Unclean (12 page)

“You don’t know that they’re taking us where they live,” the adolescent retorted, “because they haven’t said. I’ve had other masters, and they weren’t so close-mouthed. I’m scared we’re going somewhere horrible.”

“I’m sure that isn’t so.” In reality, of course, Tammith had no way of being certain of any such thing, but it seemed the right thing to say. “Let’s not allow our imaginings to get the best of us. Let’s play another game.”

Yuldra sighed. “All right.”

The next phase of their journey began soon after, when they finally left the northernmost reaches of Lake Thaylambar behind, and rolling plains opened before them. To Tammith’s surprise, the procession then left the road where, though she

eventually spotted signs that others had passed this way before them, there was no actual trail of any sort.

Nor did there appear to be anything ahead but rolling grassland, and beyond that, visible as a blurry line on the horizon, High Thay, the mountainous tharch that jutted upward from the central plateau as it in turn rose abruptly from the lowlands. From what she understood, many a Red Wizard maintained a private citadel ot estate among the peaks, no doubt with hordes of slaves to do his bidding, but her sense of geography, hazy though it was, suggested the procession wasn’t heading there. If it was, the warlocks had taken about the most circuitous route imaginable.

Suddenly three slaves burst from among their fellows and ran, scattering as they fled. Tammith’s immediate reflexive thought was that, unlike Yuldra and herself, the trio had figured out where they all were going.

Unfortunately, they had no hope of escaping that fate. The Red Wizards could have stopped them easily with spells, but they didn’t bother. Like their masters, some of the guatds were mounted, and they pounded after the fugitives. One warrior flung a net as deftly as any fisherman she’d ever watched plying his trade in the waters off Bezantur, and a fugitive fell tangled in the mesh. Anothet guard reached out and down with his lance, slipped it between a thrall’s legs, and tripped him. A third horseman leaned out of the saddle, snatched a handful of his target’s streaming, bouncing mane of hair and simply jerked the runaway off his feet.

Once the guards herded the fugitives back to the procession, every slave had to suffer his masters’ displeasure. The overseers screamed and spat in their faces, slapped, cuffed, and shoved them, and threatened savage punishments for all if anyone else misbehaved. Yuldra broke down sobbing the moment a warrior approached her. The Red Wizards looked vexed and impatient with the delay the exercise in discipline required.

The abuse was still in progress when Tammith caught sight of a horseman galloping steadily nearer. His wheat-blond hair gleamed dully in the late afternoon sunlight, and something about the set of his shoulders and the way he carried himself—

Yes! Perhaps she shouldn’t jump to conclusions when he was still so far away, but in her heart she knew. It was Bareris, after she’d abandoned all hope of ever seeing him again.

She wanted to cry his name, run to meet him, until she realized, with a cold and sudden certainty, that what she really ought to do was warn him off.

Outside in the streets of Eltabbar, the celebration had an edge to it. The mob was happy enough to gobble free food, guzzle free ale and wine, and watch the parades, dancers, mummers, displays of transmutation, and other forms of entertainment, all of it provided to celebrate the election of Samas Kul to the office of zulkit. Yet Aoth had felt the underlying displeasure and dismay at the tidings that in the east, a Thayan army had met defeat, and in consequence, undead marauders were laying waste to the countryside. He suspected the festival would erupt into rioting after nightfall.

Still, he would rather have been outside in the gathering storm than tramping at Nymia Focar’s side through the immense basalt ziggurat called the Flaming Brazier, reputedly the largest temple of Kossuth the Firelord in all the world. That was because it was entirely possible that the potentate who’d summoned the tharchion had done so with the intention of placing the blame for the recent debacle in Pyarados. Since she, the commander who’d lost to the undead, was the obvious candidate, perhaps she’d dragged Aoth along to be scapegoat in her place.

Maybe, he thought, he even deserved it. If only he’d spotted the lacedons—

He scowled the thought away. He hadn’t been the only scout in the air, and nobody else had seen the creatures either. Nor could you justly condemn anyone for failing to anticipate an event that had never happened before.

Not that justice was a concept that automatically sprang to mind where zulkirs and Red Wizards were concerned.

