creature of magic, wizard's weapon, if you hear me – speak, answer our questions, and you shall have the honey!"

"Honey!" a strange voice said, a low, slow, hissing, rumbling voice unlike anything Emmis had ever heard before. He still could not see the creature, but the voice seemed to be coming from directly behind Lar. The ambassador started in his chair at the sound of it, and whirled around, peering desperately about.

He saw nothing.

"Tell us, then, what your instructions were," Ildirin calmly demanded.

"Find him, wring his neck as he sleeps." A horrible noise that might have been a tittering laugh followed these words. Emmis's skin crawled.

"Nothing more than that? Not, perhaps, as he sleeps in his bed?"

"Wring his neck as he sleeps. Nothing more. Honey?"

Lord Ildirin did not look entirely satisfied, but he nodded to Ahan.

"Give him the honey," he said. "Quickly."

The guardsman hurried forward, holding out the candies, then stopped in front of Lar's chair, unsure exactly what he should do next.

The creature answered that for him, as about half the honey drops vanished from his palm, rising a fraction of an inch and then fading into nothingness with a ghastly slurping and crunching; Ahan snatched his hand away, spilling the rest to the floor, and Emmis thought he saw blood on the guard's fingers.

The candies rattled and bounced on the floor, and then something unseen shoved Ahan aside, Lar's chair jerked the other way, and the honey drops vanished, one by one, from where they had fallen. Each disappearance was followed by an obscene sucking sound.

Ahan made a wordless noise of pain and unhappiness as he clutched at his hand; Emmis could definitely see blood seeping between the fingers now.

"Impatient, isn't it?" Ildirin remarked. "Ahan, go see to your hand, and we'll want to have a healer look at it, very soon, to make sure the thing's claws weren't poisoned."

Lar was twisted in his chair, looking around; it seemed to Emmis he was having a great deal of difficulty with the idea that the monster was really completely invisible.

"What about the ambassador?" Emmis asked. "I mean, yes, I'm concerned about Ahan's hand, but it's my employer the thing intends to kill!"

"Well, he doesn't need to worry about a thing so long as he stays awake," Ildirin said. "It has orders to kill him in his sleep. So as long as he's awake, it won't hurt him."

"It hurt Ahan," Emmis pointed out.

"Only by accident," Ildirin said. "It had earned its pay, and we weren't fast enough in delivering it."

"I was...!" Ahan began, then stopped, obviously deciding it wasn't worth the argument.

"Go tend to your hand," Ildirin told him again.

"There's clean water in the kitchen," Lar said. "Some of it should still be warm from making the tea."

"Thank you," Ahan said, and turned. He walked unsteadily out of the room.

"Maybe I should go with him," Emmis said uncertainly.

"He's a grown man," Ildirin said. "And a strong one with a good wit. He can manage, I'm sure."

"But if it's poisoned..."

"Yes." Ildirin tugged at his beard, then leaned back in his chair.

"Creature, we gave you honey," he called at the ceiling. "Is your touch poisonous?"

"Sharp, oh so very sharp, but not poison," the hideous voice said. "A hand will heal cleanly." After a moment's pause, it added, "More honey?"

"Alas, we have no more," Ildirin said. "Thank you, though, for your cooperation."

"No honey?"

"No honey."

"Wring his neck as he sleeps." It tittered horribly.

Lar shuddered.

"I wouldn't think you'll find it easy to sleep any time soon," Ildirin remarked.

"But I must sleep eventually!" Lar shouted, his voice cracking.

A thought popped into Emmis's head, but he caught himself before speaking aloud. The creature was listening, after all.

"So we'll have to find a way to send this thing away before you do,"

Ildirin said.

Emmis could not restrain himself further. "What if he dies first?" he asked.

Both older men turned to stare at him.

"What?" Lar said.

"What if you die before you go to sleep?"

"I hardly see how that would be an improvement," Lord Ildirin remarked dryly.

"Creature, what would happen if the ambassador died without going to sleep?" Emmis asked the air.

"More honey?"

"I don't have any, but I can fetch some by tomorrow noon," Emmis said.

"You swear? Honey, for me, by noon?"

Emmis was uncomfortably aware of how many things might go wrong, how many ways he might be prevented from abiding by his promise, what horrible things the creature might do if he failed to deliver, but he said, "Yes, I swear. My oath on it."

"Then I tell you, one cannot kill the dead. When he is dead, whether by my hand or not, I am free," the monster's voice said. "Honey, by noon."

"Emmis, what are you doing?" Lar demanded. "What are you talking about?"

Emmis ignored him for the moment, and addressed the overlord's uncle.

"Lord Ildirin, you said you had powerful magic available. Magic that can turn a man to stone?" He carefully did not add, "And back?"

Lord Ildirin stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

Lar, uncomprehending, looked back and forth between them.

Chapter Nineteen

Ithinia of the Isle, senior Guildmaster in Ethshar of the Spices, was startled by the knock at her window. She looked up to see a gargoyle's familiar face beyond the glass, peering in at her upside-down. "Fang?" she said. "What is it?" She rose and opened the casement, letting the lamplight from her study illuminate the creature's carved gray features. It was hanging down over the eaves, dangling from the roof.

"You have visitors," the gargoyle said, in a voice like stone grating on stone. "Half a dozen of them are standing in the street, outside your door."

"At this hour?"

"Three of them are soldiers."

Ithinia frowned. "Was the overlord there? Or anyone in wizard's robes?"

"No, mistress."

"I haven't heard the bell."

"They did not ring. I saw them standing there arguing, and I thought you should know."

"Thank you, Fang. Return to your post, now."

"Yes, mistress." The stony creature turned and pulled itself up into the darkness, on its way back to its perch on the southeastern corner of the roof.

Ithinia set aside the letter she had been reading, straightened her robe, and strode out into the corridor – and then the bell did ring. Whoever was at the front door had finally gotten up the nerve to announce themselves.

