“You will forgive me, my Lord Chancellor, if I...”
“Stop calling me that!” Sterren snapped. “I didn’t ask for the stupid title! People keep hanging these silly titles on me, when I was perfectly happy just being Sterren of Ethshar. Look, Annara, I know you’re worried that I’m Vond’s spy, but I’m not his spy, not unless he can read my mind without my knowing it. If he wanted to know something, I suppose he could force it out of you easily enough by torture; you aren’t enough of a wizard to defend yourself against him. Or if you are, you’re also one hell of an actress, because you’ve had me fooled! I can’t force anything out of you, though.” He paused for breath, then continued more calmly, “If you’re worried about which side I’m on, right now I’m not really on any side. I think I know how to either destroy the warlock, or to keep him in power for at least a while longer, and I honestly haven’t decided which I want to do, or whether I should just leave well enough alone. I came here hoping for more information to help me decide. I can’t force it out of you; Vond can. You can tell me now, and if I’m telling the truth it won’t do you any harm, and if I’m lying, Vond can come up here and convince you.”
He stopped, suddenly unsure what he was saying and whether he should be saying it.
Annara threw a look at Agor, then turned back to Sterren and said, “All right, Sterren. I don’t suppose it will do any harm to tell you. I’ve had dreams, dreams where wizards tell me things. Some of them may be ordinary dreams, but I think at least some must have been sent. I don’t always remember them when I wake up; there are tricks to remembering your dreams, and I’m not very good at it. All the same, I think I have an idea what the Guild is doing.”
“Ah,” Sterren said. “What are they doing?”
“Nothing. At least, nothing yet. They’re watching the situation, using scrying spells and prophecies, and that’s all. Oh, and it seems that reports of the events here are somehow not spreading very well, particularly not to warlocks, and those warlocks who do hear about the new power source are being discouraged or diverted in various subtle ways.”
Sterren nodded. “You know, I had begun to wonder why not a single other warlock had turned up.”
“Remember, Vond’s invitations have all emphasized his own supremacy, and warlocks are not prone to play the sycophant. Even without my guildmates interfering, I suspect he would be attracting few converts.”
“True enough,” Sterren acknowledged. He sat for a moment, munching cashews and considering this news.
“So,” he said at last, “is the Guild contemplating any more drastic action?”
“No,” Annara said, after a moment’s hesitation. “At least, not that they’ve told me about. The general noninterference policy seems to be holding good.”
Sterren nodded, and as he did a thought occurred to him. He asked Agor, “What do the gods think about all this?”
The theurgist shrugged. “Like the wizards, they don’t interfere,” he said. “Not since the Great War.”
Sterren accepted that. “One more question,” he said, “and I’ll go.” He looked at the two magicians closely. “For yourselves,” he asked, “do you want Vond removed?”
Annara and Agor looked at each other.
Agor shrugged.
“I don’t know,” Annara said, “I really don’t.”
CHAPTER 32
Five minutes after he left Annara’s room Sterren peered around a drapery into Vond’s audience chamber. The warlock spotted him immediately.
“Ah, Chancellor Sterren!” he called, “Come in! Come in!”
Sterren obeyed, looking curiously about as he did. He had seen the audience chamber before, of course, the rich red draperies down either side, the ornately patterned marble floor, the luxurious red carpet down the center. Twenty-foot-high windows behind the dais let sunlight pour in from the palace’s central courtyard; stained-glass medallions set in the windows painted colors on the floor, and the cut-glass bevels that edged the medallions ringed the colors with sprays of rainbows. Golden banners hung from the vaulted white marble ceiling; most were plain and unadorned, but three bore battle flags sewn onto them, representing Semma, Ophkar, and Ksinallion.
Three broad steps, alternating black and white marble, led up to the black marble dais, and above its center Vond floated comfortably in mid-air; he had not yet bothered with a throne.
That much was familiar. What was new to Sterren was the group of young women who stood at the foot of the dais.
He counted twelve of them, all young and all uncommonly attractive. Their garb varied from simple peasant homespun to the rich velvets and silks of the conquered nobility; their expressions varied from uncertainty to bold defiance. None of them were so much as whispering; the only sound was the rustle of their clothing.
“What’s going on?” Sterren asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m choosing a harem,” Vond replied.
Startled, Sterren took another look at the women. “I’ve had my eye out for the last sixnight or so,” the warlock explained, “and I’d noticed these young ladies as promising prospects, so when I had a moment, I brought them here to look over.” He smiled wolfishly.
“Do they know what’s going on?” Sterren asked, seeing confusion and fear on several faces.
Vond shrugged. “I told them, but I don’t know if they understood.”
“May I speak with them?” Sterren asked.
“Be my guest,” Vond said with a wave.
“Ladies,” Sterren said, in Semmat, “I am Sterren, Ninth Warlord of Semma.” He did not know a Semmat equivalent for “chancellor,” if one existed at all, and he was not yet comfortable with the title in any case. “Do you know why you are here?”
His reply was a babble of voices; he raised his hands for silence.
It took a moment, but the women quieted. Sterren pointed to one. “You; who are you?”
The chosen one looked back at him blankly. “Ksinal-Uoni,” she said, with an odd accent.
Sterren picked another. “Do you speak Semmat?”
This one nodded.
“Who are you?” Sterren asked.
“Kyrina the Fair,” she replied, “Daughter to Kardig Trak’s son and Rulura of the Green Eyes.”
Sterren could easily understand how she got her epithet. She wore a simple green tunic and a brown peasant’s skirt, but even so, she was easily more beautiful than the most elaborately attired noblewoman Sterren had ever seen in Semma.
“You live near here?” he asked. “In the village,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of Semma Castle.
“Do you know why you are here?”
She shook her head, which sent a ripple through her long, gleaming black hair and wafted perfume in Sterren’s direction. “No, my lord.”
“How did you come here?”
She glanced at Vond and at the other women, clearly not eager to act as spokeswoman. Nobody volunteered to take her place, and after an instant’s further hesitation she explained, “Perhaps an hour ago, something like a great wind, yet not a wind, snatched me up and brought me here. I found myself in a great hall, where I could move freely, but where all the doors but one were closed and barred, and the one open door was guarded by men who would not let me leave. Another woman was there, as well, and then these others were swept in, as I was, one by one; and when we were all there, the guards led us here, using their spears to keep us together.”
Sterren nodded his understanding.