"I take it that's why you've come to see me? You've wasted your time; there's no sure defense against Fendel's Assassin, no simple countercharm."
"He thinks he has a way to stop it," Lord Ildirin said, nodding at the other stranger, a young man in ordinary Ethsharitic clothing.
"Does he? What method was it told to use? I assume you've determined that."
"It's been ordered to strangle him in his sleep," Ildirin said.
"And I suppose you want a potion to keep him from sleeping? Really, Lord Ildirin, you hardly needed to trouble me for that – and in any case, it won't work, not for long; most wakefulness potions wear off after a sixnight or so.
"My dear Ithinia, I am not so great a fool as that," Ildirin said, drawing himself up to his full height. "We came here because we need powerful magic quickly, and did not want to waste time asking around the Wizards' Quarter until we found someone capable of it, not when your home was so close at hand. There are also certain political matters that I wish to discuss with you, in your role as a leading representative of the Wizards' Guild in Ethshar of the Spices, once my friend's inconvenience has been dealt with."
Ithinia had to admit to herself that that sounded interesting. "And what is this magic you seek, then?"
"Petrifaction. We want you to turn Lar Samber's son to stone."
The wizard considered that, and a smile spread across her face. "I see," she said. "That's quite clever, really." She nodded at the young man in acknowledgment. "I take it that Bazil's Irreversible Petrifaction is out of the question, though, and you'd insist on Fendel's Superior Petrifaction?"
"In what way is it superior?" Ildirin asked.
"It's easily reversible," Ithinia explained.
"Yes, that would indeed be what we had in mind."
"The ingredients are simple, and I believe I have them all on hand, but it takes perhaps three hours to prepare," she said. "And the reversal will require me to smash a crystal goblet, so of course I must insist on compensation."
"Of course! The city's treasuries will cover all costs."
Ithinia stared at him for a moment, then looked at the foreigner. "Who is this person, then? Lar someone, you said?"
"Lar Samber's son," Lar said, with a bow and a tip of his hat. "Ambassador plenipotentiary from the Empire of Vond."
Ithinia frowned. "Vond?"
"The union of seventeen of the most southerly Small Kingdoms, my lady," Lar said.
"My title is Guildmaster," Ithinia told him. "And I know where Vond is, and how it came to be."
Lar bowed a silent reply.
"I'm not sure I should be preventing his assassination," Ithinia said. "The Wizards' Guild does not meddle in politics without good reason."
"Oh, but please, Guildmaster!" the young man burst out, startling her. "Lar doesn't mean anyone any harm; it's all a misunderstanding! The Lumethans wouldn't try to kill him if they knew the truth!"
Ithinia turned and stared at him. "Oh? And why don't they know the truth, then?"
"Because they won't believe it," Lar said; Ithinia thought he was deliberately not looking at the young man as he spoke. "We told them we mean them no harm. We told them the Empire will not expand. They don't believe us."
"I really don't care whether they have reason to assassinate him or not," Lord Ildirin interjected. "I won't have them doing it here, in my city!"
"Ah," Ithinia said, amused. "Your city. Does your nephew know it's yours?"
"May we come in and discuss this, or are you going to refuse us outright, here and now, and cause me great personal annoyance?"
"Fine. Come in, then," she said, stepping aside and gesturing toward her little-used parlor.
Four of the six men trailed in – Ildirin first, then Lar, then the young man whose name she had not yet heard, and finally one of the three guardsmen. The other two soldiers took up posts on either side of the door, facing out toward the street.
Ithinia waited until the others had entered, then looked at the two remaining. "You don't need to stay there," she said.
"Lord Ildirin's orders, Guildmaster," one of them replied.
"Look up," she said, pointing. "I have gargoyles watching over me; what do you think you can do that they cannot?"
"Nothing, Guildmaster, but I have my orders."
Ithinia shook her head. "Foolishness," she said. "This is all foolishness." She closed the door and followed her guests into the parlor.
All the men but the young one had all taken seats; Ithinia indicated a chair for him, as well, but remained standing herself.
"Now," she said, "let me make sure I have this right. You want me to turn this Vondishman to stone to protect him from Fendel's Assassin. You've spoken with the killer?"
The men exchanged glances; the young man, who was now perched on the edge of a chair, said, "That's right. Ahan gave it honey drops, and it answered questions."
"Honey drops?" She blinked. "Interesting; I thought it required the pure substance. Honey drops contain other things, do they not? Or are they merely cooked-down honey?"
The men exchanged glances. "I… I don't know, Guildmaster," the young one said.
Ithinia nodded. She should have expected that; most people didn't pay attention to ingredients the way wizards did. "And it said…?"
"It said it was going to wring Lar's neck while he slept, but that if he was dead, it wouldn't bother."
"And you think it will see petrifaction as death."
The young man suddenly looked very uncertain. "Isn't it?"
"I think we would all agree that Bazil's Petrifaction is fatal, but Fendel's is reversible, which is generally not considered a characteristic of death."
The look of dismay on the faces of both the young man and the Vondish ambassador was almost comical.
"That doesn't mean your scheme won't work," she quickly reassured them. "The assassin will undoubtedly have its own standards – isn't that right?" She addressed this last to empty air.
Nothing answered. Lar looked around the room warily.
"It said it wouldn't answer any more questions without more honey," the young man volunteered after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I've already promised to give it more by noon tomorrow. I swore."
Ithinia turned to consider him more carefully. "It agreed to that?"
"Yes," the man said. "You wouldn't happen to have any honey I could give it, would you?"
"You should send one of those soldiers you have wasting their time outside my door to fetch some, I would say."
"Oh. I thought that… well, isn't it used in some spells?"
"What's your name, young man?"
"Emmis of Shiphaven, Guildmaster."
"Well, Emmis, I do indeed have honey in my possession, but why should I give it to you?"
Emmis glanced at Lord Ildirin, then turned back to Ithinia. "To save time?"
"Your time, not mine. I am not interested in giving you the idea that you can make yourself at home here, or impose on me at your convenience. You will have to find your own honey elsewhere."
Before anyone could reply Ithinia thought she heard a faint growl. She remembered suddenly that the conjured assassin was almost certainly in the room, listening; it apparently didn't like being told it had to wait for its treat.
But it was constrained by the enchantment, she knew; it couldn't act of its own choice outside very narrow limits. Until it had carried out its assigned task it couldn't deliberately harm anyone else unless they got directly in the way of its attack on its intended target, and once its task was performed it would be banished back to whatever other realm it had come from – or perhaps to nonexistence; no one had ever bothered to determine whether the thing had any independent reality outside Fendel's spell.