She swept down the front stairs, wishing that she had some sort of spell ready to make her entrance a little more impressive, but she hadn't been expecting anyone and hadn't prepared anything. She waved and spoke a certain word, and the front doors swung open.

As the gargoyle had said, there were half a dozen people standing on her little porch, all of them male – three guardsmen, two strangers, and one familiar face.

"Lord Ildirin," she said, as she reached the entry. "What brings you to my door at this hour?"

"Oh, it's not so late as all that, Guildmaster," the old man said.

"We've come directly from our supper to ask your aid."

"I hadn't thought it was a social call," Ithinia said tartly. "Would you care to come in, and introduce your companions?" She stepped aside, and gestured for them to enter.

"Before I do, Guildmaster, might I ask how many you see in our company?"

Ithinia stopped and looked the little group over carefully. "I take it

'six' is not the correct answer?"

"While I cannot be entirely certain, I believe there is a seventh,"

Ildirin said. "Are there protective spells on your home that would prevent Fendel's Assassin from entering?"

"There aren't any such spells anywhere," Ithinia snapped. "Not any practical ones, anyway. Do you mean you have one of those things with you? Who is its target?"

"I am," the stranger in the fancy hat said.

"I trust you have put your affairs in order?"

"No," the man said. "I hope it won't be necessary." He spoke with the accent of the southern Small Kingdoms.

"I take it that's why you've come to see me? You've wasted your time; there's no sure defense against Fendel's Assassin, no simple countercharm."

"He thinks he has a way to stop it," Lord Ildirin said, nodding at the other stranger, a young man in ordinary Ethsharitic clothing.

"Does he? What method was it told to use? I assume you've determined that."

"It's been ordered to strangle him in his sleep," Ildirin said.

"And I suppose you want a potion to keep him from sleeping? Really, Lord Ildirin, you hardly needed to trouble me for that – and in any case, it won't work, not for long; most wakefulness potions wear off after a sixnight or so.

"My dear Ithinia, I am not so great a fool as that," Ildirin said, drawing himself up to his full height. "We came here because we need powerful magic quickly, and did not want to waste time asking around the Wizards'

Quarter until we found someone capable of it, not when your home was so close at hand. There are also certain political matters that I wish to discuss with you, in your role as a leading representative of the Wizards' Guild in Ethshar of the Spices, once my friend's inconvenience has been dealt with."

Ithinia had to admit to herself that that sounded interesting. "And what is this magic you seek, then?"

"Petrifaction. We want you to turn Lar Samber's son to stone."

The wizard considered that, and a smile spread across her face. "I see," she said. "That's quite clever, really." She nodded at the young man in acknowledgment. "I take it that Bazil's Irreversible Petrifaction is out of the question, though, and you'd insist on Fendel's Superior Petrifaction?"

"In what way is it superior?" Ildirin asked.

"It's easily reversible," Ithinia explained.

"Yes, that would indeed be what we had in mind."

"The ingredients are simple, and I believe I have them all on hand, but it takes perhaps three hours to prepare," she said. "And the reversal will require me to smash a crystal goblet, so of course I must insist on compensation."

"Of course! The city's treasuries will cover all costs."

Ithinia stared at him for a moment, then looked at the foreigner. "Who is this person, then? Lar someone, you said?"

"Lar Samber's son," Lar said, with a bow and a tip of his hat.

"Ambassador plenipotentiary from the Empire of Vond."

Ithinia frowned. "Vond?"

"The union of seventeen of the most southerly Small Kingdoms, my lady,"

Lar said.

"My title is Guildmaster," Ithinia told him. "And I know where Vond is, and how it came to be."

Lar bowed a silent reply.

"I'm not sure I should be preventing his assassination," Ithinia said.

"The Wizards' Guild does not meddle in politics without good reason."

"Oh, but please, Guildmaster!" the young man burst out, startling her.

"Lar doesn't mean anyone any harm; it's all a misunderstanding! The Lumethans wouldn't try to kill him if they knew the truth!"

Ithinia turned and stared at him. "Oh? And why don't they know the truth, then?"

"Because they won't believe it," Lar said; Ithinia thought he was deliberately not looking at the young man as he spoke. "We told them we mean them no harm. We told them the Empire will not expand. They don't believe us."

"I really don't care whether they have reason to assassinate him or not," Lord Ildirin interjected. "I won't have them doing it here, in my city!"

"Ah," Ithinia said, amused. "Your city. Does your nephew know it's yours?"

"May we come in and discuss this, or are you going to refuse us outright, here and now, and cause me great personal annoyance?"

"Fine. Come in, then," she said, stepping aside and gesturing toward her little-used parlor.

Four of the six men trailed in – Ildirin first, then Lar, then the young man whose name she had not yet heard, and finally one of the three guardsmen. The other two soldiers took up posts on either side of the door, facing out toward the street.

Ithinia waited until the others had entered, then looked at the two remaining. "You don't need to stay there," she said.

"Lord Ildirin's orders, Guildmaster," one of them replied.

"Look up," she said, pointing. "I have gargoyles watching over me; what do you think you can do that they cannot?"

"Nothing, Guildmaster, but I have my orders."

Ithinia shook her head. "Foolishness," she said. "This is all foolishness." She closed the door and followed her guests into the parlor.

All the men but the young one had all taken seats; Ithinia indicated a chair for him, as well, but remained standing herself.

"Now," she said, "let me make sure I have this right. You want me to turn this Vondishman to stone to protect him from Fendel's Assassin. You've spoken with the killer?"

The men exchanged glances; the young man, who was now perched on the edge of a chair, said, "That's right. Ahan gave it honey drops, and it answered questions."

"Honey drops?" She blinked. "Interesting; I thought it required the pure substance. Honey drops contain other things, do they not? Or are they merely cooked-down honey?"

