"There's our answer," boomed the deep voice of the magician Vorko. "As I see it, we shall have to proceed by three stages. The first, to be performed tomorrow at the start of the debate, will be to work this counter-spell, thereby opening the way for subsequent actions—"
An old voice with a Mulvanian accent—Karadur's—spoke. In a tone of shocked surprise, this voice said: "You intend to assail our opponents by magic, in despite of all the laws and customs of the Forces of Progress?"
"Certes; what thought you? We've counted noses and know that our proposal has no chance of passage. We do but lack the votes."
"But—but—you were always such a stickler for ethics—"
"Be no bigger a fool than the gods made you! When it's a question of doing something for the masses of mankind, one quibbles not about rules and ethics."
"But are you not being a little—ah—precipitate?" said Karadur.
Vorko snorted. "If you're concerned about every Maltho, Baltho, and Zaltho getting his hands on all the deadliest spells in the grimoire, you can stop worrying. I am not an utter idiot. I know as well as you that some of the reactionaries' claims—that ignorant men are not to be trusted with such powers—have a mort of truth in them. But offering magic free to all is the way to get power.
"Once we control the Forces of Progress, we can have Altruist governments in every one of the Twelve Cities within a year. I have my plans all laid and agents in those places—"
"But the Forces have always eschewed the politics of laymen!" said Karadur, in a voice that was almost a wail.
"The more fools they. Once we're in power, of course, we must needs proceed with caution, letting the masses in on only the most elemental secrets of magic—which they" could learn for themselves in any good library—until they prove themselves worthy of more trust. But getting absolute power is the main thing. Once we have crushed all opposition, we can do whatever seems expedient. And, since I know that my own motives are pure and my plans are logically sound, it is my duty to seek the power to carry them out!
"Now, back to business: The second step will be to collect the names of the leaders of the Benefactors and all those who speak on their side of the question on the morrow. Rheits, you shall perform this task whilst the rest of us work the counter-spell. The session is supposed to last two hours—ample time."
Another voice said: "Are you sure, leader, that the old Rendivar spell will be strong enough? Aello's spell is no petty cantrip."
"As cast by one, belike not," said Vorko; "but by three or four of us simultaneously, I'm sure it will do. Now, as to the third step, if we could collect possessions or parts of the body from all these persons, we could attack them by sympathetic magic: impossible in the time at our disposal. Therefore, Magnas, you shall summon a flight of demons from—"
Jorian, standing in darkness near the connecting door, was horrified to hear a loud hiccup from Vanora behind him. Her consumption of wine had caught up with her. She hiccupped again.
"What's that?" said a voice from the bedroom.
To Jorian's helpless horror, Vanora staggered past him, banged open the connecting door, and cried in a hoarse voice:
" Tis I, that's who it is! And why don't you impotent old shlobs get to the afterworld out of here, so Jorian and I—hic—can use a bed for what a bed's meant for?"
As the door flew open, Jorian had a fleeting impression of several men, besides Karadur, Drakomas, and Vorko, sitting on beds and chairs. Then Vorko's voice spoke a harsh, unintelligible word. Something warned Jorian of danger on his right. As he started to turn, out of the corner of his eye, in the suddenly augmented light, he saw one of Vorko's demons. The demon was stepping towards him and raising a bludgeon. Fast though Jorian's reactions were, the attack came so swiftly that he did not even have time to dodge before the universe exploded.
When Jorian came to, the room was lit by gray daylight through the arrow slit,.furnished with a shutter and a casement sash, which served as a window. It took him some time to realize that the flashes and the rumbling were not inside his head but were caused by a violent storm outside. Rain drove against the little diamond panes of the sash and crawled down the glass like tiny, transparent snakes.
Jorian rolled over, wincing at the pain in cramped muscles and at the sharp stab of headache that accompanied each movement. He found that his wrists and ankles were bound and his mouth was full of gag. As his bleary vision adjusted itself, he saw that Vanora and Karadur were likewise trussed.
Vanora, still wearing her shift of green gauze, looked at him from bloodshot eyes over her gag. About Karadur he could not tell; the Mulvanian looked like a heap of old clothes in the corner.
Although Jorian's assailants had done a sound job of tying him up, they had not reckoned on the practice he had had in Xylar at escaping from such gyves. His first step was simply to chew. A few minutes of vigorous chewing parted the rag that held the gag in place and enabled him to spit out the gag.
"Vanora!" he said thickly. "Are you all right?"
"Gmpff, glmpff," she said through her gag.
"Karadur, how fare you?"
A groan answered. Jorian looked across the room, as best he could from his position on the floor. His sword still hung by its baldric from a hatrack by the door.
It is hard for a man whose ankles are tied together and whose wrists have been lashed behind him to rise from the floor, but it can be done. Several times, Jorian almost got to his feet and then crashed down again with bruising force. Little puffs of dust arose from the cracks between the floor boards. At last he made it. He hopped over to the hatrack and butted it over. Then he squatted down and got his hands on the hilt of his sword. A couple of grotesque hops took him to where Vanora lay.
"Seize the sheath with your feet," he growled. When she had done so, he hopped away from her, drawing the sword from its scabbard. Then he thrust the hilt between her feet.
"Now hold that blade steady. If you let go, 'twill skewer me."
He began squatting and rising again, holding the cords that bound his wrists behind him against the blade. When after twenty-odd squats a cord parted, the lashings came quickly off. For a few moments, Jorian stood rubbing his wrists and feeling the lump on his skull. Then he took the sword and quickly severed his and his companions' remaining bonds.
"That's how I once saved my head," he said. "The moral is to keep your sword well honed. These knaves were tyros after all, or they'd never have left aught sharp where we could come upon it."
"Remember, my son," said Karadur, "that they are accustomed to coping with foes, not by such crude devices as swords and cords, but by spirits, spells, and the transcendental wisdom of magic."
"So much the worse for them. What time is it?"
"Good gods!" said Karadur. "It must be after the fourth hour. That means the debate on the Altruist proposal will be under way in the ballroom. Vorko will be working that counter-spell he got from the Kist. Where is the wretched thing? Alas, they have taken it with them. Ah, me, shall I ever cease being a trusting, credulous ninny? But we must hasten to the ballroom to warn the Forces!"
"Gods, what a hangover!" moaned Vanora, holding her head. She did not look at all attractive this morning.
"Are you changing sides, Doctor?" asked Jorian.
"Nay; I have always been on the side of virtue and order. Say rather than Vorko and his minions have deserted me." The old man groaned as he tried to rise. Jorian helped him up. He failed to find his key but got out his pick-locks and went to work on the door, which soon swung open.
"We must lose no time, feeble though I be this morn," said Karadur.
"We?" said Jorian. "Why should I concern myself with the squabbles amongst your spookers? My work for you is done, and I don't intend to join your profession."