"Things were not, however, hopeless, for he knew a mighty spell that would turn the goblins to stone. When he said it required human sacrifice, the conspirators drew lots. And when a promising youth drew the fatal lot, the oldest conspirator, who had been an oligarch, insisted on taking his place, saying he was not for many years and was too full of obsolete ideas and prejudices to be useful in the new regime.
"So the spell was cast. There was a mighty flash of lightning, and a deafening roar of thunder, and a shaking of the earth. The citadel collapsed with a frightful crash, burying Charenzo in the ruins, and a landslide blocked the Kyamos below Metouro City. On that instant, every goblin in Metouro was turned into stone. When the conspirators ran to see how Synelius fared, they found the old sorcerer dead with a peaceful look on his face.
"The Brotherhood then reorganized the city according to their own ideas. They insisted on remaining secret, and this is why Metouro is ruled today by a committee of the Brotherhood called the Faceless Five. These appear in their official capacity wearing black masks, and nobody is supposed to know who they are. When the blocking of the Kyamos created Lake Volkina and flooded the old Metouro City, they built a new one, laid out by an architect with straight, wide streets. Since the citadel was in ruins and the hill whereon it stood was become a mere islet in Lake Volkina, they cleared away the rubbish and built a new stronghold, in which they used not only the unbroken stones from the former citadel but also the hundreds of stones into which the goblins had been turned. Thus this edifice became known as the Goblin Tower.
"Originally, the Faceless Five dwelt in the Goblin Tower. But a century ago they gave up this habit, partly because it made their comings and goings too conspicuous, so that their anonymity was hard to preserve, and partly because the Tower itself was uncomfortable, having been designed more as a fortress than as a human abode."
"How have the Metourians made out under their Faceless Five?" asked Jorian.
"Well in some ways, not so well in others. Like all such self-perpetuating cliques, the main concern of the Five had been to keep all power firmly in their own hands. On the whole, they have given the polis an efficient government, with a fair degree of prosperity. They still have rich and poor, but no industrious man need starve. Not having a glittering court like Mulvan's or an extravagant temple like Tarxia's to keep up, they have not felt the need to squeeze every last farthing out of their subjects. And the custom of choosing members of the Five to represent persons of as many different kinds as possible has made their rule fairly even-handed.
"On the other hand, there is precious little personal freedom in Metouro. The ordinary citizen says little, lest his interlocutor be an informer, and he looks over his shoulder before answering a question about the time of day. Personally I prefer Vindium, with all its disorder and corruption, to quite so oppressively virtuous a regime. Unless—" (the enchanter smiled wryly) "—I myself could be the ruler!"
During this story, Jorian and his companions had inched forward along the pier. As Vorko finished, one of the rowboats drew up, and the three stepped aboard. Zoth dropped Jorian's and Karadur's bundles of gear into the boat, nodded silently to Vorko, and started back for shore.
Chapter Eleven
THE GOBLIN TOWER
AS THE SURLY, SILENT BOATMAN ROWED THEM TOWARDS the island, the Goblin Tower loomed up over their bow. It was a simple structure in the form of a narrow ellipse with forty-foot curtain walls. At each end, a single large round tower rose another twenty-odd feet higher. A slender arched stone bridge joined these towers near the summits. The shape of the islet dictated the extreme narrowness of the structure.
The Tower had a drawbridge, which, however, did not join anything at its outer end. It merely hung out over the water and served as a landing pier. Jorian climbed out with his companions and followed them through the gate, under the portcullis, and into a hall. There was no open court inside this tower; the edifice was completely roofed over and built up inside.
In the hall, magicians stood in line before a desk, at which sat a man in a black robe, with a red, conical cap of stiff paper on his head. On the front of this cap was written, in large letters with a broad-pointed pen, the words:
FORCES OF
PROGRESS
SIXTY-FIRST
ANNUAL
CONCLAVE
GNOUX,
RECEPTION
A bulletin board, listing the events of the convention, stood near Receptionist Gnoux.
As Vorko and Karadur reached the desk, the receptionist asked their names, wrote them on a piece of paper, and pasted the slips to the fronts of conical caps like his own but black. He handed them their caps and room keys. When Jorian's turn came, Karadur told Gnoux:
"This is Jorian of Kortoli, my apprentice. I have paid your registration fee, Jorian."
"Welcome, Master Jorian," said Gnoux. "How spell you that?… Here you are." Gnoux handed Jorian a dunce cap like the others, but white to denote Jorian's rank as apprentice, with his name written on the front. "You shall room in twenty-three, with Doctor Karadur."
"Have you an extra key?" asked Jorian. "The good doctor and I may come and go at different times."
"Here you are. Welcome again to this learned assemblage!"
Jorian asked: "Has one Porrex of Vindium registered?"
Gnoux consulted a list. "Nay, though you're the third conventioner to ask me that."
"Peradventure he's swindled the others, too, and they hope to take it out of his hide."
"Well—ah—" said Gnoux, trying to hide a smile, " 'tis not my affair, but I did overhear some remarks about red-hot pincers applied to sensitive areas."
Jorian followed Vorko to the ballroom at the end of the hall, which had been turned into an auditorium. It was full of seated male and female magicians, wearing conical caps. When they had found seats, Vorko whispered to Jorian:
"That's President Aello, up there."
The president, wearing a golden dunce cap, was a tall, stooped old man with a long white beard cascading down the front of his black gown. He was introducing celebrities, each of whom received a patter of applause: "… and I am informed that we have with us the distinguished necromancer, Omphes of Thamoe, whose stable of spirits includes some of the most eminent shades not yet reincarnated. Will you stand, Doctor Omphes? Thank you… And we also have the preeminent wizardess, Goania of Othomae; will you take a bow, Mistress Goania?…"
Jorian remembered the gray-haired woman and tried to catch her eyes, but she was too distant. He squirmed on his bench, looking about him. A figure standing against the back wall, near the door, caught his attention. This was a burly, porcine man wearing a red cap. With a shock, Jorian recognized Boso, son of Trüs, the ex-gongringer with whom he had fought in Othomae, and whom Goania had taken into her service. Boso not only carried a cudgel but also wore a sword. Jorian wondered if Vanora, too, would be there. Aello of Gortü droned on:
"… the worthy astrologer, Ktessis of Psara; will you stand, Master Ktessis?…"