“I notice you said that the eggs were perverted through the use of unholy magic and dark magic. Are you saying that one of our order performed this monstrous act?”
“I am afraid so,” Justarius said quietly. “A Black Robe named Dracart in conjunction with a cleric of Takhisis and a red dragon devised the spells. You must take swift action, Par-Salian. That is why I came here in all haste tonight. You must dissolve the Conclave, denounce the Black Robes, cast them out of the Tower, and forbid them from ever coming here again.”
Par-Salian said nothing. His right fist unclenched, clenched again. He stared into the fire.
“We are already suspect in the eyes of the world,” Justarius said. “If people find out that a wizard was complicit in this heinous act, they would rise against us! This could well destroy us.”
Still, Par-Salian was silent.
“Sir,” said Justarius, his voice hardening, “the god Nuitari was involved in this. He had to be. He sided with his mother, Takhisis, years ago, which means that as head of the Black Robes, Ladonna must be involved, as well.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” said Par-Salian sternly. “You have no proof.”
He and Ladonna had been lovers, back in the past, back in their youth, back in the days when passion overthrows reason. Justarius was aware of their history and he was careful not mention it, but Par-Salian knew his friend was thinking it.
“None of us have seen Ladonna or her followers for over a year,” Justarius continued. “Our gods, Solinari and Lunitari, have made no secret of the fact that they were dismayed and angered when Nuitari broke with them to serve his mother. We must face facts, sir. The Three Cousins are estranged. Our sacred brotherhood of wizards, the ties that bind us—white, black, and red—are severed. Already, Ladonna and her Black Robes may be poised to launch an assault against the Tower—”
“No!” Par-Salian said, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair, spilling the wine.
Par-Salian, with his long, white beard and quiet demeanor, was sometimes taken for a weak and benign old man, even by those who knew him best. The head of the Conclave had not attained his high position through lack of fire in his blood and belly, however. The heat of that fire could be astonishing.
“I will not dissolve the Conclave! I do not for one moment believe that Ladonna was involved in this crime. Nor do I blame Nuitari—”
Justarius frowned. “A Black Robe, Dracart, was seen in the act.” “What of it?” Par-Salian glowered at his friend. “He may have been a renegade—”
“He was,” said a voice.
Justarius twisted around in his chair. When he saw who had spoken, he cast an accusing glance at Par-Salian.
“I did not know you had company,” Justarius said coldly.
“I did not know myself,” said Par-Salian. “You should have made yourself known, Ladonna. It is rude to eavesdrop, especially on friends.”
“I had to make certain you still were my friends,” she said.
A human woman in her middle-years, Ladonna scorned to try to conceal her age, as did some, using the artifices of nature and magic to bring plump youth to wrinkled cheeks. She wore her long, thick, gray hair as proudly as a queen wears a crown, coifing her hair in elaborate styles. Her black robes were generally made of the finest velvet, soft and sumptuous, and decorated with runes stitched in gold and silver thread.
But when she emerged from the shadowed corner where she had been secretly watching, the two men were shocked by the change in her appearance. Ladonna was haggard, pale, and seemed to have aged years. Her long, gray hair straggled out from two hastily plaited braids that hung down her back. Her elegant, black robes were dirty and bedraggled, tattered and frayed. She looked exhausted, almost to the point of collapsing.
Par-Salian hurriedly brought forth a chair and poured her a goblet of wine. She drank it gratefully. Her dark eyes went to Justarius.
“You are very quick to judge me, sir,” she said acidly.
“The last time I saw you, madam,” he returned in kind, “you were loudly proclaiming devotion to Queen Takhisis. Are we to believe you did not commit this crime?”
Ladonna took a sip of wine, then said quietly, “If being a fool is a crime, then I am guilty as charged.”
She raised her eyes, casting both men a flashing glance. “But I swear to you that I had nothing to do with the corruption of the dragon eggs! I did not know of this despicable act until only a short time ago. And when I found out, I did what I could to make amends. You can ask Silvara and Gilthanas. They would not be alive now if it were not for my help and the help of Nuitari.”
Justarius remained very grim. Par-Salian regarded her with grave solemnity.
Ladonna rose to her feet and raised her hand to heaven. “I call upon Solinari, God of the Silver Moon. I call upon Lunitari, Goddess of the Red Moon. I call upon Nuitari, God of the Dark Moon. Witness my oath. I swear by the magic we hold sacred, I am speaking the truth. Withdraw your blessings from me, all the gods, if I am lying. Let the words of magic slip from my mind! Let my spell components turn to dust. Let my scrolls burn. Let my hand be stricken from my wrist.”
She waited a moment then resumed her seat. “It is cold in here,” she said, staring hard at Justarius. “Should I build up the fire?”
She pointed her hand at the fireplace, where the fire was dying, and spoke a word of magic. Flames danced on the iron grate. The fire grew so hot, the three had to draw back their chairs. Ladonna lifted her goblet and took a gulp.
“Nuitari has broken with Takhisis?” Par-Salian asked in astonishment.
“He was seduced by sweet words and lavish promises. As was I,” Ladonna said bitterly. “The Queen’s sweet words were lies. Her promises false.”
“What did you expect?” Justarius asked with a sneer. “The Dark Queen has thwarted your ambition and hurt your pride. So now you come crawling back to us. I suppose you are in danger. You know the Queen’s secrets. Has she set the hounds upon you? Is that why you’ve come to Wayreth? To hide behind our robes?”
“I did discover her secrets,” Ladonna said softly. She sat for long moments, staring at her hands; her fingers were long and supple still, though the skin was reddened and drawn tightly over the fine bones. “And yes, I am in danger. We are all in danger. That is why I have come back. Risked my life to come back to warn you.”
Par-Salian exchanged alarmed glances with Justarius. Both men had known Ladonna for many years. They had seen her in the magnificence of her power. They had seen her raging in anger. One of them had seen her soft and tender with love. Ladonna was a fighter. She had battled her way to the top of the ranks of the Black Robes by defeating and sometimes slaying in magical combat those who challenged her. She was courageous, a formidable foe. Neither man had ever seen the strong and powerful woman show weakness. Neither had ever seen her as they saw her at that moment: shaken … afraid.
“There is a building in Neraka called the Red Mansion. Ariakas sometimes lives there when he returns to Neraka. In this mansion is a shrine to Takhisis. The shrine is not as grand as the one in her temple; it is far more secret and private, open only to Ariakas and his favorites, such as Kitiara and my former pupil, and his mistress, the wizardess Iolanthe.
“To make a long story short, several of my colleagues were most horribly murdered. I feared I was next. I went to the shrine to talk to Queen Takhisis directly—”
Justarius muttered something.
“I know,” said Ladonna. Her hand shook, spilling the wine. “I know. But I was alone, and I was desperate.”
Par-Salian reached over and laid his hand on her hand. She smiled tremulously and clasped her fingers over his. He was startled and shocked to see tears glimmer in her eyes. He had never before seen her cry.