The men exchanged glances. "I... I don't know, Guildmaster," the young one said.

Ithinia nodded. She should have expected that; most people didn't pay attention to ingredients the way wizards did. "And it said. . . ?"

"It said it was going to wring Lar's neck while he slept, but that if he was dead, it wouldn't bother."

"And you think it will see petrifaction as death."

The young man suddenly looked very uncertain. "Isn't it?"

"I think we would all agree that Bazil's Petrifaction is fatal, but Fendel's is reversible, which is generally not considered a characteristic of death."

The look of dismay on the faces of both the young man and the Vondish ambassador was almost comical.

"That doesn't mean your scheme won't work," she quickly reassured them.

"The assassin will undoubtedly have its own standards – isn't that right?" She addressed this last to empty air.

Nothing answered. Lar looked around the room warily.

"It said it wouldn't answer any more questions without more honey," the young man volunteered after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I've already promised to give it more by noon tomorrow. I swore."

Ithinia turned to consider him more carefully. "It agreed to that?"

"Yes," the man said. "You wouldn't happen to have any honey I could give it, would you?"

"You should send one of those soldiers you have wasting their time outside my door to fetch some, I would say."

"Oh. I thought that... well, isn't it used in some spells?"

"What's your name, young man?"

"Emmis of Shiphaven, Guildmaster."

"Well, Emmis, I do indeed have honey in my possession, but why should I give it to you?"

Emmis glanced at Lord Ildirin, then turned back to Ithinia. "To save time?"

"Your time, not mine. I am not interested in giving you the idea that you can make yourself at home here, or impose on me at your convenience. You will have to find your own honey elsewhere."

Before anyone could reply Ithinia thought she heard a faint growl. She remembered suddenly that the conjured assassin was almost certainly in the room, listening; it apparently didn't like being told it had to wait for its treat.

But it was constrained by the enchantment, she knew; it couldn't act of its own choice outside very narrow limits. Until it had carried out its assigned task it couldn't deliberately harm anyone else unless they got directly in the way of its attack on its intended target, and once its task was performed it would be banished back to whatever other realm it had come from – or perhaps to nonexistence; no one had ever bothered to determine whether the thing had any independent reality outside Fendel's spell.

For a moment she considered getting out a jar of honey and asking the assassin a few questions of her own, but this was clearly not the time or place.

"So, my lord," she said, turning to Ildirin, "you want me to petrify this man, and see whether that's enough to protect him from Fendel's Assassin.

And you said you had other concerns?"

"Yes. I want his would-be killers found and apprehended. I want to know why they think it's acceptable to murder people here in Ethshar. I'm sure you have magic capable of that."

"I'm sure I do. What I am not sure of is why you expect me to use it in your behalf. You know the Guild does not meddle in politics."

"I know the Guild only meddles in politics when it suits you to do so,"

Ildirin retorted. "I remember well how the Guild meddled in my brother's handling of the Council of Warlocks some twenty-odd years ago. I came to you, rather than going to the Wizards' Quarter, in part because you were closer, and in part because I know you are an exceptionally powerful wizard and could almost certainly do everything I ask, but most of all, because this is political, and I suspect you have the authority to act where lesser wizards would not, and can meddle without worrying about being punished by your superiors in the Guild."

"If you think I have no superiors, you're sadly mistaken," Ithinia retorted. "However, I am indeed granted considerable discretion. Explain to me, then, why it is in the Guild's interest to keep this Vondishman alive."

"As a start, to maintain the overlord's goodwill," Ildirin said.

"Remember that this assassin was sent by a wizard, so one of your Guild members is already meddling in politics, presumably for pay. You would merely be countering that meddling. We are not asking you to guard the ambassador from mere human assassins, but only from one provided by one of your fellow magicians."

"You could buy a protective spell in the Wizards' Quarter. You wouldn't need to tell anyone why."

"And is there a protective spell that works against Fendel's Assassin?"

Ithinia smiled wryly. "I prefer not to answer that; the Guild sometimes finds Fendel's Assassin useful."

"Well, then! There's your benefit to the Guild – do you think we couldn't coax an answer out of another wizard if we offered enough money?"

Ithinia's smile broadened. "I remember now why I like you, my lord.

Very well, I'll petrify your friend, for an appropriate fee, and when the assassin is gone I will restore him to life. Anything beyond that will wait; I'll have time to think while I perform the spell, and you'll have time to marshal your arguments."

"Thank you, Guildmaster," Ildirin said, nodding in lieu of a bow.

"You are welcome to wait here," she said. "I assume you all know better than to go anywhere in a wizard's home uninvited, but this room and the entry hall will be safe enough. If you prefer to leave my home, feel free, but be certain you have returned no more than two and a half hours from now – if the Vondishman is not here, the spell will be wasted. I'll make sure the door allows you back in."

"Thank you, Guildmaster," Ildirin repeated.

Ithinia nodded in reply, then turned and swept out of the parlor.

She paused just out of sight, though, rather than proceeding directly to her workshop, and listened.

She did not really know whether the assassin was in fact present, or for that matter, whether anyone had actually sent it after the Vondishman at all. Lord Ildirin was not above attempting some sort of complicated deception, and of course the others might have somehow fooled Ildirin. She would want to check a few things before working Fendel's Superior Petrifaction.

She wished she had more servants around – not human ones, but magical –

so that she could set them to spy on her guests, but at present the only ones she maintained were her four gargoyles. Little Kirna came in to help during the day, but she had gone home to her aunt well before these men showed up, and an eleven-year-old human girl might not make an ideal spy in any case.

So Ithinia stood in the hallway, listening.

"My lord?" she heard Emmis ask. "May I send one of the guards to buy honey?"

"You would prefer sending my guard to making the purchase yourself?"

Ildirin's voice replied.

"I think that I should stay near Lar, my lord. We don't want to confuse or anger the creature, and it has business with both of us now."

