"That's assuming that he or his minions don't strike you down on sight."
"I think I know who can prevent it, if only I can reach him."
Brightwing snorted. "It sounds stupid to me, but when has that ever stopped you?" She cocked her head. "Say, you aren't wearing your blindfold."
Perhaps it was Malark's imagination, but the ash shaft of the spear seemed to shudder in his grip as though it resented resting in any hand but its master's. He wondered if that could possibly be true, if the weapon was in some sense alive and aware. Perhaps he'd have a chance to ask Aoth about it later, but for now, they had a more urgent matter to address.
Malark hadn't expected to see his comrade again, because he'd heard what fate Dmitra had decreed for him. And although it wasn't the death he would have chosen for Aoth, there hadn't been a reason to intervene. But when, with his lambent blue eyes uncovered and obviously no longer blind, the war mage slipped into Malark's apartments, it was plain the situation had altered.
A small, flat-faced goblin guard used its apelike arms to open the red metal door to Lauzoril's conjuration chamber. When Aoth saw what waited on the other side, he stopped short. Malark didn't blame him.
The room beyond the threshold was the sort of arcane workroom familiar to them both after years spent at the beck and call of wizards. The steady white glow of enchanted spherical lamps illuminated racks of staves and ceremonial swords, a stylized wall painting of a tree that, as Dmitra had once explained, represented the multiverse, and an intricate pentacle inlaid in jet and carnelian on the floor. A thurible suffused the air with the bitter scent of myrrh.
The surprise was the steel table with sturdy buckled straps to immobilize a man, gutters to drain away his blood, and an assortment of probes, forceps, and knives to pick and slice at him. A healer might conceivably have used such equipment. So did a number of the interrogators in Malark's employ.
"Steady!" he whispered. "It's too late to run. They'll only kill you if you try." As if to demonstrate that he was right, a pair of blood orc guards and a Red Wizard of Enchantment advanced to take charge of Aoth.
Aoth strode into the chamber, and Malark followed a pace behind him. An orc reached to seize hold of Aoth's arm. Shifting, the griffon rider evaded the creature's hand and shoved it into its fellow. The pair got tangled up and fell down together.
The Red Wizard jumped back a step and lifted a fist with a pearl ring on the forefinger. Brightness seethed inside the milky stone. Malark interposed himself between the enchanter and Aoth and gave the former a glare and a shake of his head.
Flummoxed if not intimidated, the wizard hesitated.
By then, Lauzoril's other minions were scrambling to intercept Aoth, but they were too slow. He had time to march up to the zulkir and drop to his knees without anyone coercing him. Malark did the same.
Lauzoril frowned. It was a pinched little frown, just as all his smiles were grudging little smiles. "Well," he said, "it's taken half the night, but someone finally caught him."
"No, Your Omnipotence," Malark said, "I didn't. As you surely observed, Captain Fezim obeys your summons of his own volition. Neither I nor anyone else had to force him."
"He resisted the escort I sent to fetch him," Lauzoril said.
"That was a misunderstanding," Malark said. "You'll note, he extricated himself from the situation without seriously hurting anyone. He's too loyal a legionnaire to rob you of the use of any of your servants, even in a moment of alarm and confusion."
"Good." Lauzoril shifted his gaze to Aoth. "Captain, if you are the man your companion claims you are, a faithful soldier willing to give his life in the service of his liege lords, then permit the orcs to secure you on the table, and I'll undertake to make what follows as painless as is practical. Refuse, and my enchantments will compel you."
"Master," Malark said, "may I respectfully ask why you're doing this?"
"Don't you know? It was your mistress's idea."
"No, Master," Malark lied, "she didn't confide in me."
"Then I suppose I can explain. She suggested I examine the griffon rider with all the tools at my disposal and see what I can discover about the blue flame."
"I assume she recommended this while Captain Fezim was blind and unable to perform his usual duties."
"Well, yes."
"Your Omnipotence has surely observed that he has now recovered his sight."
"Of course. I'm not a dunce. But his eyes are still glowing, and I still think it may prove worthwhile to study him."
"I respectfully suggest that my mistress would disagree."
"Then it's too bad she's in Eltabbar this evening, isn't it? Otherwise you could run and ask her. Not that I would feel obliged to accede to her notions if they ran counter to my own."
"No, Your Omnipotence, of course not. It's only that Captain Fezim is one of Nymia Focar's ablest officers-"
Lauzoril snorted. "He's just a soldier. Another such commands the Griffon Legion now, and I imagine he'll do every bit as well. Better, probably, considering he's Mulan."
"You're correct, Bareris Anskuld is also a fine soldier, but-"
A trace of color tinged Lauzoril's cheeks. "Goodman Springhill, your prattle wearies me. If you persist, I'm apt to decide you aren't just tiresome but insolent, and then, you may rest assured, your affiliation with Dmitra Flass won't shield you from my displeasure."
Malark noticed his mouth was dry.
He wasn't afraid to die. But it was entirely possible the archmage had something else in mind. The art of Enchantment lent itself to punishments that crippled and degraded both body and mind but left the victim alive. And despite his prim demeanor, Lauzoril had as sophisticated a sense of cruelty as any other zulkir.
Yet Malark intended to try the wizard's patience for at least a little longer, even though he himself wasn't entirely sure of the reason. Maybe he was simply stubborn, or averse to losing an argument.
"I understand, Master," he said, "but I think I'd be remiss in my responsibilities if I didn't at least point out that Captain Fezim isn't the only creature infected with blue fire. We've received reports of others, and I assume that if you vivisected them, the bodies would yield the same information."
"I remember those reports," Lauzoril said. "The other creatures have become dangerous monstrosities."
"Still, my agents can trap an assortment of them," Malark said. "It will just take a bit of doing. It will delay your investigations a little, but that could work to your advantage. It will give you a chance to involve Mistress Lallara."
"To what end?" Lauzoril asked.
"I shouldn't even presume to speculate," Malark said. "After all, you know everything there is to know about the supernatural, while I know virtually nothing. But I wonder-if the blue fire can get inside a person or animal, generally with hideous results, maybe it can jump from one living being to another. Maybe it would even try to invade you when you cut into the creature. If so, you might want the defensive spells of the zulkir of Abjuration to make sure the power didn't possess you."
"Ridiculous," Lauzoril snapped. "I too am a zulkir. I don't need that shrew or anyone else to protect me. However"-he took a breath-"if a legionnaire is fit for duty, perhaps it would be improvident to sacrifice him when an altered pig or some such would serve just as well. Captain Fezim, you're dismissed. Go away and take this… jabberer with you."
"Yes, Your Omnipotence." Aoth held his head high and maintained a proper military bearing until the goblin closed the crimson door behind him and Malark. Then his squat, broad-shouldered frame slumped so completely that for a moment it looked as if his legs might give way beneath him. "By the Flame," he sighed. "By the Pure Flame. I didn't think you were going to convince him."