The Conqueror's Shadow (41 page)

But Rheah knew that Jassion would not be put off with platitudes or vague utterances, and he would know for certain if she were lying. And so she told him the truth.

“I don't know, Jassion. I'm sorry, but there's no way for me to know.”

Rheah wanted to weep when the windows behind his eyes snapped closed. “That's too bad,” he said as he began, once more, to pace.

Brighter than it had been in seventeen years, Rheah's hatred of the man called the Terror of the East flared into incandescence. “There may be a better way,” she said, speaking in a whisper to hide the quavering fury in her voice. “You may not have to hunt him down.”

Jassion's soulless eyes locked onto her own, and Tyler raised an eyebrow in question. “What do you mean?” the baron demanded.

Rheah leaned back in her chair. “If Rebaine
is
still after—what he was after,” she said softly, “then he's probably figured out that I know about it.” She smiled once more, but it was no longer a friendly expression. It was angry, predatory, not the housecat's grin but the tiger's snarl. “People like him, and like me, have ways of learning that sort of thing. That means, Jassion, that sooner or later, he's going to come to me.”

The baron's lips warped into a smile to match her own. “Are you certain, Rheah?”

“As certain as I can be. Nothing's guaranteed, of course, but I think he'll come.”

“And what then?” Tyler asked, determined to be the voice of reason. “Can you handle him alone?”

“Well, good sir knight,” the sorceress said simply, “why don't we talk about ‘what then'? I have an idea that might just appeal to you …”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!
Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just have—ladies and—people,
please!”

Sebastian Arcos, Speaker for the Right Honorable Imphallion and Surroundings Merchants' and Tradesmen's Guild (home office), might as well have saved his breath. The vaulted chamber of the Merchants' Guild's meeting hall in Mecepheum was awash with a crawling, writhing mass of chaos, and trying to shout over that monstrous din was akin to rowing a boat upstream with a salad fork.

The chamber itself was enormous, a man-made cavern. Its ceiling consisted of arches and cupolas, all painted or engraved or otherwise adorned with whatever visual arts that money could buy and style could suggest. Most showed heroes of legend and angels of the divine, but symbols of the gods themselves were interspersed throughout. Here the Scales of Justice, symbol of Ulan the Judge; there the dice, double-sixes, entreating the aid of Panaré Luck-Giver; and hidden away, painted largely in shadow, the hulking and menacing Maukra and Mimgol, the Children of Apocalypse themselves.

The rest of the room was largely empty of furnishings and was currently filled to capacity with Guildsmen, merchants, shopkeepers, and businessmen of all stripes. Sebastian couldn't help but think of the entire assembly as a herd of cattle packed into a barn.

Sebastian himself, along with the others of the Guild's High Council, sat upon a horseshoe-shaped platform towering above the heads of the Assembly's main body. To each side were Guild representatives who'd traveled from other branches to attend this Assembly, and farther beyond them, at the very ends of the platform, sat nonmembers, honored guests invited to attend.

The meeting went downhill the moment Sebastian's gavel struck the podium. Many of the attendees were furious that Orthessis had been evacuated and left to fall to the Serpent's advance. A large, relatively prosperous population, a popular duke with moderate policies
on taxation, and one of the largest crossroads on the King's Highway all combined to make the Lutrinthus Province a tradesman's dream. And Orthessis, while not so rich or prosperous or well loved as Pelapheron, was still a part of that pecuniary paradise.

They'd grumbled and complained even more darkly when they'd learned Pelapheron itself appeared next on the list, and that no concerted effort was under way to save it. Oh, certainly the Guilds were sending soldiers to aid in the city's defense, and many of Imphallion's nobles contributed men as well, but there was no unified front, no single cohesive force standing in opposition to the Serpent and his armies. That it was in part their own stubbornness that prevented such a joint effort was a fact they seemed either unable to accept or all too willing to gloss over.

And when things finally calmed down a bit from
that
uproar, Sebastian made what could only be described as a tactical blunder. A brilliant businessman and consummate politician, it took a great deal to faze him—but the news he'd just received did the trick handily. Sebastian, for the first time in years, was truly flustered. Thus, after giving the Assembly the
rest
of the bad news, this final detail emerged from his lips before his brain registered the notion that, just maybe, it wasn't in everyone's best interests to make this information common knowledge.

“We also have reason to believe that the entire situation with Audriss may actually be the work of Corvis Rebaine—”

He'd never finished the thought, because the room erupted: a geyser of shouting, a volcanic upheaval of pure, unadulterated noise.

Sebastian, his face flushed, tried for several minutes to make himself heard over the tumult beneath him, shouting himself hoarse to no avail. Finally, he turned toward the individual sitting directly to his left and shrugged sheepishly. In return, he received an icy glower. Then, with a whisk of leather on fabric, the other person stepped to the very edge of the dais, gazing down at the pulsing bedlam.

Rheah Vhoune brushed a few strands of hair from her face, cast a simple spell under her breath, and then shouted,
“Quiet!”

Her voice thundered through the room, quite literally stunning
some of the Assembly as it blew past. The chamber fell into a shocked silence, broken only by a tinkling sound as the cry made its way to the far wall and shattered the window.