"That's reasonable," the Vondishman said. "And who would trouble us here, in a wizard's home?"

"Good points all around," Ildirin agreed. "Very well, then, you may go ask one of the guards to buy honey."

"I could go," said a deep voice Ithinia had not heard before. She assumed it was the guardsman; she would not expect the assassin to sound so human.

"I want you here," Ildirin said. "Emmis, send Zhol – he probably wants to replace the candies he gave us, in any case. If he questions your authority, send him to me."

"Yes, my lord." Ithinia heard the rustle of Emmis rising from his chair, and started retreating down the hallway; it would not do to be seen eavesdropping. She stepped through the workshop door, then turned for a final glance.

Emmis had emerged from the parlor, but he had not gone directly to the front door; instead he was peering down the hallway, obviously looking for her.

That was interesting. Ithinia opened the workshop door and stepped back into the hallway. She beckoned to the young man.

Emmis glanced over his shoulder into the parlor, then hurried down the hall toward the wizard.

"Guildmaster," he whispered.

"Yes?"

"There's something I'd really like to talk to you about. In private."

"Oh? And this is more urgent than saving your friend from Fendel's Assassin, or keeping your own oath to the killer?"

Emmis glanced nervously toward the parlor. "Maybe not," he admitted.

"Could we talk later, then?"

Intrigued, Ithinia nodded. "I think that can be arranged," she said.

"But right now, you have honey to buy, and I have a spell to perform."

"Thank you, Guildmaster." Emmis bowed deeply, then turned and hurried toward the door.

Ithinia watched him go, and realized that she had no idea who the young man was, or why Lord Ildirin had brought him along. He was clearly involved in all this somehow, as his vow to provide the assassin with honey demonstrated, but just what was his role here? Was he working for Lord Ildirin? Had he been one of the would-be assassins who had changed sides?

Well, she had promised to speak with him later, and her questions could wait until then. Right now she had Fendel's Superior Petrifaction to prepare, and that was a very enjoyable spell, with plenty of energy involved, but no nasty smells or especially ugly manifestations. Like any high-order spell it was dangerous – old Berakon had snapped off a couple of his own fingers when he fouled the Petrifaction up, many years ago – but it would be fun, all the same. What was life without a little risk?

And she really wasn't sure whether it would work to deter the assassin, or not. She would want to use a very hard stone, just in case the assassin tried to wring the Vondishman's stone neck; the usual recipe might only produce sandstone, which would not be safe. Granite would be good, or perhaps basalt...

She closed the workshop door behind her.

Chapter Twenty

Emmis glanced uneasily out the parlor window. How long did it take to buy a jar of honey? Zhol had been gone for hours, surely. Even Lar and Lord Ildirin had apparently run out of things to say; in fact, Lord Ildirin appeared to have dozed off in his chair, though Emmis would not put it past the old scoundrel to be faking.

Lar, of course, was still wide awake, with Ahan keeping a close watch to make sure he stayed that way.

A sound from the hallway brought Lar, Ahan, and Emmis alert; Ildirin slept on, untroubled. Emmis rose and peered around the doorframe.

The front door was still closed; he turned the other way to see Ithinia approaching, a crystal goblet in one hand and her wizard's dagger in the other.

The wizard spotted Emmis. "Is the ambassador ready?" she demanded.

"Yes, I think so," Emmis replied, glancing over his shoulder at Lar.

The Vondishman was rising from his seat.

"I'd prefer he not be sitting when I do this; I'm not sure how much he'll weigh, and I don't want him to break my chair."

"I'll tell him," Emmis said, turning.

"I heard," Lar said. "Ahan, would you please wake Lord Ildirin?"

Emmis stepped aside and let Ithinia pass by him into the parlor; as he did, he glanced at the front door.

What had happened to Zhol and his honey? If the petrifaction spell was ready, then it must have been almost three hours since the guardsman headed off toward Cut Street Market, and it couldn't be more than a dozen blocks away!

But right now, he wanted to see the spell. He had never seen anyone turned to stone before. There were statues here and there around the city that were rumored to have been alive once, the work of a magician rather than a sculptor, but Emmis had no idea whether any of those stories were true, and he certainly hadn't observed any of the transformations.

And he wanted to see what Fendel's Assassin did. He wanted to be there to help if something went wrong.

So he turned away from the door and followed Ithinia into the parlor.

Lord Ildirin was blinking in his chair, still a bit fuddled; Ahan was standing beside him with his bandaged hand on the hilt of his sword. Emmis would have thought the truncheon would be more appropriate, as Ozya, the guard on Games Street, had explained, but Ahan seemed to think otherwise. Perhaps Lord Ildirin's special guards followed different rules.

Lar was standing in front of his chair, looking pale – the long wait, the knowledge that the invisible assassin was after him and probably in that very room, the prospect of being petrified even temporarily, obviously had the Vondishman scared. Still, he stood straight and unflinching, facing the wizard. He had left his hat on a small table, though; he was probably worried that the plume would shatter if turned to stone, Emmis thought.

Then he grimaced at his own foolishness. The man had taken the hat off hours ago, not long after they first arrived, because there was no reason to wear it in Ithinia's parlor. Worries about the plume had nothing to do with it.

Guildmaster Ithinia was standing facing the ambassador; her fine white robe had acquired gray smudges here and there, especially on the lower part of each sleeve, but still looked quite elegant. She stood as tall as Lar, Emmis noticed – tall for a woman.

In her right hand she held a dagger, point down – an old dagger, the blade darkened with age, the edges shaped into odd, subtle curves by countless sharpenings, the leather grip visibly worn and shaped by use to fit Ithinia's hand. The dagger had been elegant once, if not extravagant, after a fashion Emmis had seen occasionally in family heirlooms at least a century or two old.

