Reave the Just and Other Tales (52 page)

I had felled one threat. So much was good. Yet there was another. I discovered him easily now. His attire resembled that of a retainer—a scrivener such as Tep Jacard, perhaps, or an estatesman—but he could not be other than a theurgist, for my
demystification
swirled about him, marking him beyond mistake, and the curious position of his hands was identical to Bandonire’s.

Unlike Bandonire, however, he had been forewarned.

Fool that I was, I had not considered this danger. My gaze met his past the consternation of the gathering, and I saw at once that his own hostility was directed at me rather than at my usurper. He may have known who I was, despite the stranger’s impenetrable glamour. Or he may have intended my hurt simply because I had impeded the designs of his master, and had thereby declared myself his enemy.

He was a theurgist in Sher Abener’s service, whatever his disguise—trained to his arts, and to the support of necromancy. And I was nothing more than a sun-beaten merchant, too parched and foot-worn and hungry to retain my sanity. Nevertheless I had come too far to falter now.

Stooping to Bandonire’s stunned form, I snatched the amulet from his neck, the pouch from his belt. These objects I raised in one hand as though I understood their uses. In the other, I flourished Sher Vacompt’s cane. Impelled more by lunacy than by any reasonable purpose, I strode the parquet toward my foe.

Apparently, he had not expected my advance—or my acquisition of Bandonire’s periapts. At once, his wrath became concern. Alarm twisted his features. Before I had taken three steps, he began to retreat, turning his head as he did so to howl through the heedless hubbub, “Rowel!
Scut!
Aid me!”

Then his hand swept from his pouch to perform a flinging gesture. He might have pitched a stone at my head, although I saw nothing.

Instead the air before me—indeed, the very hall—seemed to ripple and waver as though the calm surface of a pool had been disturbed. Immediately the air itself, or my opponent’s arts, struck the center of my chest so heavily that the breath was driven from my lungs, and I lurched backward, blundering to the side as I staggered.

By chance, or by the theurgist’s intent, I stumbled toward the drapes which covered the entry where I had last seen Sher Abener’s ruffians.

They surged past the hanging before I could right myself. Still unable to breathe, I saw the fear and fury in their faces, the bloodshed ready on their blades. Clearly my attempt to bring about their capture had gone astray. The pikemen I had sent must have forgotten my warning as well as my existence. Or they had been ensnared and distracted by the mood imposed on the hall. The assassins would have time to gut and fillet me before any guard drew near enough to intervene.

In an airless frenzy, I swung Sher Vacompt’s cane. Fortuitously, my efforts to recover my balance had the effect of increasing the force of my blow. The cane landed across Rowel’s shoulder, causing him to stumble in his turn, away from me.

Toward the stranger—and the dais.

Witlessly obedient, Scut veered to follow.

Thus my life was spared.

Defending himself against me, Sher Abener’s theurgist had necessarily loosed his hold upon the assembly. In consequence, the
mood for blood
had disappeared like quenched flame. When an instant later armed miscreants appeared, bearing their blades toward the Thal, his pikemen were able to respond. They may have understood nothing else, but they understood this. Without hesitation, they wheeled from the supposed Sher Urmeny to ward their sovereign.

By the time I had urged a thin breath into my stunned chest, Rowel and Scut had been stretched supine upon the parquet, disarmed and unconscious.

During the scuffle, Sher Abener’s theurgist fled the hall, no doubt hastening to apprise his master of what had occurred.

Around me, my fellow citizens stared at the ruffians, and at each other, in astonishment and shock, disturbed by the proximity of keen-edged harm—as well as by the intensity of their brief passion for bloodshed. They hardly spoke, although a Sharna or two and several Teppin panted and moaned, preparing to faint at an appropriate moment. If they had not been so shaken, the gathering might have wondered what had inspired Rowel and Scut’s attack, or why Bandonire lay sprawled in their midst, or indeed why I wielded Sher Vacompt’s cane as a bludgeon. As matters stood, however, they required a moment in which to regain their wits before they could become hysterical.

I might cheerfully have indulged in hysteria myself, but could not afford the energy. I was exhausted to the heart. And my sense of urgency did not abate, although the immediate crisis had passed.

