"And we're doing so much better now, are we?"
The Guildmistress sighed, and there actually appeared a touch of genuine sorrow in her demeanor. "I'm afraid the nobles have proved more resistant to change than we'd hoped. They're making demands and insisting on concessions that we cannot possibly afford, and until they cooperate, our ability to govern their lands-or field their armies-is limited."
"It was my understanding," Irrial said, carefully modulating her voice, "that both sides were making unreasonable demands."
"Yes, well, the nobles would claim that in order to justify their intransigence, wouldn't they?"
Corvis wondered briefly if he'd need to put himself between them, and fast, but Irrial showed substantially more restraint than he would have in her position. She frowned but otherwise made no move at all.
"Perhaps," she said instead, "I can convince the assembly to put aside some of their differences, at least temporarily. I've come from Rahariem, I've seen how thoroughly Cephira's digging in. A firsthand account might sway some votes."
"It might," Mavere said, though she clearly didn't believe it. "But I fear that there are other issues not so easily dealt with."
"Rebaine." It was not a question.
"Rebaine, yes." Then, again with apparent sincerity, "I'm sorry about your cousin, my lady. We might have had very different ideas on how to govern Imphallion, but he was a good man. His loss diminishes us all."
She allowed a moment of respectful silence before continuing, "We've no idea what Rebaine's up to, but with that… that creature running around and slaughtering nobles and Guildmembers alike, we're finding it very difficult to convince anyone to give over command of their vassals. They fear being left without protection. Some of them"-she leaned forward-"those who know the truth, fear having their own soldiers turned against them."
"The truth?" Irrial asked, confused. Corvis felt his stomach drop to his toes.
"It took us some time to figure it out," Mavere said, "but when he was here last, Rebaine cast some sort of enchantment on many of us."
Lower than his toes, now; he was pretty sure he could actually feel his guts squishing around inside his boots.
"You don't say," Irrial said darkly.
"It was remarkably subtle. Very unlike him."
'Got you pegged, doesn't she?'
"Even after many of the nobles and Guildmasters began acting strangely-sometimes so much so that we had to replace them-we didn't understand." Her voice quivered, just once, with what might, or might not, have been fury. "But I'm a priestess as well as a smith, my lady, and I've studied more in my life than many scholars. I may not know magic, but I know much of magic. I finally recognized the effects for what they were, though only on a few of my colleagues. To this day, I've no idea how many more might be compromised."
Not enough, Corvis thought bitterly.
"I told my most trusted fellow Guildmasters, of course, and I've reason to suspect that some nobles know as well. We've told few others, for fear of causing a panic. But in any case, it's made his reappearance even that much more disruptive."
So why is she willing to tell us? Corvis couldn't help but worry.
"I see," Irrial said. "What if I told you," she continued slowly, "that Corvis Rebaine was not behind the recent murders. Do you think that, combined with my accounts of Rahariem, might convince the assembly to act?"
It was all Corvis could do to keep his chair. What is she doing?
'How quickly can you kill them both?'
Mavere leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "You'd have to offer some fairly convincing proof. What in the gods' names makes you think this?"
"I've reason to know that Rebaine was, in fact, present in the occupied territories during some of the murders," she answered evasively.
"Do you, now? Even if that's true, my lady, Rebaine has all sorts of mystical capabilities. For all we know, he could have transported himself across Imphallion with a snap of his fingers."
Irrial fidgeted, almost cast a glance at Corvis and caught herself, clearly trying to decide how much more to reveal.
Too late, Corvis seethed.
But Mavere seemed disinclined to allow her to continue. "No, my lady, I think that even if you know Rebaine was in the east-and I'm going to want an explanation as to how you know that-it wouldn't convince anyone of anything. Some might even think it evidence that he's in league with Cephira."
"At least let me address the assembly, Mavere. Then I can-"
"No, Baroness, I think not. You've been remarkably unwilling to share the specific details of your so-called escape."
"So-called-" she protested, but the Guildmistress kept going.
"You, and you alone, have fled Cephiran-held territory-and you're sitting in my office with a servant cloaked in illusion. I told you," she added as Irrial and Corvis glanced in shock at each other, "that I know much of magic. I cannot penetrate the illusion, but I can sense it-and I know that such spells cannot be maintained indefinitely.
"No, Irrial, I worry that you've been turned, that Cephira allowed you to escape, to muddy the waters here even further. And there's no way in hell I'm letting you anywhere near the assembly."
Irrial rose, leaning heavily on her cane. "That's the most asinine thing I've ever-"
"If I'm wrong," Mavere told her, pulling a lever on the underside of her desk, "you'll have every opportunity to convince me, I promise. But I cannot risk it."
The door opened with a resounding crash, revealing all six guards, crossbows leveled.
"You will both be escorted to secure quarters-pleasant ones, as befits your status, my lady-until you're willing to tell me everything about what occurred, and to provide corroborating evidence. And until you," she added, pointing at Corvis, "are willing to reveal your true face. A Cephiran face, I expect. Guards?"
Corvis and Irrial allowed themselves to be escorted from the chamber. With half a dozen bolts chomping at the bit to punch through flesh and bone, there was precious little else they could do.
Chapter Eleven
KALEB STOOD stripped to the waist and so glistening with sweat that he shone like his opponent's blade. As he twisted on one knee, hands rising in swift parry, his skin rippled with an array of muscles startling on so slender a frame; he could have been one of Jassion's classic marble statues made flesh. The heavy branch he wielded thrummed with the impact of his own falchion, now clasped in someone else's hands.
"No," he insisted, friendly but firm. "You're not putting enough muscle into it."
The young woman, whose only concession to the baking sun had been to leave her cloak folded atop a saddlebag, just stared at him as though she hadn't heard a word.
"Mellorin? Are you listening, or just ogling?"
"I-!" It wasn't much of a protest; more a squeak, really. Her face reddened with far more than the summer heat.
"I thought," she said after a moment to compose herself, "that the idea was to keep control. Wild swings leave you open."
"They do," Kaleb acknowledged. "But you're taking it too far. A sword's more than just a big knife. You can't treat them the same way."
"I should know this already!" she spat with sudden venom. "He should have been there to teach me!"
"But if you already knew," Kaleb said, his voice soothing, "this wouldn't be nearly as much fun."
She couldn't help but smile. "This is harder than I expected," she admitted as he approached, trying without much success to keep her gaze above shoulder level.
"You're doing fine, Mellorin. A falchion's a clumsy sort of blade to be learning with, but until Baron Creepy Uncle gets back, it's all we've got."
"Is he always like this?" she asked, ruminating over the past few days together on the road.
"You mean rude, brooding, utterly humorless, and short-tempered as a badger with piles?"