This knife had clearly been around for a long time, and seen heavy use; Emmis wondered if it was a legacy from some beloved ancestor, or whether its age gave it special potency.

In her left hand was a crystal goblet that held perhaps half a cup of something brownish. The goblet was of good quality, but appeared new and unremarkable; Emmis knew he could find a hundred like it in the Old Merchants'

Quarter.

"Are you ready, Lar Samber's son?" the Guildmaster asked, in a loud, carrying voice.

Lar swallowed. "I am," he said.

"Then let us see what Fendel's Assassin makes of this!" She swung her arms together, the left dropping below, the right rising above, and plunged the dagger into the goblet.

The instant the tip of the blade touched the brown liquid Lar straightened up as if stung. His pale face turned unnaturally gray – not the gray of terror or ill health, but the gray of stone. His hair followed a split second later, and then his clothing, and then Lar was gone, transformed into a lifeless statue.

The transition was soundless, and for a moment the room was silent as Emmis, Ithinia, and Ildirin all stared at the petrified foreigner.

Then Ithinia pulled the dagger out of the goblet. She turned and set the crystal vessel down, very carefully, on a table, then pulled a cloth from her sleeve and wiped her dagger clean. She looked around the room.

"Is he... Is the creature still here?" Emmis asked.

"Yes," Ithinia said. She held up the dagger, and Emmis could see that the tip was glowing faintly blue, as if catching blue light from some unseen source.

"Why?"

"Did you give it the honey you swore you would?"

"No, not yet."

"Perhaps it wants its honey, then," Ithinia said. "Or perhaps it doesn't think he's dead."

"But – but he's stone!"

"Granite, to be exact." She eyed the statue thoughtfully. "But he's not really dead, and I'd guess the killer knows it."

"Well, it does now," Lord Ildirin said, annoyed. "You just told it!"

"Oh, it never believes anything a human says about such matters,"

Ithinia said, unconcerned. "That's to prevent anyone from tricking it, from talking their way out of assassination. It has its own standards."

"But he's stone!" Emmis protested. "It must just be waiting for the honey I promised it."

Ithinia shook her head. "Let me try something," she said. She reached into a pocket of her robe and brought out something Emmis couldn't see, pinched between thumb and forefinger. She stepped up to the statue that had been the Vondish ambassador.

Emmis wanted to shout at her to get away, lest she break it, but he knew that was absurd. She was a wizard – not just a wizard, a Guildmaster, whatever exactly that meant. She surely knew what she was doing.

And Lar was stone now, anyway – what could hurt him?

Ithinia flung the pinch of whatever it was into the statue's motionless face and said something, words that not only weren't Ethsharitic, but didn't sound as if they should be coming from a human throat at all. She gestured, an odd twisting motion that ended with her fingers spread wide, palm up, then said one final alien word.

Again, silence fell, as everyone stared at the statue.

Then they all heard, very clearly, the sound of claws scraping on stone.

The scratching continued for what seemed to Emmis like an eternity; he stared at the statue's throat, watching worriedly for a mark on the hard gray stone.

He had thought the creature would consider Lar to be dead, but obviously that hadn't happened. It hadn't even thought he was sleeping, but now it did, now that Ithinia had done whatever it was she had done, and in accord with its instructions the monster was trying to wring Lar's neck.

Just one attempt, Lord Ildirin had said – but how determined an attempt? Would the thing keep trying until it did gouge the stone? What would that do when Lar was restored to life?

Then at last the scratching stopped, and Emmis let out his breath. He hadn't realized he had been holding it.

"There," Ithinia said. "It's done." She held up her dagger again, and frowned.

The tip was still glowing blue.

"It wants the honey Emmis promised it," Ildirin said.

"So it appears," Ithinia agreed. "That's inconvenient. I don't think it would be wise to turn Lar back to flesh while the assassin is around.

Ordinarily it would only try to kill him once, but ordinarily it would vanish if that first try failed."

"What if it succeeded?" Emmis asked.

"Oh, then it would report back to the wizard who summoned it. Then it would vanish."

"How can you tell whether it's vanished?" Ildirin asked. "It's invisible!"

"There are ways," Ithinia said, gesturing with her dagger. "I'm not the only one who knows simple detection spells. Fendel's Assassin has been in use for centuries, and there's been plenty of opportunity to experiment with it, and learn just how it does and doesn't work."

"Then why hasn't anyone ever tried petrifaction before?" Ildirin demanded. "Emmis is a clever lad, but surely there have been other clever people involved in all that experimentation!"

"Of course there have," Ithinia retorted. "Someone may have tried Fendel's Superior Petrifaction before, and I just hadn't heard of it. Or it may be that the particular combination of circumstances we have here has never arisen when someone clever was around, or it may be that the victims found equally clever and more effective ways to deal with the killer. As I said, there are no certain defenses against Fendel's Assassin, but there are a dozen ways around it if the wizard casting the spell hasn't been careful in his instructions. The Cloak of Ethereality, for example, would probably be more useful than petrifaction under most circumstances."

Emmis turned to stare at the wizard. "Then why didn't you use that?" he said.

"You didn't ask," Ithinia said. "Lord Ildirin wanted me to use Fendel's Superior Petrifaction, so I used Fendel's Superior Petrifaction." She turned up an empty left palm. "Besides, there would be difficulties with the Cloak of Ethereality in this case; the circumstances are not quite the usual situation.

And just for my own curiosity, I wanted to see whether the Petrifaction would work – which, as you saw, it didn't, until I also cast a simple sleep spell, Felshen's First Hypnotic. You should be glad that the assassin wasn't told to smash in your friend's head with a sledgehammer – I doubt even granite would hold up to that. And you might want to thank me for taking the trouble to use granite – white marble is the standard stone for this spell, and it's not clear whether that would have survived. Sandstone is even easier, and the Vondishman's head would not still be attached if I had used that."

