The Warlord's Legacy (24 page)

What Mubarris could
not
offer was any hint as to who might be behind the false Rebaine. He did not, in fact, even have reason to disbelieve the rumors himself, given his ignorance of the magics under which he currently labored—or who had cast them.

Nor could he offer any reasons beyond the obvious as to why the Guilds and the nobles were proving
so
stubborn, so mulish, that nobody had taken action.

“We’re all scared,” he admitted. “Nobody wants to be without protection—and lots of it—in case Rebaine comes for us next. And you know that the Guildmasters and the nobles haven’t agreed on much of anything since the Guilds dethroned the regent.”

Corvis and Irrial nodded in unison.

“But it does seem,” he continued, “as though there’s some added pressure. As if the leaders on both sides are demanding concessions and promises that they
know
the other side won’t accept. I couldn’t say for sure, though, or tell you where that pressure’s coming from. I’m not really part of the inner circles anymore. Haven’t been for a few years; I guess nobody thinks the Cartwrights’ and Carpenters’ Guild is important anymore.” His heavy sigh dragged an anchor of self-pity along behind it. “Or maybe it’s just me.”

The visitors made their excuses, Corvis delivering a final command to forget the conversation—or at least never to speak of it to anyone, since he wasn’t sure if the spell
could
compel Mubarris to forget—and departed. He reclaimed his sword from the guards, then requested directions to another room.

Over the course of the afternoon, Irrial and Corvis visited two more
Guildmasters, and two nobles with offices in the Hall. All were among the surviving number of Corvis’s “contacts,” and all told the same story as Mubarris. All confirmed what he had confirmed, suspected what he had suspected; and none knew any more than he, for each and every one had found him- or herself excluded from the pinnacles of power in Mecepheum. The nobles lacked much real authority, now that the Guilds had firmly taken over, and the Guildmasters, again like Mubarris, had been carefully shuffled to the periphery.

Corvis was finding it harder and harder to accept this as coincidence. He’d
known
that his puppets had to have lost some of their power when Imphallion failed to sail the various courses charted by Duke Halmon—or occasionally by Corvis himself,
through
Halmon. He’d known that several of the Guildmasters he’d beguiled had even lost their positions. But to see it before him like this, so deliberate and precise …

“What now?” Irrial asked, interrupting his musings.

He shrugged, running through the names of every Guildmaster he could recall, disliking the direction his thoughts were taking.

“Now,” he said finally, reluctantly, “we talk with someone I
know
is in a position to tell us more about what the hell’s going on.”

And we hope
, he added silently,
that she’s willing to tell us, because over her, I hold no influence at all
.

T
HE HALLS GREW
ever more crowded as they progressed. No surprise, that. The higher one climbed in the Hall of Meeting, the more important were the inhabitants of its chambers; and the more important the inhabitants, the greater the quantity of rugged mercenaries and minor functionaries.

Corvis hung back as Irrial approached the door, and the no fewer than six guards posted beside it, and was momentarily grateful to be masquerading as a servant. The deference expected of his role would do well to cover his genuine unease. He disliked the notion of coming here, of exposing himself—even disguised—to a Guildmaster over
whom he lacked any control. And if anyone here was likely to have the knowledge, the discipline, and the presence of mind to discover him, it was she. But he knew that, now as when he’d last seen her more than half a decade gone by, she was highly regarded by the other Guildmasters. If
anyone
was in a position to see the whole picture, to understand what was happening here in Mecepheum—and what wasn’t happening, and why—it was she.

“The Baroness Irrial of Rahariem,” his companion announced to the guards as she halted before them, cane thumping dully against the carpeted floor, “to see Salia Mavere.”

As before, one of the guards slipped through the door while the others maintained their positions, and Corvis struggled not to hold his breath. Odds were good that Mavere would want to speak with Irrial, to learn what was happening on the eastern front, but …

He couldn’t quite suppress a sigh of relief when the guard returned and announced, “The Guildmistress will see you.”

Also as before, Corvis handed his sword over to the soldiers before entering, then followed Irrial as meekly as he could manage.

The priestess of Verelian and leader of the Blacksmiths’ Guild offered the baroness something oddly between a bow and a curtsy, which Irrial politely returned. “I was heartened to hear your name,” Mavere said as she offered chairs and then drinks to her guests—the former of which they gratefully accepted, the latter politely declined. “It’s been difficult getting any reliable news from the east, but we’d heard that most of the elite were being held.”

Elite
. A very useful word, Corvis couldn’t help but note, for the nobility and the Guilds both. If there was anything on which the two sides could agree, after all, it was that they were certainly superior to everyone else.

‘
Someone ought to show them otherwise, don’t you think
?’

“Most of us are,” Irrial said, adjusting her skirts across the chair. “I managed to escape with some outside help.” Very briefly, and leaving out a number of salient details—such as, just for instance, the true name of the man who’d assisted her—the baroness recounted the tale of her escape and her abortive attempt at resistance.

“You’re a very fortunate woman,” Mavere told her finally, one powerful hand fiddling idly with the combination ensign and holy symbol hanging about her neck. “The gods were surely watching over you.”

“Surely,” Irrial agreed. Only someone who’d known her as well as Corvis would have detected the bitterness in her tone.

“And I can certainly understand why you fled Rahariem with all haste,” the Guildmistress continued. “But I have to admit to some puzzlement as to why you’d travel all the way here, my lady.”

She wasn’t puzzled at all, of course, and everyone in the room knew it. She just wanted to make her guests broach the topic.

“Why?” Irrial’s response was, perhaps, hotter than she’d intended. “Because, Mavere, I would very much like to know why you people have allowed a hostile kingdom to conquer eastern Imphallion without lifting so much as a finger in response!”

