"About using magic? No."
"I didn't see you casting any spells."
"You're about six years late for that."
The baroness frowned and opened her mouth to ask a question, but Corvis shook his head. "Later." He took a seat, gestured for Irrial to do the same.
For more than an hour they talked, Corvis and Irrial asking questions, Mubarris providing answers in that same "not entirely there" tone of voice, but those answers were proving relatively unhelpful.
He confirmed for them the murders committed by "Corvis Rebaine," not only in Mecepheum but later in Denathere, and a purported few in other cities as well. He provided a list of the dead, and though she'd already known, Irrial lowered her head when her cousin's name passed his lips.
Corvis, ever suspicious, chewed at the inside of his cheek and wondered if it was simple chance that so many of the dead-not all, not even most, but more than he'd easily accept as coincidence-were men and women over whom he'd long ago cast Selakrian's spell.
What Mubarris could not offer was any hint as to who might be behind the false Rebaine. He did not, in fact, even have reason to disbelieve the rumors himself, given his ignorance of the magics under which he currently labored-or who had cast them.
Nor could he offer any reasons beyond the obvious as to why the Guilds and the nobles were proving so stubborn, so mulish, that nobody had taken action.
"We're all scared," he admitted. "Nobody wants to be without protection-and lots of it-in case Rebaine comes for us next. And you know that the Guildmasters and the nobles haven't agreed on much of anything since the Guilds dethroned the regent."
Corvis and Irrial nodded in unison.
"But it does seem," he continued, "as though there's some added pressure. As if the leaders on both sides are demanding concessions and promises that they know the other side won't accept. I couldn't say for sure, though, or tell you where that pressure's coming from. I'm not really part of the inner circles anymore. Haven't been for a few years; I guess nobody thinks the Cartwrights' and Carpenters' Guild is important anymore." His heavy sigh dragged an anchor of self-pity along behind it. "Or maybe it's just me."
The visitors made their excuses, Corvis delivering a final command to forget the conversation-or at least never to speak of it to anyone, since he wasn't sure if the spell could compel Mubarris to forget-and departed. He reclaimed his sword from the guards, then requested directions to another room.
Over the course of the afternoon, Irrial and Corvis visited two more Guildmasters, and two nobles with offices in the Hall. All were among the surviving number of Corvis's "contacts," and all told the same story as Mubarris. All confirmed what he had confirmed, suspected what he had suspected; and none knew any more than he, for each and every one had found him- or herself excluded from the pinnacles of power in Mecepheum. The nobles lacked much real authority, now that the Guilds had firmly taken over, and the Guildmasters, again like Mubarris, had been carefully shuffled to the periphery.
Corvis was finding it harder and harder to accept this as coincidence. He'd known that his puppets had to have lost some of their power when Imphallion failed to sail the various courses charted by Duke Halmon-or occasionally by Corvis himself, through Halmon. He'd known that several of the Guildmasters he'd beguiled had even lost their positions. But to see it before him like this, so deliberate and precise…
"What now?" Irrial asked, interrupting his musings.
He shrugged, running through the names of every Guildmaster he could recall, disliking the direction his thoughts were taking.
"Now," he said finally, reluctantly, "we talk with someone I know is in a position to tell us more about what the hell's going on."
And we hope, he added silently, that she's willing to tell us, because over her, I hold no influence at all. THE HALLS GREW ever more crowded as they progressed. No surprise, that. The higher one climbed in the Hall of Meeting, the more important were the inhabitants of its chambers; and the more important the inhabitants, the greater the quantity of rugged mercenaries and minor functionaries.
Corvis hung back as Irrial approached the door, and the no fewer than six guards posted beside it, and was momentarily grateful to be masquerading as a servant. The deference expected of his role would do well to cover his genuine unease. He disliked the notion of coming here, of exposing himself-even disguised-to a Guildmaster over whom he lacked any control. And if anyone here was likely to have the knowledge, the discipline, and the presence of mind to discover him, it was she. But he knew that, now as when he'd last seen her more than half a decade gone by, she was highly regarded by the other Guildmasters. If anyone was in a position to see the whole picture, to understand what was happening here in Mecepheum-and what wasn't happening, and why-it was she.
"The Baroness Irrial of Rahariem," his companion announced to the guards as she halted before them, cane thumping dully against the carpeted floor, "to see Salia Mavere."
As before, one of the guards slipped through the door while the others maintained their positions, and Corvis struggled not to hold his breath. Odds were good that Mavere would want to speak with Irrial, to learn what was happening on the eastern front, but…
He couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief when the guard returned and announced, "The Guildmistress will see you."
Also as before, Corvis handed his sword over to the soldiers before entering, then followed Irrial as meekly as he could manage.
The priestess of Verelian and leader of the Blacksmiths' Guild offered the baroness something oddly between a bow and a curtsy, which Irrial politely returned. "I was heartened to hear your name," Mavere said as she offered chairs and then drinks to her guests-the former of which they gratefully accepted, the latter politely declined. "It's been difficult getting any reliable news from the east, but we'd heard that most of the elite were being held."
Elite. A very useful word, Corvis couldn't help but note, for the nobility and the Guilds both. If there was anything on which the two sides could agree, after all, it was that they were certainly superior to everyone else.
'Someone ought to show them otherwise, don't you think?'
"Most of us are," Irrial said, adjusting her skirts across the chair. "I managed to escape with some outside help." Very briefly, and leaving out a number of salient details-such as, just for instance, the true name of the man who'd assisted her-the baroness recounted the tale of her escape and her abortive attempt at resistance.
"You're a very fortunate woman," Mavere told her finally, one powerful hand fiddling idly with the combination ensign and holy symbol hanging about her neck. "The gods were surely watching over you."
"Surely," Irrial agreed. Only someone who'd known her as well as Corvis would have detected the bitterness in her tone.
"And I can certainly understand why you fled Rahariem with all haste," the Guildmistress continued. "But I have to admit to some puzzlement as to why you'd travel all the way here, my lady."
She wasn't puzzled at all, of course, and everyone in the room knew it. She just wanted to make her guests broach the topic.
"Why?" Irrial's response was, perhaps, hotter than she'd intended. "Because, Mavere, I would very much like to know why you people have allowed a hostile kingdom to conquer eastern Imphallion without lifting so much as a finger in response!"
"My lady, as you well know, there's been a great deal of strife between the Guilds and the nobility as of late…"
"Yes, ever since the Guilds combined their influence to illegally force my cousin to abdicate as regent."
Mavere's face twitched, but she revealed no other sign of her irritation. "For the good of Imphallion. The old ways weren't working."