Emmis swallowed. "Thank you, Guildmaster," he said.

"Now, I would suggest you give the thing its honey. Didn't you send one of the guards to get some?"

"He hasn't come back yet," Emmis said.

Ithinia was obviously surprised by that. "Where did you send him?

Southgate?"

"Cut Street Market," Emmis told her.

"Cut Street?" She shook her head. "They close early this time of year, and I'm not sure you'd find honey there in any case. Southmarket or Westgate would be better, if you insist on a proper market, or if you want somewhere closer, one of the shops in Allston or the Merchants' Quarters."

"Oh," Emmis said. "I didn't know."

"Apparently Zhol didn't, either," Ildirin remarked.

"Or something happened to him," Emmis said.

Ildirin cocked his head. "Zhol is one of my guards; he's carrying a sword and a club and knows how to use them both. What would happen to him on the public streets?"

"I don't know," Emmis said. "But he hasn't come back, and it's been hours."

"Perhaps he came across some matter that required his attention," Lord Ildirin said. "A disturbance he felt it necessary to deal with, for example."

Emmis glanced at Ahan. "Would he do that, though? I mean, would he intervene, instead of going on with his errand?"

"He's a human being, and a guardsman; who knows?" Ildirin said, showing an empty palm.

Emmis looked uneasily at his petrified employer. "Guildmaster," he said, "are you sure you can't spare me any of your own honey, so that we can get on with this business?"

"Quite sure," she said. "I checked my supplies; I have scarcely a spoonful remaining, as it happens. In fact, I would appreciate it if you could buy a jar for me, as well."

"Oh," Emmis said.

"There's a wizards' supplier named Tanna on Ginger Street, in Spicetown, who carries a dozen varieties of honey," Ithinia said. "She's expensive, of course, but if you need honey made from a particular flower, or by a particular strain of bee, or whatever, she's the best source."

"I just need ordinary honey, don't I?" Emmis said. "I'll try the Old Merchants' Quarter. It's a bit closer."

"As you please."

"I would suggest you leave immediately," Ildirin said. "Before everyone's in bed."

"Now?" Emmis stared at him. "But everyone is probably already in bed! I was thinking it could wait until morning – I do have until noon..."

"I do not want your petrified friend cluttering up my parlor all night," Ithinia said.

"And I'd like a chance to speak to the Guildmaster in private," Lord Ildirin said. "If all else fails, there are all-night sweet shops in Camptown, for the whores and soldiers, and you could buy a bag of honey drops."

"Oh." Emmis looked from Ildirin to Ithinia and back; neither face seemed welcoming. "All right, then, I'll go."

"Hurry back with the honey," the wizard said.

"Zhol might be back any minute."

"Or he might not," Ithinia said. "Go."

"Can't you find him, with your magic?" Emmis asked.

"That's a good question," Ithinia said. "I may find out while you're gone."

Emmis sighed. "Yes, Guildmaster."

A moment later he stepped out the front door onto Lower Street, and shivered – the night air was chilly, and a sharp breeze was blowing from the east. Emmis thought he could smell the peculiar and distinctive odor of the Old City on the wind.

The remaining guard on the door, a man called Shakoph, gave him a worried look. "What's going on in there?" he asked.

"The spell worked," Emmis said, "but we need that honey to make the creature go away."

"Zhol isn't back yet," Shakoph said. "I don't know why."

"I know," Emmis said. "And we'll worry about that once we're done with the ambassador's assassin, but right now I need to go find honey somewhere."

Shakoph looked along the empty street, and up at the overcast night sky. "Good luck with that," he said.

"Thank you," Emmis said. He turned west, and headed toward the Old Merchants' Quarter at a brisk trot.

He had gone about a block, just past the intersection with Old East Avenue, when he heard voices behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Someone was talking to the guard at Ithinia's door, a man in a nondescript dark tunic; it was hard to see details in the faint, patchy light that came from the windows and lampposts.

It wasn't Zhol, Emmis saw – just some passerby, probably curious about what a guardsman was doing there. Nothing to do with Emmis or Lord Ildirin or the ambassador, surely. Emmis turned west again.

He had gone another five blocks and turned the corner onto Merchant Street when he heard the footsteps behind him. He paused, and looked around.

Merchant Street was lit by well-spaced torches, much as Arena Street was on the other side of the New City, but it was largely deserted at this hour – Emmis thought it must be almost midnight, and most merchants and their customers were long since abed. A cart creaked faintly in the distance, down toward the Palace and the Grand Canal, and far up the slope to the south he could hear a woman's laughter, probably coming from an open window somewhere.

And in the shadows of Lower Street, where he had just come from, he could see a tall, thin figure carrying a walking stick. Emmis frowned.

Then the figure stepped out into the torchlight of Merchant Street, and Emmis got a good look at him – tall, thin, curly hair, pointed beard...

"You!" he said, backing away.

"Me," the man with the sword-stick said, raising his weapon.

Chapter Twenty-One

"You cost us a good job," the would-be assassin said, approaching Emmis warily and keeping the exposed blade of his stick pointed at Emmis's heart.

"We could have lived half a year on what that Lumethan madman was paying!"

Emmis tried to think what he could do. Charging the man here in the open street, the way he had in the entryway of the house on Through Street, wouldn't work; there was plenty of room for him to dodge, and he would be charging directly onto the point of that sword-stick.

He could turn and run, yelling; he might be able to outrun the man, and shouting might rouse someone to his aid. His attacker was tall, though, and those long legs might mean speed. Emmis had eluded him before, but the circumstances had been rather different.

Still, flight seemed like the best choice – but then he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see a man in a brown tunic emerging from Coronet Street, a man who held a dagger in each hand.

The other assassin. He was trapped between them.

Emmis drew his belt-knife; at the very least he didn't intend to make this easy for them. He turned his back to the wall of the nearest shop, glancing quickly back and forth between his two foes.

