A sorcerer! God's unholy names! None of her espionage had uncovered him. Xurosh had a mage. Curse the five spheres of heaven!
The sorcerer looked out at the T'lil and grunted.
"Well?" Falol demanded. "What's their scheme? What is this affliction that has taken the commander and the others?"
Yllam seemed unperturbed, unintimidated. "I cannot read minds, Vice-Commander. For all I know the desert men are out getting some sun. I can detect no spells."
"What is the cause, if not magic?"
"I did not say that sorcery was not involved, merely that none is being cast now. I will have to examine the stricken. Perhaps the answer will become clear."
Elenya scampered down the stairs, cursing the Zyraii God and the deities of a dozen other nations.
Yllam leaned over the prostrate form of the commander, which had been taken to the officer's private suite at the main inn. The paralyzed man lay where the two soldiers had deposited him, barely shifting his limbs at all.
The commander uttered something. It came out so slow and distorted that Yllam could only guess the meaning.
"Be at peace, sir," the wizard said. "I will do all I can." He turned to the pair of men who had carried in the burden. "Wait outside. I don't wish to be disturbed."
They obeyed immediately. They had never seen Yllam angry and were sure they never wanted to.
Yllam looked into the commander's pupils, waving a candle flame toward and away in order to examine the speed and degree of dilation. He smelled the man's breath. He felt for temperature and a faint warning bell sounded in his memory. He rummaged through one of many pockets on the inside of his cape and produced a small mirror. He took sweat from the officer's forehead and wiped it on the glass.
He set the mirror on the small vanity table and dusted it with an orange powder. The powder sizzled on the glass. When it was done, the ash left a distinctive pattern. Yllam grunted, both in triumph and outrage.
"Mother's Breath!" he hissed.
At that moment, he heard a man's muffled cry of pain from outside the room, and the sound of at least one body striking the wall. The door burst inward. A burly man in Shol leather charged inside, a bloody dagger in hand. Behind him came a slender, dark-haired woman.
"Hass-tah!"the wizard shouted. The man's lunge was aborted. He fell as if tripped. Yllam began to wave his hands in a brief pattern.
"Elique naddath!"the female cried. The jewel between her breasts blazed with green splendor. Yllam felt the potency vanish from his lethal spell.
But the wizard's disadvantage was short-lived. He began twirling in a circle, his cape flaring wide. His attackers reeled back as if struck by a tornado-force gust of wind, their hair and clothing flapping wildly, though nothing else in the room was affected. They were forced to shut their eyes and hold up their arms against the pressure.
Yllam stopped. That would do it. Now that the initial surprise was over, he could sense that the woman was not his match in the arts. She would not be able to stop him a second time. He raised his arms.
A demonblade rammed into his throat. He staggered back, slamming his skull against the wall behind him, and sank to a sitting position.
A pregnant desert woman strode forward from the doorway and yanked the knife out of Yllam's throat. "Quickly!" she called to her companions in a male voice. "We've made a hell of a racket!" Through the open portal, Yllam saw the upper body of one of the guards, blood pooling underneath the head.
Yllam saw them pause just long enough to slit the commander's throat, and as they left, the great darkness claimed him.
A knock came loudly at the door of the Shol leather-maker. Inside, Shigmur, Elenya, and Lonal all felt their hearts jump, but the war-leader signalled calm, settled his veils once more over his head, and lay down on the bed.
"What is it?" Shigmur called in Azuraji.
"The garrison," came the reply. "Open the door."
Shigmur did so. A pair of enlisted men were waiting outside. "What is the problem?" Shigmur asked.
Their eyes darted about the room. They did not seem hostile, merely worried, young, and unhappy. They kept their tone respectful, but unequivocal.
"There has been treachery inside the inn. Four deaths. The vice-commander has ordered every guest to be confined to the cellars. You are to come with us."
"But my wife – "
"I am sorry, lord. There are to be no exceptions. The barbarians are outside the walls, and we do not have time to sort the innocent from the assassins. It is for your own protection."
"I must talk to the caravan master," Shigmur said.
"Talk to him in the cellar. He'll be there."
Shigmur frowned, feigning annoyance, and grumbled his assent. "May we take our possessions?"
"Only what you wear, m'lord. You'll have to leave your weapons here, and let us search you."
Shigmur pretended to be outraged, but did not resist. They were quick and respectful, but thorough. They found no weapons other than the unconcealed scimitar in his belt and seemed reassured. Elenya lifted her skirt, proving that she had absolutely nothing hidden. The guards looked hard at Lonal's veiled figure and made a decision concerning the bounds of military propriety, not suspecting that their choice had saved them from instant murder.
The dungeons of Xurosh were small, intended only to house the occasional miscreant or belligerent drunk. When the fortress had been built, no one had wanted to chip jail cells out of solid rock. Therefore, faced with the problem of incarcerating a sizable number of people, the cellars were the only convenient choice.
Lonal, Shigmur, and Elenya had laid claim to a corner near the door. A few dozen others shared whatever niche or cranny presented itself. A few, victims of the poison, remained eerily in the positions in which they had been placed. The cellars were full of barrels, casks, crates, and boxes. Hams, sausages, and strings of garlic hung from the rafters. The odor was full and appetizing. The air was genuinely cool. Aside from the locked door, in many ways the room was more pleasant than the guest quarters above.
This was a fine mess, Elenya thought. That Falol was too sharp. She cursed the need to have exposed their presence inside Xurosh by killing the sorcerer. Given much more time, the vice-commander might ferret out the truth. She supposed they were fortunate to have accomplished the murder without being caught in the act, but it was only half-luck. Falol had managed to thwart them even without knowing their exact identities.
Above, all of Xurosh might be stiffening to the effects of Mother's Breath. The army of T'lil that waited in the hills outside the walls would be able to swarm in and meet no resistance. They could take the fortress even if she, Lonal, or Shigmur failed to open the gate. But they would not move without the signal. With the gate closed, even a small contingent of alert guards might slaughter hundreds.
Of course, no signal could be sent when the three of them were locked in a cellar.
They didn't have much time. One way or another, the water would become suspect. Also, the poison lasted little more than a day and a night. Assuming the worst, by dusk of the following day, the entire garrison could be fully recovered. She had to do something.
She licked her dry lips…
Of course!
She leaned close to Shigmur and whispered in his ear. The big war-second grunted and strode to the doorway.
"Hey, out there!" he called.
"What do you want?" answered one of the sentries.
"How about some fresh water? The stuff in the barrels smells like oeikani dribble."
Some of the other prisoners murmured agreement. They had been content with the wines and ales, but good water was more than welcome. The guards, told to remember that their charges were technically still guests of the fort, found the request reasonable.
The water arrived a half hour later. The sentries made everyone stand back from the door. They briefly unlocked it, placed a large bucket within, and secured it once more. Elenya noted with satisfaction that both guards had droplets of liquid on the edges of their mustaches.