“Thank you,” she said in a normal tone of voice. Rheah wore a formal gown, rather than her accustomed tunic and leggings, but she sported her hardened leather cuirass and bracers.

Even the most powerful of wizards finds it difficult to do much about a crossbow bolt in the back.

“I think it's clear,” Rheah told them sharply, “that we're accomplishing nothing of value. I move we adjourn for the day, early as it may be, and take this up in the morning once we've all had time to assimilate the news we've just heard.” Somehow, without actually moving, she managed to briefly cast another glare in Sebastian's direction.

“Umm, yes,” the Speaker said quickly. “I second. Motion carried.”

The sorceress nodded. “Remember, ladies and gentlemen, that what the Speaker has told you is rumor and hearsay. There's no proof one way or the other.” She smiled dourly. “When you go and blab this particular gossip like lonely fishwives, you may want to be certain you mention that part.”

She waited, unmoving, as the huge crowd, mumbling and whispering furtively, filtered from the hall. Then, her jaw a clenched vise, she faced the Guildmaster.

“Um,” Sebastian began eloquently.

“You
imbecile!
You rat-brained, jaw-wagging idiot! How could you be so stupid?”

“I … Rheah, I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry. You're
sorry!
Gods damn it all, you jackass, you'll have this entire city in a blind panic!”

“I'm pretty close to blind panic myself, Rheah! The very idea is terrifying.”

“And that's exactly why you should have kept your flapping mouth shut about it!” Rheah clenched her fist as she ranted, in part to keep herself from casting anything she couldn't take back. “I ought to transform you into a radish!”

Sebastian blanched. “You wouldn't actually do that, would you?”

“I don't know. I've never tried it.” She snarled at him. “In your case, it might actually improve your higher brain functions, though.”

“Now, Rheah, I
am
the Speaker of this council. Whatever power you may have, I outrank you, and I think I'm due a little—” The bearded merchant tried suddenly to retract, turtle-like, into his tunic as the sorceress advanced on him, fingers twitching erratically. She stopped only when she trod on his feet, her nose inches from his. Her breathing was audible, as was the grinding of her teeth, and her face had gone nearly as red as her gown.

“Ah, perhaps I'd best return to my chambers,” Sebastian said hastily.

“That might,” Rheah said very softly, “be the best idea you've had all day.” She stepped aside, and Sebastian managed—barely—to keep a dignified pace until he was out the door.

Only then did Rheah direct her attention to the rest of the High Council, all of whom sat motionless. “Anyone who cares to comment,” the sorceress said darkly, “is welcome to take the floor.”

There were, startlingly enough, no volunteers.

“Good. I'll see you tomorrow.” And then, rather than subject the lot of them to the humiliation of fleeing from the room as their leader had done, she herself turned and strode out.

SHE WAS MUTTERING SOURLY
when she reached her private office. The door unlatched itself with a soft click and drifted soundlessly open at her approach. A shimmer passed through the room, and a cheery fire instantly crackled into existence in what had been, mere seconds ago, an empty fireplace. The curtains drew themselves up, allowing an unobstructed view of Mecepheum's main avenue, and the drawers in the ornate mahogany desk unlocked themselves with a rapid series of snaps. The weapons hanging from the wall shone, as though dusted and wiped clean. Several swords, a mace, a halberd, all made not of steel, but flimsy wood. Every one had been wielded against her at some point in the past, and every one had been sharp steel before her magics rendered them harmless.

By the time Rheah Vhoune stepped over the threshold onto the lush
fur carpeting, the entire room looked as if a battalion of valets had spent meticulous hours preparing it.

There are, after all,
some
fringe benefits to being a wizard.

Finally running low on worthwhile curses to grumble to herself, Rheah spun angrily around the desk and threw herself angrily into the thickly upholstered chair—

And froze, lips parted in the midst of a final curse, as she saw the figure sitting across the room from her.

He was dressed in dark leathers, worn smooth and dulled with years of use. A heavy cloak fell from his shoulders and wrapped loosely about his arms, a garment well designed to ward off winter's icy winds. The hood was raised, masking the intruder's face in a liquid pool of shadow. His left hand rested idly on a large battle-axe, and his fingers played idly across the flat of the blade.

It was the first time in a very, very great while that Rheah Vhoune found herself surprised by anything. It was not, she decided upon reflection, a pleasant experience.

“How did you get past the wards on the door?” she asked, forcing her voice into a preternatural calm.

“With some difficulty.” The stranger's voice was a bit gravelly, and while she couldn't exactly claim that it was familiar, it rang faint and distant bells in the recesses of her mind. “You're very good, my lady. One of the best I've ever seen.” The intruder paused thoughtfully. “Though I must say …” Another pause. “The Merchants' Guild? That doesn't really strike me as being—well, you.”

“And you know me so very well, do you?” Her posture relaxed, Rheah leaned back in the chair, her initial chagrin fading into a murk of anger and curiosity, flavored with just a pinch of fear. She was more than confident in her ability to handle any normal assailant, but the fact that this man broke into her office without tripping even one of her defenses suggested that he was far from normal.

“Better than you might think, Lady Rheah.”

The sorceress suddenly smiled. “I might say the same. You might as well lower the hood, Lord Rebaine. You can hardly hide behind it, or your silly skull mask, forever.”