Aoth and his superior strode in dour silence through yellow and orange high-ceilinged chambers lit by countless devotional fires. The heat of the flames became oppressive, and the wizard evoked the magic of a tattoo to cool himself. Nymia lacked the ability to do the same, and perspiration gleamed on her upper lip.

Eventually they arrived at high double doors adorned with a scene inlaid in jewels and precious metals: Kossuth, spiked chain in hand, smiting his great enemy Istishia, King of the Water Elementals. A pair of warrior monks stood guard at the sides of the portal and swung the leaves open to permit the new arrivals to enter the room beyond.

It was a chamber plainly intended for discussion and disputation, though it too had its whispering altar flames glinting on golden icons. Seated around a table in the center of the room was a more imposing gathering of dignitaries than Aoth had ever seen before even at a distance, let alone close up. Let alone taking any notice of his own humble existence. In fact, four of the five were zulkirs.

Gaunt, dark-eyed Szass Tam, his withered fingers folded, looked calm and composed.

Yaphyll, zulkir of Divination and by all accounts the lich’s most reliable ally, was a slender woman, somewhat short for a Mulan, with, rather to Aoth’s surprise, a humorous, impish cast of expression manifest even on this grave occasion. She looked

just a little older than he was, thirty or so, but she had actually held her office since before he was born with magic maintaining her youth.

In contrast, Lallara, zulkir of Abjuration, though still seemingly hale and vital, evidently disdained the cosmetic measures which might have kept time from etching lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth and softening the flesh beneath her chin. Scowling, she toyed with one of her several rings, twisting it around and around her forefinger.

Astonishingly obese, his begemmed robes the gaudiest and plainly the costliest of the all the princely raiment on display, Samas Kul likewise appeared restless. Perhaps he disliked being called away from the celebration of his rise to a zulkir’s preeminence, or maybe the newly minted mage-lord was worried he wouldn’t make a good impression here at the onset of his new responsibilities and so lose the respect of his peers.

Rounding out the assembly was Iphegor Nath. Few indeed were the folk who could treat with zulkirs on anything even approximating an equal footing, but the High Flamelord, primate of Kossuth’s church, was one of them. Craggy and burly, he wore bright orange vestments, the predominant hue close enough to forbidden red that no man of humbler rank would have dared to put it on. His eyes were orange as well, with a fiery light inside them, and from moment to moment tiny flames crawled on his shoulders, arms, and shaven scalp without burning his garments or blistering his skin. His air of sardonic composure was a match for Szass Tarn’s.

Nymia and Aoth dropped to their knees and lowered their gazes.

“Rise,” said Szass Tam, “and seat yourselves at the table.”

“Is that necessary?” Lallara rapped. “I’m not pleased with the tharchion, and her lieutenant doesn’t even wear red. By the looks of him, he isn’t even Mulan.”

“It will make it easier for us all to converse,” the lich replied, “and if we see fit to punish them later, I doubt that the fact that we allowed them to sit down first will dilute the effect.” His black eyes shifted back to Nymia and Aoth, and he waved a shriveled hand at two vacant chairs. “Please.”

Aoth didn’t want to sit or do anything else that might elicit Lallara’s displeasure, but neither, of course, could he disobey Szass Tam. Feeling trapped, he pulled the chair out and winced inwardly when the legs grated on the floor.

“Now, then,” said Szass Tam, “with the gracious permission of His Omniscience”—he inclined his head to Iphegor Nath—”I called you all here to address the situation in Tharchion Focar’s dominions. It’s serious, or so I’ve been given to understand.”

“Yet evidently not serious enough,” the High Flamelord drawled, “to warrant an assembly of all eight zulkirs. To some, it might even appear that you, Your Omnipotence, wanted to meet here in the temple instead of your own citadel to avoid the notice of those you chose to exclude.”

Yaphyll smiled a mischievous smile. “Perhaps it was purely out of respect for you, Your Omniscience. We came to you rather than put you to the inconvenience of coming to us.”

Iphegor snorted. Blue flame oozed from his hand onto the tabletop, and he squashed it out with a fingertip before it could char the finish.

“You’te correct, of course,” Szass Tam told the priest. “Regrettably, we zulkirs fall into two camps, divided by our differing perspectives on trade and other issues, and of late, our squabbles have grown particularly contentious, perhaps even to the point of assassination. That makes it slow going to accomplish anything when we all attempt to work together, and since this particular problem is urgent, I thought a more efficient approach was tequired.”

