Enchanters' End Game

  Brador’s shoulders, however, had slumped in defeat. ‘No, your Highness,’ he replied in a voice filled with resignation, ‘not really. The royal house of Sendaria has me quite outnumbered, it appears.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps another time,’ he murmured, bowing. ‘With your Highness’s permission,’ he said, preparing to leave.

  ‘You mustn’t forget this, Count Brador,’ Layla said, pressing the parchment into his cringing hands.

  The count’s face had a faintly martyred expression as he withdrew. Queen Layla turned back to her children, who were grinning impishly at her. She began to scold them in a loud voice until she was certain the count was well out of earshot, then she knelt, embraced them all and began to laugh.

  ‘Did we do it right, Mother?’ Princess Gelda asked.

  ‘You were absolutely perfect,’ Queen Layla replied, still laughing.

  Sadi the eunuch had grown careless, lulled somewhat by the air of polite civility that had pervaded the palace at Sthiss Tor for the past year, and one of his associates, seizing upon his unwariness, had taken the opportunity to poison him. Sadi definitely did not appreciate being poisoned. The antidotes all tasted vile, and the after-effects left him weak and light-headed. Thus it was that he viewed the appearance of the mail-shirted emissary of King Taur Urgas with thinly veiled irritation.

  ‘Taur Urgas, King of the Murgos, greets Sadi, chief servant of Immortal Salmissra,’ the Murgo declaimed with a deep bow as he entered the cool, dimly lighted study from which Sadi conducted most of the nation’s affairs.

  ‘The servant of the Serpent Queen returns the greetings of the right arm of the Dragon-God of Angarak.’ Sadi mouthed the formula phrases almost indifferently. ‘Do you suppose we could get to the point? I’m feeling a bit indisposed at the moment.’

  ‘I was very pleased at your recovery,’ the ambassador lied, his scarred face carefully expressionless. ‘Has the poisoner been apprehended yet?’ He drew up a chair and sat down at the polished table Sadi used for a desk.

  ‘Naturally,’ Sadi replied, absently rubbing his hand over his shaved scalp.

  ‘And executed?’

  ‘Why would we want to do that? The man’s a professional poisoner. He was only doing his job.’

  The Murgo looked a bit startled.

  ‘We look upon a good poisoner as a national asset,’ Sadi told him. ‘If we start killing them every time they poison somebody, very soon there won’t be any of them left, and you never know when I might want somebody poisoned.’

  The Murgo ambassador shook his head incredulously. ‘You people have an amazing amount of tolerance, Sadi,’ he said in his harshly accented voice. ‘What about his employer?’

  ‘That’s another matter,’ Sadi replied. ‘His employer is currently entertaining the leeches at the bottom of the river. Is your visit official, or did you merely stop by to inquire after my health?’

  ‘A bit of each, Excellency.’

  ‘You Murgos are an economical race,’ Sadi observed dryly. ‘What does Taur Urgas want this time?’

  ‘The Alorns are preparing to invade Mishrak ac Thull, your Excellency.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. What’s that got to do with Nyissa?’

  ‘Nyissans have no reason to be fond of Alorns.’

  ‘Nor any to be fond of Murgos, either,’ Sadi pointed out.

  ‘It was Aloria that invaded Nyissa following the death of the Rivan King,’ the Murgo reminded him, ‘and it was Cthol Murgos that provided the market for Nyissa’s primary export.’

  ‘My dear fellow, please get to the point,’ Sadi said, rubbing his scalp wearily. ‘I’m not going to operate on the basis of long-past insults or long-forgotten favors. The slave trade is no longer significant, and the scars left by the Alorn invasion disappeared centuries ago. What does Taur Urgas want?’

  ‘My king wishes to avoid bloodshed,’ the Murgo stated. ‘The Tolnedran legions form a significant part of the armies massing in Algaria. If a threat – just a threat, mind you – of unfriendly activity suddenly appeared on his unprotected southern frontier, Ran Borune would recall those legions. Their loss would persuade the Alorns to abandon this adventure.’

  ‘You want me to invade Tolnedra?’ Sadi demanded incredulously.

  ‘Naturally not, Lord Sadi. His Majesty merely wishes your permission to move certain forces through your territory to pose the threat on Tolnedra’s southern border. No blood need be shed at all.’