Sher Abener would receive warning. And he would know where to direct his enmity.

Trembling between difficult respirations, I dropped Sher Vacompt’s cane, thrust Bandonire’s pouch and amulet into my blouse, and turned to determine my usurper’s condition.

Throughout the contest for his life, he had lifted no finger in his own defense. Although he had been bloodied and battered, he remained standing, motionless and inviolate, as though such trivial details as his own peril and my efforts to save him could not trouble his essential calm. Released now, he did not deign to wipe his face. Instead, he folded his arms upon his chest and confronted the Thal once more as though the true contest lay between them, still unresolved.

Borne down by the weight of the stranger’s regard, our sovereign sank slowly to his knees, apparently poised to weep. The nature of his apprehension had been transformed. He had more now to dread than Sher Abener’s displeasure alone. He had cause to fear himself. Perhaps more to the point, he had cause to distrust the people assembled before him. If they could be so easily swayed against one of their own number, how readily would they abandon their fealty to their lord?

Kneeling, he raised his fists. I thought that he might beat his breast, but he contented himself with shaking his arms in a gesture of distress.

“I am undone,” he wailed piteously. “We are all ruined.”

“How so?” inquired my usurper. No one else had the wit to speak.

“You have offended Sher Abener.”

The Thal’s tone was thick with abjection. Whatever dignity he had once possessed was gone. Poor man. I felt an odd moment of kinship with him, as though we had shared a bereavement.

“Do you not understand?” he continued. “He is a
necromancer
. His power is great and fatal. Already he has shown me arts which my theurgists can neither counter nor inhibit. And he has hinted at atrocities which chill my soul.” The Thal shuddered extravagantly. “He instructed me to ‘deal with you.’ If I do not, he will perform—”

Our sovereign flinched into silence.

The stranger remained unimpressed. “Threats do not excuse injustice,” he pronounced without mercy. “If they chill you, you must oppose them. No other response can save you. When you bow to them, their demands increase.”

Then he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “You need fear nothing, however.” He appeared to dismiss the Thal from his consideration. “There is a debt I must repay. I will confront this necromancer.”

Calmly, he left his place before the dais. Despite his injuries, he strode with confidence through the assembly. No one hindered his passage. Neither the pikemen nor the Thal himself remarked on the fact that this Sher Urmeny had not been granted leave to depart.

At last, I saw my chance. The Thal and I appeared to be the only men in the hall who grasped the extremity of Benedic’s peril. Before my usurper could avoid me, I accosted him directly.

“Stop this,” I demanded past cracked and burning lips. My hands clutched at the front of his shirt. “Stop now.

“Are you entirely mad? Did you comprehend nothing that happened here? Sher Abener is a necromancer. He treats with the dead. And he is not alone. He is served by theurgists and assassins, as well as by horrors—” My raw throat closed on the memory of Tep Longeur. Ignoring the dismayed stares of the gathering, I strove to turn the stranger aside from my fate. “He
possesses
those who do not choose to serve him, and compels them to his will. My own overseer drove me from my villa in Sher Abener’s name—”

There I faltered. I found that I could not withstand my usurper’s searching gaze. I saw no disdain in his eyes. Indeed, his expression suggested anger at Tep Longeur’s fate more than contempt for me. Yet I felt profoundly disdained. Of their own volition, my frail fists dropped from his shirt. Although we were of similar height, he appeared to tower over me—too strong, and too certain of his purpose, to be impeded by a weary, thirst-maddened, compliant weakling like myself.

With an effort, I concluded, “You must flee. Restore my name to me, and flee while you can.”

I already knew, however, that my appeal would be rebuffed. This man could not be swayed by such paltry considerations as pain, death, and abomination.

Several of the pikemen had drawn near as I spoke. “Sher Urmeny,” one of them asked the stranger solicitously, “does this fellow disturb you?”

Some glamour had transformed my usurper from an object of animosity to a favored guest.

“Not at all,” he replied without a glance at the guards. “Your concern is misplaced. He will attend me to my villa.

“Come,” he commanded me. Without awaiting a reply, he departed the hall.

