"Jassion's companion. Kaleb."
Irrial and Corvis exchanged glances. "We've heard the name," he told her, "but I don't know him."
"Well, he knows you. And he's a bad one. Maybe even as strong as Rheah Vhoune was."
Corvis pursed his lips, remembering the woman who'd been one of his most potent foes before the threat of Audriss the Serpent had forced them into an uneasy alliance. "There aren't supposed to be any sorcerers that powerful anymore. Well, not in Imphallion, anyway."
"Somebody should have told Kaleb that."
"Maybe he's not Imphallian," Irrial suggested, determined to contribute despite understanding only half the conversation. "Could he be Cephiran?"
"He didn't have a Cephiran accent," Seilloah said thoughtfully, "but that doesn't prove anything. Hell, he could be Tharsuuli for all I know." She paused, snout tilting as she examined Corvis. "Could he be?" she asked. "After what happened to you up north, could the Dragon Kings have sent him?"
Corvis shuddered. "Gods, I hope not. That's all we need." Then, at Irrial's puzzled expression, "Before I came to Rahariem. It's a long story, for some other time."
She frowned, but nodded. "Isn't this all a bit academic, anyway?" she asked. "Shouldn't we be more worried about what we're going to do about this Kaleb? We can figure out where he's from later."
"She has a point," Seilloah squeaked. "You're a better caster than you used to be, Corvis, but I'm not telling you anything you don't know when I say you're still not all that impressive. And I couldn't match Kaleb at my best, let alone now."
"I see that being a rodent has done wonders for your sunny disposition," he grumbled.
She inhaled deeply, hesitantly, a truly peculiar image in her current form. Then, tentatively, "Pekatherosh?"
Corvis's face went hard. "No. Absolutely not, under no circumstances."
'For once, old boy, we are in complete agreement. You leave that pompous pustule right where he is.'
"We may need that sort of power, Corvis."
"Because it worked out so well last time? No, not a chance."
"I don't suppose one of you would care to let me in on this?" Irrial demanded sharply.
"Corvis…"
"She's a part of all this, Seilloah. She deserves to know." He faced the baroness. "When I was…" He cast about for a tactful description.
"Butchering your way across Imphallion on the backs of a thousand innocents?" she interjected helpfully.
"Um, right. The magics at my disposal weren't limited to my own. I had an amulet, a charm if you will. It made me the equal of any true sorcerer, if not stronger.
"It was also inhabited by a demon, who gave it its power. A truly loathsome creature called Khanda." He braced internally when he spoke the name, ready for a withering barrage of commentary from the voice that was either his memory of the demon, or some tiny remnant sliver of Khanda himself. But for a change, he seemed to be alone in his mind.
Irrial scowled. "Every time I think you can't sink any lower…"
"The point"-he bulled ahead, refusing to be sidetracked-"is that Audriss had a demon of his own, imprisoned in a ring. Pekatherosh. At the end of the Serpent's War, I banished Khanda back to hell, but I'd gotten hold of Pekatherosh as well. I didn't know if I'd need that sort of power again, so I entombed the ring in a cave atop Mount Molleya, in the Terrakas Mountains."
"And now that you do need him," Seilloah said, "you're not going to retrieve him?"
"I've learned a lot since then," Corvis said quietly. "About who and what I am. And I won't have my life resting in the hands of a demon again. Not ever."
"That's all very well and good," Irrial said after a moment of silence. "I might even admit to being a little bit impressed that you really do seem to be trying to put the Terror of the East behind you."
Corvis smiled, startled. "Well, thank y-"
"But it doesn't," she continued, the rickety chair creaking alarmingly as she leaned forward, "help us much in deciding what to do next."
To that, neither the former witch nor the former warlord had an answer.
Chapter Thirteen
SALIA MAVERE SAT in her office and fumed, her smoldering temper threatening to ignite the parchments scattered across the massive desk. How could things possibly have gone so wrong, so quickly? If she'd only known, only taken the proper precautions, just maybe they-
She practically leapt from her chair (and her skin) as the door slammed open, her hand dropping to the hammer at her waist. So powerful was the blow that the brass knob gouged a small chip from the wall. Powdered stone cascaded in a gentle shower to the carpet.
She'd heard muffled conversation in the hallway beyond, but the guards were under strict orders to admit absolutely nobody.
Kaleb stomped through the doorway, his body rigid, radiating a violent fury held at bay by only the thinnest emotional leash. Nenavar followed a step or two behind, muttering, and Salia wondered if the older wizard's presence was all that kept Kaleb in line.
The guards in the hall still stood their posts, motionless as sculptures, staring at what must have been a particularly fascinating vista of absolutely nothing.
"What in the name of Maukra's searing arsehole is wrong with you?"
She'd never seen Kaleb like this, so near losing control. Her widening eyes flickered to Nenavar, who could only shrug a silent protest.
I'm trying!
Kaleb checked his advance only when the desk intruded itself between them, and even then he leaned forward as though ready to leap the obstacle or casually toss it aside. "Have you totally lost what passes for your mind, Mavere? You had him, and you let him go!"
"Kaleb, that's enough," the old wizard ordered, perhaps less forcefully than he'd have hoped. "You'll show some respect!"
"I'll show some respect when someone earns it, Master. So far, that's not looking likely."
Her own temper heating steadily, not unlike the forge over which she so loved to labor, Salia rose, matching Kaleb's stare. "What the hell are you two doing here?" she hissed. "If anyone sees you here-"
"Nobody will know we were here, Lady Mavere," Nenavar protested. "Few locals even know who we are, and once I release the spell on your guards, they won't remember a thing."
"Right," Kaleb added. "It's astonishing how weak everyone's mind is in this building."
Salia very deliberately took two deep breaths, struggling for control. Then, "Sit," she offered-or perhaps ordered-doing the same herself. First Nenavar, after closing the door, and then finally Kaleb complied.
"If you'd had the old man-sorry, Master Nenavar-summon me immediately, I could have dealt with him," Kaleb growled. "This could have all been over."
"I contacted Nenavar as soon as we learned it was Rebaine," the Guildmistress protested, trying hard not to sound as though she was whining. Just the thought that he'd been here, right here, had been enough to give her genuine nightmares. I'm not sure how much longer I can stand not knowing… "By then, it was too late."
"You didn't know?"
"All I knew, Kaleb, was that Baroness Irrial was accompanied by a servant cloaked in an illusion."
"And that didn't ring any alarm bells, Mavere? Do you keep your brains in that damn hammer?"
"Kaleb…," Nenavar warned. "I won't tell you again to behave yourself."
"Oh, good. Because frankly, I'm getting a little sick of hearing it. If I-"
The sorcerer's jaw continued to work, but nothing emerged save a rasping sigh. Sweat broke out across his brow, down his arms; a line of spittle dangled from the corner of his mouth. His body quivered, every muscle tensing and pulling against every other.
"And I," Nenavar said, rising to his feet, "am more than a little sick of your disobedience. You call me 'Master' as though it were a joke, Kaleb, and I tolerate it. But do not ever forget that it is true."