  ‘Except Nyissan blood, once the Murgo army withdraws. The legions would swarm down across the River of the Woods like angry hornets.’

  ‘Taur Urgas would be more than willing to leave garrisons behind to guarantee the integrity of Nyissan territory.’

  ‘I’m sure he would,’ Sadi observed dryly. ‘Advise your king that his proposal is quite unacceptable at this particular time.’

  ‘The King of Cthol Murgos is a powerful man,’ the Murgo said firmly, ‘and he remembers those who thwart him even more keenly than he remembers his friends.’

  ‘Taur Urgas is a madman,’ Sadi told him bluntly. ‘He wants to avoid trouble with the Alorns so that he can concentrate on ‘Zakath. Despite his insanity, however, he’s not so foolish as to send an army into Nyissa uninvited. An army must eat, and Nyissa’s a bad place to forage for food – as history has demonstrated. The most tempting fruit has bitter juice.’

  ‘A Murgo army carries its own food,’ the ambassador replied stiffly.

  ‘Good for them. But where do they plan to find drinking water? I don’t believe we’re getting anywhere with this. I’ll convey your proposal to her Majesty. She, of course, will make the final decision. I suspect, however, that you’ll need to offer something much more attractive than a permanent Murgo occupation to persuade her to consider the matter favorably. Was that all?’

  The Murgo rose to his feet, his scarred face angry. He bowed coldly to Sadi and withdrew without further conversation.

  Sadi thought about it for a while. He could gain a great deal of advantage at a minimal cost if he played this right. A few carefully worded dispatches to King Rhodar in Algaria would put Nyissa among the friends of the west. If Rhodar’s army should happen to win, Nyissa would benefit. If, on the other hand, it appeared that the west was about to lose, the proposal of Taur Urgas could be accepted. In either case, Nyissa would be on the winning side. The whole notion appealed to Sadi enormously. He stood up, his iridescent silk robe rustling, and went to a nearby cabinet. He took out a crystal decanter containing a dark blue liquid and carefully measured some of the thick syrup into a small glass and drank it. Almost immediately a euphoric calm came over him as his favorite drug took effect. A moment or two later, he felt that he was ready to face his queen. He was even smiling as he walked from his study into the dim corridor leading to the throne room.

  As always, Salmissra’s chamber was dimly lighted by oil lamps hanging on long silver chains from the shadowy ceiling. The chorus of eunuchs still knelt adoringly in the queen’s presence, but they no longer sang her praises. Noise of any kind irritated Salmissra now, and it was wise not to irritate her. The Serpent Queen still occupied the divanlike throne beneath the towering statue of Issa. She dozed interminably, stirring her mottled coils with the seething dry hiss of scale rubbing against scale. But even in restless doze, her tongue flickered nervously. Sadi approached the throne, perfunctorily prostrated himself on the polished stone floor, and waited. His scent on the air would announce him to the hooded serpent who was his queen.

  ‘Yes, Sadi?’ she whispered finally, her voice a dusty hiss.

  ‘The Murgos wish an alliance, my Queen,’ Sadi informed her. ‘Taur Urgas wants to threaten the Tolnedrans from the south to force Ran Borune to withdraw his legions from the Thullish border.’

  ‘Interesting,’ she replied indifferently. Her dead eyes bored into him and her coils rustled. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Neutrality costs nothing, Divine Samissra,’ Sadi replied. ‘Alliance with either side would be premature.’
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  Salmissra turned, her mottled hood flaring as she regarded her reflection in the mirror beside her throne. The crown still rested on her head, as polished and glistening as her scales. Her tongue flickered, and her eyes, flat as glass, looked at the mirror. ‘Do what you think best, Sadi,’ she told him in an uncaring tone.

  ‘I’ll deal with the matter, my Queen,’ Sadi said, putting his face to the floor in preparation to leave.’

  ‘I have no need of Torak now,’ she mused, still staring at the mirror. ‘Polgara saw to that.’

  ‘Yes, my Queen,’ Sadi agreed in a neutral voice, beginning to rise.

  She turned to look at him. ‘Stay a while, Sadi. I’m lonely.’

  Sadi sank immediately back to the polished floor.

