“Wait for what?” Tabaea demanded, shaken by the woman’s confidence and the threat of demons and wizardry. She could still counter witchcraft, since she had the talent and more raw vitality than any three normal witches; she could still counter warlockry because of the inherent limits on every warlock; but without the dagger she had no defense against other magicks.
“For the Seething Death to get you,” Sarai replied, pointing to the pool of wizard-stuff. “True, it didn’t get you immediately, but it will keep spreading until it does—unless we use the countercharm to stop it.”
Disconcerted, Tabaea turned to stare at the puddle—and the instant she did, the two witches and the unhurt warlock dashed for the stairs. The assassin, still unconscious, sailed along behind them, unsupported through the air—his fellow warlock was doing that, Tabaea sensed.
She let them go. This was between Sarai and herself, now. Sarai seemed very sure of herself—but was she really? The sight of the fleeing witches reminded Tabaea of her own witchcraft—she had so many choices now, so many things she could do, that there were times when she forgot some of them. “That stufF is going to go on spreading?” she asked. “That’s right,” Sarai said—but Tabaea, witch-senses alert, knew that was a half truth. Sarai was hiding something. “Until it kills me? It’s after me, specifically?” “That’s right,” Sarai said—but this time it was a lie, Tabaea knew.
“Unless you use the countercharm?” “A wizard working for us,” Sarai said, “not me.” And that was a lie, too. It was all lies and tricks.
Except, perhaps, the part about using wizardry to kill her. Tabaea was between Sarai and the nearest staircase; the other exits were far across the throne room. Sarai was fast, but Tabaea thought she was faster. Sarai had the Black Dagger—and Tabaea needed it. Only the dagger could guard her against wizards.
She had killed a Guildmaster; even if Lord Kalthon gave her mercy, the Wizards’ Guild never would. She knew that. They hadn’t killed her yet—but Tabaea remembered when Sarai had first shown the dagger. The other magicians had been surprised. The Wizards’ Guild must not have known about the theft, either. And only the fact that they didn’t know Lady Sarai had gotten the Black Dagger away from her had kept Tabaea alive this long, she was suddenly certain.
She might lose a fight with Lady Sarai, but at least she’d have a chance; if she didn’t get the dagger back, she was as good as dead.
She lunged.
CHAPTER 39
Oarai had watched from the stairs as Teneria worked at her healing and had watched as the Seething Death dissolved the bowl Tabaea had used to cover it, had seen and smelled that Tabaea was on the ragged edge of panic, and had realized that the situation was critical.
Tabaea had to be removed, and the Seething Death had to be stopped.
The wizards could handle Tabaea now, once they knew the dagger was gone; all Sarai had to do was to tell Tobas, or even just Karanissa or Teneria, that she had stolen the Black Dagger.
Stopping the Seething Death wouldn’t be so easy.
Or would it? The Black Dagger negated most wizardry; would it be able to stop the Seething Death?
That was something to think about, maybe something to try if Tabaea ever left the room—but at that thought, something occurred to Sarai that she should, she told herself, have considered sooner: Bringing the Black Dagger so close to Tabaea might have been a foolish risk to take. If the self-proclaimed empress were to realize that the knife was there...
Just then, Tabaea demanded, “Art, bring those people in here.”
The funny little man who was acting as Tabaea’s majordomo looked up. “What people, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Those people on the stairs.” Tabaea waved for them to come forward, and said, “You, all of you—come closer.”
Sarai cursed herself for getting into this dangerous a position. She should have slipped away while she had the chance, gone to the Guildhouse, and told them everything.
“Line up,” Tabaea ordered. Then she turned and shouted at Teneria, “Go on healing him!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Teneria replied. Tabaea pointed at Karanissa. “You,” she said, “get over there.” She ordered Vengar to the dais, as well.
And then she turned back and pointed directly at Sarai and said, “And you, Pharea.”
For an instant, Sarai froze; how had Tabaea recognized her? “Pharea” had had a different face.
But then she realized what had given it away, what must have given it away: her scent.
She should have known; after all, she could now recognize the odor of anyone she had been near herself, and Tabaea had killed not just one dog, but several.
The method didn’t really matter, though; all that mattered was that Sarai had been spotted.
But of course, Tabaea didn’t know everything; she didn’t know who “Pharea” was, didn’t know everything that was going on. She couldn’t. She had magic, she had superhuman senses, but she wasn’t omniscient. If Sarai let Tabaea control events now, that might ruin everything. Tabaea might take the dagger back, she might kill Thurin and Teneria and Karanissa and Vengar, and she might let the Seething Death spread unchecked; Sarai hoped that if it was dealt with while it was still small the spell could be stopped.
She didn’t dare let Tabaea tell her what to do—but what choice did she have?
She had to bluff. She had had four years of practice in talking information out of people; maybe she could talk Tabaea into giving herself up. And what choice did she have?
“I don’t think so,” Sarai said, as confidently as she could. She let her hand fall to the hilt of the Black Dagger.
It seemed to go well at first; she dodged Tabaea’s first attack, removing whatever threat Art might pose. A moment later, the distracted would-be empress let the four magicians escape.
And it all seemed to be working, right up until Tabaea dove at her.
Sarai just barely dodged; she had not been ready for it this time, as she had before. And the little empress looked so small and harmless—it was hard to remember that she had torn men apart with her bare hands.
Tabaea whirled and struck again, and again Sarai dodged. She couldn’t keep this up, though, and she didn’t dare actually fight; Tabaea was much faster, vastly more powerful, and had her magic, as well. Sarai had to escape, to get away—and even that would be difficult. She remembered the assassins Tabaea had run down and butchered. She had to do something they hadn’t, something unexpected—but what?
Lord Torrut had mentioned a trick once, when he and Captain Tikri had been joking with each other; Tabaea came at Sarai again, and she tried it, putting her hands on Tabaea’s shoulders and vaulting over her head.
If the throne room had had a normal ceiling, it would never have worked, but there under the great dome, with cat-reflexes and her augmented strength, the move sent Sarai sailing a dozen feet through the air. She landed, catlike, on her feet, and immediately sprinted for the stairs most nearly straight ahead, which happened to be the right-hand set as seen from the dais. Tabaea needed a second or two to whirl on one toe and set out in pursuit, but she closed much faster than Sarai liked. At the very brink, Sarai dodged sideways and ran along the throne-room wall toward the rear stairs.
Tabaea was unable to stop until she was four or five steps down; Sarai had gained at least a second this time.
As she ran along the side of the throne room, Sarai’s feet stirred through the trash that had accumulated during Tabaea’s reign; she took a fraction of a second from her narrow lead to stoop and scoop up a handful of garbage. She flung it over her shoulder, in Tabaea’s face. The empress screamed with anger as a chicken bone hit her in the eye, but she hardly slowed at all. As she neared the corner, wondering why Tabaea had not cut diagonally across the room to head her off, Sarai scooped up more debris; this time she tossed it, not at Tabaea, but at the Seething Death.