“And it ignored them completely! Yes, yes,” Carlotta added impatiently. “I was watching the whole thing with my magic. That stupid drunken insect was supposed to lead the boy and his party away from this castle, not towards it! And it was not supposed to tell them anything about the manuscript!”
Volmar stared in disbelief. Was that a glint of uneasiness he saw in Carlotta’s eyes? Or could it possibly even be ... fear? Just what strange magic was in that manuscript? Frustrating, to have to rely only on one little scrying crystal! Oh yes, the count knew it was as potent an artifact as someone with no innate magical ability could use, but it was still such a maddeningly inferior thing! He’d only been able to guess at what D’Riksin had been babbling. Something about a spell ... a fairy—..
A fairy?
The count stiffened in sudden comprehension. Struggling to keep the shock from his face, he thought, Of course! No wonder Carlotta had been in hiding for so many years! Once she had recovered her strength after the failed attempt on Amber’s life, she would have sensed the existence of the magical manuscript. Ha, how that must have alarmed her! Volmar supposed Carlotta had been struggling to control the thing from afar, terrified that if she came too close she would spark the magic into life and end everything for her.
And then nasty old Master Aidan decided to up the stakes, as the gamblers say, and send forth manuscript. That forced you out of hiding, Carlotta, didn’t it?
Imagine that. All these years he had been wondering at Carlotta’s uncanny, precocious gift for sorcery when the answer had been so very obvious! Her mysterious, unknown mother hadn’t been human at all!
Volmar only barely stifled a triumphant laugh—If news ever got out that the high and mighty princess-sorceress wasn’t truly human, that she was half fairy .... The law stated quite firmly that no one of fairy blood could ever wear the crown. If she were unmasked, it would turn a sure thing into a very dicey proposition.
Well now, isn’t that interesting? I’ll keep your little secret, Carlotta. After all, if you fail, I fail, too.
But once she gained the throne, once he sat beside her, why then some changes would be made. They would, indeed!
Carlotta was still pacing so restlessly Volmar ached to order her to stand still. “You still haven’t found the manuscript,” she said without warning, and he started. “Don’t look so surprised, man. I was watching you, too.”
All at once the sorceress did stop, staring into the flames, eyes fierce with impatience.” 11 has to be somewhere in the library, of course it does, even if we can’t see it There are such things as Spells of Hiding, after all. But what can be enchanted can be disenchanted. With time. And without interference. Such as that fool of a bardling will provide! Damn him! We must keep him away from the casde!”
“But he’s stuck in Westerin,” Volmar soothed. “My hirelings are hunting for him.”
“Ha! That gang of failures! If they’re anything like your Arachnia, they probably can’t find their own feet!”
“There’s no way the boy can get out of that city,” the count said flatly. “If my men don’t catch him, he’ll wind up in prison or—”
“I don’t believe that for a moment! So far the boy’s had uncanny luck, and there’s no reason for things to be different now.”
“Can’t you ... ah ... remove him—”
“Kill him, you mean? From this far away?” Carlotta gave a fierce little laugh. “I’m not a goddess, man! No mortal can throw a death-spell that far! Besides,” she added thoughtfully, “I’m not sure I want him dead ... not quite yet ... not till I have rime to lay a proper trap for him. One to catch both the boy and the manuscript ... yes!”
She whirled to stare at the count, eyes wide and radiant with a cold, alien light. “You may watch this, Volmar. But do not move from that spot. Do not utter one word. On your life, do not seek to interfere.”
Interfere with sorcery? Did she think him insane? “Of course not,” the count said fervently.
What it was Carlotta murmured, Volmar had no idea. He wasn’t even sure of the language. But each precisely uttered syllable seemed to ring in his ears long after it was spoken, seemed to prickle along his arms and ache in his bones till he longed to turn and run. But that, Volmar knew, would be the end of him, so he stood and watched and endured. And just barely kept from crying out his shock when the firelight all at once went hard and slick as ice. Or a mirror.
A mirror, indeed, though what it reflected ... Not daring to move from where he stood, Volmar peered over Carlotta’s shoulder to see a the figure of a man suddenly come into sharp focus, seen as clearly as though through an open window.
Now, who ... ?
No youngster, this—He was a fully human man—or at least appeared to be—somewhere in late middle age, his thick-set, powerful form half-hidden by the folds of a black cloak. Its hood nearly hid the severe, harshly planed face and its graying beard. The stranger’s eyes were gray, too, blazing out from the hood’s shadow with sorcerous force. But an ageless weariness was there as well. As though. Volmar thought uneasily, their owner had tried and been bored by every depravity known to humanity.
Whoever, whatever he was, the man plainly knew Carlotta. No warmth lightened the terrible eyes, but he dipped his head, almost reluctantly, in reverence.
“Princess.” The words were faint but clear. “What would you?”
“You have not forgotten, have you, Alatan? You have not forgotten your debt to me?”
The gray eyes flickered angrily. “No. I have not. The fools would have burned me as a sorcerer had you not intervened. Name what you would of me, Princess Carlotta. It shall be done.”
“It shall, indeed,” the sorceress purred. “Listen, then.” She slipped back into the alien language with which she’d created the flame-mirror. The language of sorcery, Volmar thought, and wished with all his heart he was somewhere else.
But he didn’t dare be squeamish. Not if he meant to sit beside Carlotta on the throne.
As the sorceress continued to give her orders to the reluctantly obedient Alatan, Count Volmar forced himself to stand proudly as any king.
But once Carlotta had banished the mirror-spell, and the flames were nothing more than flames, he let himself sag—
“Who is this Alatan?” he dared ask.
“Anally, willy-nilly.”
“He said you saved him from burning as a sorcerer.” Volmar said it doubtfully; charity hardly seemed pan of Carlotta’s character—”Someone falsely accused him, I take it?”
Carlotta’s smile was deceptively sweet. “Oh no. Alatan is a sorcerer, indeed. A most powerful, most unpleasant one. Poor Kevin!” she added. “I Find I almost ... pity him!”
Kevin sighed. He and the rest of his group had been trying for what seemed like an age to find a gate out of Westerin: a gate that wasn’t watched over either by the gang or the guards. So far they hadn’t succeeded. After all this hunting, his feet hurt, his lute seemed to have picked up extra weight, his stomach was clamoring for food—and now the night was coming on.
“I think all we can do,” he said wearily as they regrouped in the small, ruined square, “is find a place to spend the night and try to see if we can’t figure out a way to get out of here in the morning.”