  ‘I have such strange dreams sometimes, Sadi,’ she hissed. ‘Such very strange dreams. I seem to remember things – things that happened when my blood was warm and I was a woman. Strange thoughts come to me in my dreams, and strange hungers.’ She looked directly at him, her hood flaring again as her pointed face stretched out toward him. ‘Was I really like that, Sadi? It all seems like something seen through smoke.’

  ‘It was a difficult time, my Queen,’ Sadi replied candidly. ‘For all of us.’

  ‘Polgara was right, you know,’ she continued in that expiring whisper. ‘The potions enflamed me. I think it’s better this way – no passions, no hungers, no fears.’ She turned back to her mirror. ‘You may go now, Sadi.’

  He rose and started toward the door.

  ‘Oh, Sadi.’

  ‘Yes, my Queen?’

  ‘If I caused you trouble before, I’m sorry.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘Not very much, of course – but just a little.’ Then she returned to her reflection.

  Sadi was trembling as he closed the door behind him. Sometime later, he sent for Issus. The shabby, one-eyed hireling entered the chief eunuch’s study with a certain hesitancy, and his face was a bit apprehensive.

  ‘Come in, Issus,’ Sadi told him calmly.

  ‘I hope you aren’t holding any grudges, Sadi,’ Issus said nervously, looking about to be sure they were alone. ‘There was nothing personal in it, you know.’

  ‘It’s all right, Issus,’ Sadi assured him. ‘You were only doing what you were paid to do.’

  ‘How did you manage to detect it?’ Issus asked with a certain professional curiosity. ‘Most men are too far gone for the antidote to work before they realize they’ve been poisoned.’

  ‘Your concoction leaves just the faintest aftertaste of lemon,’ Sadi replied. ‘I’ve been trained to recognize it.’

  ‘Ah,’ Issus said. ‘I’ll have to work on that. Otherwise it’s a very good poison.’

  ‘An excellent poison, Issus,’ Sadi agreed. ‘That brings us to the reason I sent for you. There’s a man I think I can dispense with.’

  Issus’ single eye brightened, and he rubbed his hands together. ‘The usual fee?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘The Murgo ambassador.’

  Issus’ face clouded for a moment. ‘He’ll be difficult to get to.’ He scratched at his stubbled scalp.

  ‘You’ll find a way. I have the utmost confidence in you.’

  ‘I’m the best,’ Issus agreed with no trace of false modesty.

  ‘The ambassador’s pressing me in certain negotiations that I need to delay,’ Sadi continued. ‘His sudden demise should interrupt things a bit.’

  ‘You don’t really have to explain, Sadi,’ Issus told him. ‘I don’t need to know why you want him killed.’

  ‘But you do need to know how. For various reasons, I’d like for this to look very natural. Could you arrange for him – and perhaps a few others in his household – to come down with some kind of fever? Something suitably virulent?’

  Issus frowned. ‘That’s tricky. Something like that can get out of hand. You might end up infecting an entire neighborhood, and there would be very few survivors.’

  Sadi shrugged. ‘One sometimes must make sacrifices. Can you do it?’

  Issus nodded gravely.

  ‘Do it then, and I’ll compose a letter expressing my regrets to King Taur Urgas.’

  Queen Silar sat at her loom in the great hall of the Algar Stronghold, humming softly to herself as her fingers passed the shuttle back and forth with a drowsy, clicking sound. Sunlight streamed down from the narrow windows set high up in the wall, filling the huge, narrow room with a diffused golden light. King Cho-Hag and Hettar were away from the Stronghold, preparing a huge encampment some few leagues out from the base of the eastern escarpment for the army of Alorns, Arends, Sendars, and Tolnedrans approaching from the west. Although he was still within the borders of the kingdom, Cho-Hag had formally transferred authority to his wife, extracting a pledge of support from all of the assembled Clan-Chiefs.

  The Queen of Algaria was a silent woman, and her calm face seldom betrayed her emotions. She had spent her entire life in the background, often so unobtrusively that people did not even realize that she was present. She had, however, kept her eyes and her ears open. Her crippled husband, moreover, had confided in her. His quiet, dark-haired queen knew exactly what was going on.

  Elvar, Archpriest of Algaria, stood, white-robed and much puffed-up with his own importance, reading to her the set of carefully prepared proclamations which would effectively transfer all power to him. His tone was condescending as he explained them to her.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked when he had finished.