The tall one with the stick was moving in quickly, blade raised to strike; Emmis readied his own knife to attempt a parry.

And then the stick suddenly snapped in two, and the attacker stopped in mid-lunge in an utterly unnatural fashion. The piece of stick with the blade went spinning harmlessly aside, and the handle was ripped from its owner's grasp.

"Honey!" a hideous voice growled. "He has promised honey! No harm must come to him until he has kept his vow!"

The tall man staggered back, stunned; on the other side the man in the brown tunic said, "Magic!" and turned to run.

Emmis hesitated for only an instant, then stepped forward and grabbed the disarmed man's tunic with one hand, while his other held his belt-knife to the man's throat. Behind him, he heard running footsteps fading as the other man fled.

"Keep your hands well away," Emmis snapped, pressing his blade hard enough to indent his foe's skin, but not to draw blood. "Don't try anything –

and if your friend doubles back, you're a dead man."

"All right," the tall man said. "All right!"

"The thing that broke your stick is called Fendel's Assassin," Emmis growled, pushing his face up close to his attacker's. "It's still here, watching and listening, and it can rip a man's head off with its claws."

"I believe you!" He clapped a hand to his face, and Emmis noticed for the first time that he had a fresh gash on his cheek, half-hidden by his beard. The creature's claws must have slashed him there.

Emmis shuddered. "Now, who are you, and why did you attack me?" he demanded.

"Kelder of Newgate – I swear, my name's really Kelder. Some foreigner was in the Hundred-Foot Field looking for someone who could kill this Vondish ambassador, and Tithi and I, we've been trying to make a name as bonebreakers, so we volunteered for the job, but then you turned up instead of the target and stirred up the neighbors and we ran for it before the guards showed their faces."

"So why are you here?"

"You cost us a job! The foreigner in the robe wouldn't pay us, or give us another chance – he even tried to demand the earnest money back, said he'd hire a wizard instead, that magic was more reliable than a pair like us. We've got our reputation to think of; we had to kill you and the Vondishman, and anyone else who got in the way, or no one would ever take us seriously again.

So Tithi followed you to Lower Street, then fetched me, and we were trying to pick you all off one by one. We followed that guard to see what he was up to and then ambushed him on his way back, and then you came out next and we..."

Emmis suddenly felt sick. "What guard?"

"The one who was at the door earlier."

"You mean Zhol?"

"How would I know his name? He was a guardsman. Breastplate, red kilt –

he had a sword as well as his club, but he didn't have time to draw it, I got him in the throat from behind while Tithi had him distracted."

"You killed a guardsman?"

"I told you, we were trying to make a name for ourselves!"

The sick shock Emmis had felt at the news of Zhol's murder was turning to fury. "Oh, there's a name for people who kill guards, all right! The name is idiot! You kill a guardsman, you've made ten thousand sworn enemies who won't rest until they see you hanged!" He pressed his knife harder, and drew a thin line of blood. "Where'd you leave him? You're sure he's dead?"

The man's terrified expression suddenly changed, and the hand that had been held to his cheek suddenly dropped to Emmis's wrist; the other hand, which Emmis had stopped watching, came up in a fist and slammed into his belly.

Kelder, if that was really his name, was strong for someone so thin, but six years working on the docks had made Emmis strong by any standard; the punch to the gut hurt, but he did not double over, and the grip on his wrist was not enough to loosen his hold on his belt-knife. He pulled with his left hand and pushed with his right, trying to force the blade into the man's neck.

But then something else moved. As Kelder drew his fist back for another blow, his arm twisted unnaturally to the side, and Emmis heard bone snap.

Kelder gasped in agony.

"No harm must come to him until he has kept his vow!" the creature's voice repeated.

Kelder let out a sob of pain and rage and tried to step back, but Emmis was still clutching his tunic. He released his hold on Emmis's wrist.

"Please," he said.

"Where is he?" Emmis hissed, still holding his knife to the other man's throat.

"What's going on here?" a new voice demanded. Emmis turned his head –

not far enough to take his eyes entirely off Kelder, but enough to see who was speaking.

It was a guardsman, not one he recognized, in the familiar red kilt and gray breastplate; he had his truncheon in hand. He carried no sword, but a small tin lantern hung from his belt, the mark of a night watchman.

It wasn't lit, though – Merchant Street had enough torches that it wasn't needed.

"This man says he killed a guard," Emmis said. "I'm trying to get him to lead me to the body."

"What's wrong with his arm?" the guardsman said, eyeing the pair warily.

"I broke it," Emmis said.

"He didn't break it!" Kelder said. "His invisible monster did!"

Emmis glared. "Does that matter? Guardsman, he says he killed one of Lord Ildirin's elite guards, a man named Zhol, and I want him to lead me to the body. Zhol may not be dead; he might need help!"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Kelder announced. "This man attacked me!"

Emmis sighed. Kelder's instinct for self-preservation had obviously kicked in, and he had realized that if he admitted to killing Zhol he would indeed be hanged.

"He slashed my cheek and broke my arm and held a knife to my throat!"

Kelder embellished.

"Guardsman, he attacked me," Emmis said. "And I'll be happy to accompany you to a magistrate and let him and his hired magicians sort it out."

"I don't have time for that," Kelder insisted. "I'm a respectable citizen of Ethshar, and this ruffian broke my arm! I need a witch!"

"A witch can tell who's telling the truth," Emmis suggested.

For a moment Kelder's expression slipped from pain and righteous anger to guilty terror; then he caught himself. "I'm sure," he said. "But right now I need someone to set my bones, or heal my arm. Perhaps a warlock or a wizard would do?"

"What was that about an invisible monster?" the guardsman asked.

"It's called Fendel's Assassin," Emmis said. "It's a long story, and Zhol might be lying somewhere bleeding to death."

"This Zhol's a guardsman?"