Unable to imagine what else I might do, I stumbled after him. Certainly, I had no wish to remain where I was. The men and women around me had begun to recover themselves. They shook their heads, fanned their brows, shuffled their feet, muttered softly. Soon some of them would question what had transpired, while others swooned. Inevitably, a few would take note of my rude appearance. They might conclude that I was another like Rowel and Scut, scruffy and murderous.

Hobbling, I followed my feigned self.

One thing I had accomplished. Despite his stated intent to confront Sher Abener, he meant first to visit my villa. He would not be safe there—not while Tep Longeur remained possessed—but he would be safer than in the necromancer’s manor. And if he contrived to break Sher Abener’s grasp on the overseer’s soul, Tep Longeur might provide him with more assistance than I could manage. Indeed, Tep Longeur might be of more use to him than all the Thal’s pikemen together, for at need he could muster a large company of caravaneers—travel-toughened men with hard eyes and harder fists—men who met peril, ambush, and disaster with resourcefulness and strength rather than with accession.

If he freed Tep Longeur, the stranger might then find it possible to act effectively against my enemy.

As I pursued him from the Thal’s mansion, I permitted myself these optimistic musings, although I might have guessed that they were purest folly. In truth, he baffled me. Clearly he was a figure of some power. I knew of no theurgist potent enough to assume so entirely another’s name and place. And the glamour with which he had bereft me of my identity had to some extent protected me as well. I would have been rendered helpless hours ago if men who gazed upon me with hostility had not been induced to forget my existence so promptly. Yet in the hall of wisdom—as in the spate of the Ibendwey—he had lifted neither hand nor power for his own protection.

I had no cause for optimism. The plain fact was that I did not understand anything the stranger had done. If I told myself that he now meant to free Tep Longeur, I did so only because I wished devoutly to believe it, not because his actions had made the notion credible.

He spoke bravely. I could not forget the clarion conviction with which he had announced,
It is the place of every honest citizen to name injustice whenever it occurs, and to reject it honestly
.

In other respects, however, he was a complete lunatic.

No one interrupted us as we ascended in sharp midafternoon sunlight to the wall encircling the mansion and passed through the gate. At every step, I watched apprehensively for ruffians and malice, but none was manifest. The guards regarded us with some confusion, but offered neither inquiry nor opposition. Soon we were out upon the locust-shrouded avenues of Benedic, where I had walked with pleasure throughout my life until this day.

There the danger of assault presumably increased. Beyond question, Sher Abener could more easily send harm against us now. Nevertheless my trepidation receded. To some extent, I was comforted by the familiarity of the municipality. And I was distracted from fear by a refreshed awareness of my road-torn feet, cooked flesh, and parched throat. With all my heart, I desired to spare my bleeding soles further abuse.

Yet I was sure that if I halted or paused, the stranger would leave me behind. Judging by the forthright certainty of his steps, he did not need my guidance to find my villa. His uncanny gifts apparently spared him the indignity of wandering astray or losing his road.

More because I wished to slow his pace than because I felt any urge to hear him speak, I called out, “Sher Urmeny.” In a mood to match his madness with my own, I granted him my name. When he turned his head, I continued, “Sher Urmeny, what will you do? Are you acquainted with necromancy? How will you unbind my overseer from Sher Abener’s possession?”

For a moment, he did not reply. Instead he considered me with a penetrating frown, then returned his gaze to the avenue ahead of him. As though to taunt me, he lengthened his strides. Nevertheless I heard him distinctly.

“You do not yet grasp the nature of the debt I mean to repay.”

Alarmed by this obscure utterance, I endeavored to hasten after him. I could not, however. My feet and limbs would not bear me more swiftly.

On the roadsides, villas and manors spread their walls and lawns as though in welcome, yet Benedic seemed strangely deserted. We met no one upon the avenue, saw no one in the distance. Even the street-sweepers and day laborers had withdrawn. The rumor of Sher Abener’s enmity must have carried ahead of us, traveling with the speed of lightning, the force of thunder. Without apparent exception, the populace had retreated to safety.

I might have done the same, if I could. By mastering Tep Longeur, however, the necromancer had also taken possession of my home. I owned no sanctuary where I might hide myself until the crisis had passed.