“My lady, as you well know, there’s been a great deal of strife between the Guilds and the nobility as of late …”

“Yes, ever since the Guilds combined their influence to illegally force my cousin to abdicate as regent.”

Mavere’s face twitched, but she revealed no other sign of her irritation. “For the good of Imphallion. The old ways weren’t working.”

“And we’re doing so much better now, are we?”

The Guildmistress sighed, and there actually appeared a touch of genuine sorrow in her demeanor. “I’m afraid the nobles have proved more resistant to change than we’d hoped. They’re making demands and insisting on concessions that we cannot possibly afford, and until they cooperate, our ability to govern their lands—or field their armies—is limited.”

“It was my understanding,” Irrial said, carefully modulating her voice, “that
both
sides were making unreasonable demands.”

“Yes, well, the nobles
would
claim that in order to justify their intransigence, wouldn’t they?”

Corvis wondered briefly if he’d need to put himself between them, and fast, but Irrial showed substantially more restraint than he would have in her position. She frowned but otherwise made no move at all.

“Perhaps,” she said instead, “I can convince the assembly to put
aside some of their differences, at least temporarily. I’ve come from Rahariem, I’ve seen how thoroughly Cephira’s digging in. A firsthand account might sway some votes.”

“It might,” Mavere said, though she clearly didn’t believe it. “But I fear that there are other issues not so easily dealt with.”

“Rebaine.” It was not a question.

“Rebaine, yes.” Then, again with apparent sincerity, “I’m sorry about your cousin, my lady. We might have had very different ideas on how to govern Imphallion, but he was a good man. His loss diminishes us all.”

She allowed a moment of respectful silence before continuing, “We’ve no idea what Rebaine’s up to, but with that … that
creature
running around and slaughtering nobles and Guildmembers alike, we’re finding it very difficult to convince
anyone
to give over command of their vassals. They fear being left without protection. Some of them”—she leaned forward—“those who know the truth, fear having their own soldiers turned against them.”

“The truth?” Irrial asked, confused. Corvis felt his stomach drop to his toes.

“It took us some time to figure it out,” Mavere said, “but when he was here last, Rebaine cast some sort of enchantment on many of us.”

Lower than his toes, now; he was pretty sure he could actually feel his guts squishing around inside his boots.

“You don’t say,” Irrial said darkly.

“It was remarkably subtle. Very unlike him.”

‘
Got you pegged, doesn’t she
?’

“Even after many of the nobles and Guildmasters began acting strangely—sometimes so much so that we had to replace them—we didn’t understand.” Her voice quivered, just once, with what might, or might not, have been fury. “But I’m a priestess as well as a smith, my lady, and I’ve studied more in my life than many scholars. I may not know magic, but I know much
of
magic. I finally recognized the effects for what they were, though only on a few of my colleagues. To this day, I’ve no idea how many more might be compromised.”

Not enough
, Corvis thought bitterly.

“I told my most trusted fellow Guildmasters, of course, and I’ve reason
to suspect that some nobles know as well. We’ve told few others, for fear of causing a panic. But in any case, it’s made his reappearance even that much more disruptive.”

So why is she willing to tell us
? Corvis couldn’t help but worry.

“I see,” Irrial said. “What if I told you,” she continued slowly, “that Corvis Rebaine was
not
behind the recent murders. Do you think that, combined with my accounts of Rahariem, might convince the assembly to act?”

It was all Corvis could do to keep his chair.
What is she doing
?

‘
How quickly can you kill them both
?’

Mavere leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You’d have to offer some fairly convincing proof. What in the gods’ names makes you think this?”

“I’ve reason to know that Rebaine was, in fact, present in the occupied territories during some of the murders,” she answered evasively.

“Do you, now? Even if that’s true, my lady, Rebaine has all sorts of mystical capabilities. For all we know, he could have transported himself across Imphallion with a snap of his fingers.”

Irrial fidgeted, almost cast a glance at Corvis and caught herself, clearly trying to decide how much more to reveal.

Too late
, Corvis seethed.

But Mavere seemed disinclined to allow her to continue. “No, my lady, I think that even if you know Rebaine was in the east—and I’m going to want an explanation as to
how
you know that—it wouldn’t convince anyone of anything. Some might even think it evidence that he’s in league with Cephira.”

“At least let me address the assembly, Mavere. Then I can—”

“No, Baroness, I think not. You’ve been remarkably unwilling to share the specific details of your so-called escape.”

“
So-called—
” she protested, but the Guildmistress kept going.

“You, and you alone, have fled Cephiran-held territory—and you’re sitting in my office with a servant cloaked in illusion. I told you,” she added as Irrial and Corvis glanced in shock at each other, “that I know much of magic. I cannot penetrate the illusion, but I can sense it—and I know that such spells cannot be maintained indefinitely.

“No, Irrial, I worry that you’ve been turned, that Cephira
allowed
you to escape, to muddy the waters here even further. And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you anywhere near the assembly.”

Irrial rose, leaning heavily on her cane. “That’s the most asinine thing I’ve ever—”

“If I’m wrong,” Mavere told her, pulling a lever on the underside of her desk, “you’ll have every opportunity to convince me, I promise. But I cannot risk it.”

The door opened with a resounding crash, revealing all six guards, crossbows leveled.

“You will both be escorted to secure quarters—pleasant ones, as befits your status, my lady—until you’re willing to tell me
everything
about what occurred, and to provide corroborating evidence. And until
you,
” she added, pointing at Corvis, “are willing to reveal your true face. A Cephiran face, I expect. Guards?”