It finally registered with Emmis that this particular guardsman was not exactly quick-witted, or at any rate would never qualify for Lord Ildirin's escort. "Yes," he said, "and this man knows where he is." He turned to Kelder.

"And he had really better tell us now where Zhol is, or I'll tell the invisible monster to break his other arm."

Kelder looked worried, but did not reply immediately, so Emmis added,

"I think the monster would also like to know that Zhol had the honey I had promised it."

"Honey?"

The guardsman started at the inhuman voice that came from empty air.

Then Kelder was torn from Emmis's grasp and dragged upright until his toes barely touched the ground. "Tell!" the creature said.

"Aggkh!" Kelder said.

"Perhaps you should lower him so he can talk," Emmis suggested.

The guardsman frowned at Emmis. "You're a warlock?"

"No," Emmis said, exasperated. "I'm not any sort of magician, but I did promise this thing the honey that Zhol was carrying. Now, where is he?"

"Alley!" Kelder said, as the grip on his throat loosened. "Alley near Southmarket!"

"Lead the way," Emmis said, sheathing his belt-knife.

"Wait a minute..." the guardsman began.

"We don't have a minute!" Emmis shouted. "Zhol could be bleeding to death!"

Kelder suddenly crumpled to the ground as the creature released him.

"Lead," that ghastly voice said.

"Lead," the guardsman agreed. "Come on, you." He prodded Kelder with his truncheon.

Kelder screamed as his broken arm folded under him; Emmis started back, but the guardsman reached down and grabbed the fallen assassin by the shoulder and hauled him upright. "Which way?" he demanded.

Kelder whimpered, and pointed.

The three men – and presumably the invisible monster, though Emmis couldn't be sure of that – made their way through the late-night streets, with the guardsman supporting the reluctant Kelder, who directed them down Merchant Street to Cut Street Market.

They saw a few people as they walked, but always at a distance; the few who noticed the three men generally took one look at the guardsman hauling a captive and decided they would rather be somewhere else.

The market, when they reached it, was deserted and dark – hardly surprising, as Emmis estimated it must be about midnight by now.

"He came here first," Kelder explained, "but of course everything was closed, so he went down Embroidery Street. Listen, I really think..."

"Shut up," Emmis told him.

This, he realized, was not at all the most direct route to Southmarket, or presumably to where Zhol was; instead they were retracing the route that the guardsman had taken, with the pair of would-be killers following him. He didn't bother to protest, though – having gone as far out of their way as Cut Street Market, the route from here was probably about as direct as one could get in Ethshar.

As they marched south on Embroidery, and then turned east on Carriage Street, Emmis kept urging the other two to go faster. "It's his arm that's broken, not his leg," he pointed out.

"I'm in pain!" Kelder protested.

"So is Zhol, if he's still alive."

"I don't think he is," Kelder said, with a wary glance at the guardsman's face.

Emmis glared at him. "You better hope Zhol is still alive," he said.

"It's the only way you'll escape the noose."

Kelder looked unconvinced; he clearly thought he and his partner had killed Zhol. Emmis still held out some hope, though; the pair were obviously not very good at their job, or much of anything else so far as Emmis could see, so they might well have misjudged how effectively they had dealt with Lord Ildirin's guard.

When Carriage Street dead-ended in a T intersection in a neighborhood Emmis had never seen before they turned south again for a block, then east, then south on what Emmis thought might be an unfamiliar stretch of West Avenue, which curved down the slope to Southmarket.

"Shouldn't we have my arm tended to first?" Kelder whined.

"No," Emmis said. "Would you rather worry about your arm, or your neck?"

Kelder just whimpered in reply.

Emmis wondered whether Kelder was really suffering as much as he appeared; he knew the man was a liar, but surely he had the sense to see that his best chance of survival was finding Zhol alive, and would understand that dawdling was counter-productive.

Or was it, from Kelder's point of view? Perhaps he was hoping someone would intervene on his behalf – his partner Tithi, for example.

Or the Lumethans. Emmis frowned, and started looking around more carefully at the alleys and rooftops. Tithi probably didn't have the nerve to attack two grown men, even if he didn't think the invisible monster was still around, but he might have had the nerve to find the Lumethans and ask for their help.

Hagai was a theurgist, and the other two might be magicians, as well, for all Emmis knew. They might be a real problem if they did come to Kelder's assistance.

Southmarket, when they finally reached it, was as dark and almost as empty as Cut Street Market had been; a few stalls stood along the sides, but all were securely closed up for the night, with heavy bars and sturdy shutters guarding whatever might be inside. There were parts of the city that stayed bright and active all night, but they were in Camptown or Westgate, not here in the respectable neighborhoods of Southmarket and Freshwater.

"This way," Kelder said, pointing east.

Emmis began to wonder if the scoundrel was really leading them to Zhol at all. Perhaps this was all a diversion of some sort? Were Tithi and the Lumethans and an assortment of hired thugs besieging Ithinia's house even now, trying to kill the ambassador?

No, that was absurd, Emmis told himself. No one would attack the home of a powerful wizard – well, no one but an equally powerful magician, and Emmis doubted that any of the Lumethans qualified. When he had met them at the Crooked Candle they simply hadn't had the air of authority, of power, that high-order magicians always seemed to have.

But even so, he wondered what was happening back on Lower Street. Was Lar still a stone statue in Ithinia's parlor? Were Ildirin and Ahan and Shakoph worried about Zhol and himself? What had Ildirin wanted to discuss with the Guildmaster?

Kelder had led them out of the market and up Circus Street – Emmis remembered it from a long-ago day when he and his sisters had met up with a friend's cousins in Freshwater, then cut through Southmarket on the way to a performance at the Arena, the eight of them laughing and teasing one another.

It looked very different by night, but he still recognized it.

But then they turned north onto... Canal Avenue, was it? Emmis wasn't sure.