“Besides which,” Iphegor said, “if you resolve the problem

without involving your peers, you’ll reap all the benefits of success. The nobles and such will be that much more inclined to give their support to you in preference to Aznar Thrul’s cabal.”

“Just so,” said Samas Kul in a plummy, unctuous voice. “You’ve demonstrated you’re a shrewd man, Your Omniscience, not that any of us ever imagined otherwise. The question is, if we score a hit in the game we’re playing with our rivals, will that trouble or displease you?”

“It might,” the primate said. “By convening here in the Flaming Brazier and including me among your company, you’ve made me your collaborator. Now it’s possible I’ll have to contend with the rancor of your opponents.”

“Yet you agreed to meet with us,” Lallara said.

Iphegor shrugged. “I was curious, I hoped something would come of it to benefit the faith, and I too understand that Pyarados needs immediate attention.”

“Masters!” Nymia said. All eyes shifted to her, and she faltered as if abruptly doubting the wisdom of speaking unbidden, but now that she’d started, she had no choice but to continue. “With all respect, you speak as if Pyarados is lost, and that isn’t so. The undead seized one minor fortress and won one additional battle.”

“With the result,” snapped Lallara, “that they’re now devastating your tharch and could easily range farther west to trouble the entire plateau.”

“The ghouls have overrun a few farms,” Nymia insisted, the sweat on her face gleaming in the firelight. “I still hold Pyarados,”—Aoth realized she was referring specifically to the capital city of her province—”and I’ve sent to Tharchion Daramos for assistance. He’s bringing fresh troops from Thazalhar.”

Yaphyll smiled. “Milsantos Daramos is a fine soldier, a winning soldier, and Thazalhar is too small and sparsely populated for a proper tharch. I wonder if it might not be a good idea to

merge it and Pyarados into a single territory and give the old fellow authority over both.”

Nymia blanched. “I beg you for one more chance—”

Szass Tam silenced her by holding up his hand. “Let’s not rush ahead of ourselves. I’d like to hear a full account of the events in the east before we decide what to do about them.”

“Aoth Fezim,” Nymia said, “is the only man to survive the fall of Thazar Keep. For that reason, I brought him to tell the first part of the story.”

Aoth related it as best he could, without trying to inflate his own valor or importance. He made sure, though, that the others understood he’d fled only when the castellan had otdered it and not out of cowardice.

Then Nymia told of the battle at the west end of the pass, justifying her defeat as best she could. That involved explaining that forms of undead had appeared whose existence Aoth had not reported and that neither he nor the other scouts had noticed the creatures swimming beneath the surface of the river. The griffon rider wasn’t sure if she was actually implying that he was responsible for everything that had gone wrong or if it was simply his trepidation that made it seem that way.

When she finished, Szass Tam studied Aoth’s face. “Do you have anything to add to your commander’s account?” he asked.

Partly out of pride, partly because he was all but certain it would only move the zulkirs to scorn, Aoth resisted the urge to offer excuses. “No, Your Omnipotence. That’s the way it happened.”

The lich nodded. “Well, obviously, victorious soldiers inspire more trust than defeated ones, yet I wouldn’t call either of you incompetent, and I don’t see a benefit to replacing you with warriors who lack experience fighting this particular incursion. I’m inclined to keep you in your positions for the time being at least, provided, of course, that everyone else is in accord.” He glanced about at the other zulkirs.

As Aoth expected, none of the others took exception to their faction leader’s opinion, though Lallara’s assent had a sullen quality to it. Rumor had it that, willful, erratic, and unpredictable, she was less firmly of the lich’s party than the faithful Yaphyll and was something of a creative artist in the field of torture as well. Perhaps she’d been looking forward to inflicting some ingeniously gruesome chastisement on Nymia, her subordinate, or both.

“Now that I’ve heard Tharchion Focar’s report,” Iphegor said, “I understand what’s happening but not why. I’d appreciate it if someone could enlighten me on that point.” He turned his smoldering gaze on Yaphyll. “Perhaps you, Your Omnipotence, possess some useful insights.”