  ‘It’s really for the best, your Highness,’ he told her loftily. ‘All the world knows that women are unsuited to rule. Shall I send for pen and ink?’

  ‘Not just yet, Elvar,’ she replied calmly, her hands busy at her loom.

  ‘But—’

  ‘You know, I just had the oddest thought,’ she said, looking directly at him. ‘You’re the Archpriest of Belar here in Algaria, but you never go out of the Stronghold. Isn’t that a bit peculiar?’

  ‘My duties, your Highness, compel me—’

  ‘Isn’t your first duty to the people – and to the children of Belar? We’ve been terribly selfish keeping you here when your heart must be yearning to be out among the clans, overseeing the religious instruction of the children.’

  He stared at her, his mouth suddenly agape.

  ‘And all the other priests as well,’ she continued. ‘They all seem to be concentrated here at the Stronghold, pressed into administrative duties. A priest is too valuable a man for such tasks. This situation must be corrected immediately.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, Elvar. My duty as queen is absolutely clear. The children of Algaria must come first. I release you from all your duties here at the Stronghold so that you may return to your chosen vocation.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I’ll even draw up an itinerary for you myself,’ she said brightly. She thought a moment. ‘The times are troubled,’ she added, ‘so perhaps I’d better provide you with an escort – several trustworthy men from my own clan who can be depended upon to make sure that you aren’t interrupted in your travels or distracted from your preaching by any disturbing messages from abroad.’ She looked at him again. ‘That will be all, Elvar. You’d probably better go pack. It will be a number of seasons before you return, I imagine.’

  The Archpriest of Belar was making strangled noises.

  ‘Oh, one other thing.’ The queen carefully chose another skein of yarn and held it up to the sunlight. ‘It’s been years since anyone made a survey of the herds. As long as you’re going to be out there anyway, I think I’d like an accurate count of all the calves and colts in Algaria. It will give you something to occupy your mind. Send me a report from time to time, won’t you?’ She returned to her weaving. ‘You’re dismissed, Elvar,’ she said placidly, not even bothering to look up as the Archpriest, shaking with rage, tottered away to make preparations for his roving imprisonment.

  Lord Morin, High Chamberlain to his Im
perial Majesty, Ran Borune XXIII, sighed as he entered the Emperor’s private garden. Another tirade was undoubtedly in the offing, and Morin had already heard it all a dozen times at least. The Emperor had an extraordinary capacity for repeating himself sometimes.

  Ran Borune, however, was in an odd mood. The bald, beak-nosed little Emperor sat pensively in his chair beneath a shady ardor, listening to the trilling of his canary. ‘He’s never spoken again, did you know that, Morin?’ the Emperor said as his chamberlain approached across the close-clipped grass. ‘Just that one time when Polgara was here.’ He looked at the little golden bird again, his eyes sad. Then he sighed. ‘I think I came out second best in that bargain. Polgara gave me a canary and took Ce’Nedra in exchange.’ He looked around at his sun-drenched garden and the cool marble walls surrounding it. ‘Is it just my imagination, Morin, or does the palace seem sort of cold and empty now?’ He lapsed once more into moody silence, staring with unseeing eyes at a bed of crimson roses.

  Then there was an odd sound, and Lord Morin looked sharply at the Emperor, half afraid that his ruler was about to go into another seizure. But there was no evidence of that. Instead, Morin perceived that Ran Borune was chuckling. ‘Did you see how she tricked me, Morin?’ The Emperor laughed. ‘She deliberately goaded me into that fit. What a son she would have made! She could have been the greatest Emperor in Tolnedra’s history.’ Ran Borune was laughing openly now, his secret delight at Ce’Nedra’s cleverness suddenly emerging.

  ‘She is your daughter after all, your Majesty,’ Lord Morin observed.

  ‘To think that she could raise an army of that size when she’s barely sixteen,’ the Emperor marveled. ‘What a splendid child!’ He seemed quite suddenly to have recovered from the gloomy peevishness that had dogged him since his return to Tol Honeth. His laughter trailed away after several moments, and his bright little eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Those legions she stole from me are likely to become fractious without professional leadership,’ he mused.

  ‘I’d say that’s Ce’Nedra’s problem, your Majesty,’ Morin replied. ‘Or Polgara’s.’