One Hundredth Magic Page 4

  Alexander raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “I think we're off to a poor start, Counselor. I'm not particularly happy to be in Hurst, and I doubt if you're pleased to be carting me around, but we should probably make the best of it."

  Adriana released her grip on the dagger and smiled. “I apologize, Huntsman, you haven't earned my suspicion. I'm afraid a little paranoia is typical of those in my position. Please call me Adriana."

  Alexander accepted her proffered hand. “It's my fault for goading you. And it's ‘Alexander,’ not ‘Huntsman.’ Only my trainees call me by title."

  “Well, Alexander, shall we move along? Since you've already found a room, we could move up today's schedule a bit.” The counselor led the way to a large rickshaw. Unlike the one Alexander had arrived in, this carriage consisted of two seats side-by-side. The long handles were wide enough apart for two men to pull simultaneously, and the pair grasping them now had the thickest legs Alexander had ever seen. They wore the gray uniform pants of the Hurst military, stretched tight over bulging muscles. One of the drivers offered Adriana his hand before noticing Alexander doing the same. The counselor took both and sat on one of the thick cushions. Alexander took the seat next to her after struggling a moment with his scabbard. Adriana had displayed no such difficulty, being much more accustomed to the odd mode of transportation.

  “I'm curious,” she said. “Why do they refer to you as a huntsman? It sounds like someone tracking animals in the forest.” She studied Alexander from the corner of her eye as the rickshaw started forward. His hawkish face was softened somewhat by a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, both the rusty color of a redwood leaf in autumn. Light-brown hair was pulled back and bound with a leather cord. A thin scar trailed down the right side of his neck and disappeared under his collar. He wore a white shirt decorated with simple needlework and black trousers with high leather boots. In typical Addamantian style, Alexander's belt was wide enough to cover a good portion of his stomach. Rather than looping the frogs for his scabbards around the belt itself, they were attached to small loops riveted to the leather.

  “The position did originate that way,” Alexander said. “But once my predecessors became known as Huntsmen, the Baron's actual hunters started referring to themselves as the Baronial Rangers."

  “So, they track animals and you—"

  “Track more animals. Mine just happen to walk on two legs and live inside the city walls."

  “Your city constables can't handle these men?"

  “And women. In most cases our constables can handle the deviants just fine. It's finding them that poses a problem."

  “'Deviants'? That's an odd word."

  “It helps to distinguish them from your normal criminals. The Huntsmen aren't really concerned with your everyday thieves, pickpockets and vagrants. We're trained specifically to track down murderers or anyone who manages to avoid the constabulary. There are five active Huntsmen right now and we report to one of His Excellency's ministers."

  The rickshaw shot through the streets at an impressive clip. A small pothole in the smooth stone jolted the wheel. The carriage rocked slightly, pressing Alexander against Adriana before the vehicle settled back to both wheels. He clamped his left arm over the carriage wall in an attempt to hold his body more firmly in place. Adriana smiled briefly.

  “You get used to it,” she said. “It's like riding a horse, but with a different gait. You do know how to ride, don't you?"

  “I wouldn't lead a cavalry charge, but I can handle myself,” Alexander replied. “Are we going for a ride today? I'd assumed I'd put in an appearance at the Emperor's court, tell him about Addamantia's undying loyalty to our neighbors, that sort of thing."

  If Adriana noticed his sarcastic tone she ignored it. “That won't be for three days yet. His Righteousness keeps a busy schedule. I thought I'd take you to the site of the first attack. It's about an hour's ride from the city."

  “I'm at your disposal.” Alexander tried to shift around in the seat to face the counselor, but the narrow confines of the rickshaw made facing the other passenger awkward. Adriana watched, amused, until he gave up.

  Ahead, Shipman's Plaza appeared. The vast market already teemed with people, through which the drivers threaded a path. They continued east, toward the keep. The great structure rose against the backdrop of the Black Mountains, towering above the rest of the town. Even from a distance it was an imposing sight; Alexander estimated that fully a thousand people could be housed within its stone walls.

  “What exactly does an Imperial counselor do?” Alexander asked. “I assume you're somewhat similar to our baronial ministers?"

  Adriana nodded. “We each have a primary area of responsibility, though everyone's arguments are welcome during general council. You're expected to develop a deep knowledge of your area and His Righteousness creates new positions if he feels some new subject warrants the attention."

  “What's your area of concentration?"

  “None yet.” Adriana turned away, but not before Alexander caught the downward twitch of the corner of her mouth. “I'm only a junior counselor. If I'm elevated to full council status I'll be given a permanent position."

  Alexander noted her uncertainty and debated changing the subject. He didn't want to anger his only contact in the unfamiliar city. “Is there some doubt about you being promoted?” he asked.

  Adriana's shoulders tensed, but she turned back to Alexander before answering. “Court politics,” she said. “A junior counselor is mentored by a senior counselor. Besides teaching us how to deal with the system, the mentor keeps the Emperor and the rest of the council informed as to our worth. Your mentor's sponsorship has a lot do with whether or not you get a permanent spot on the council."

  “Has your counselor fallen out of favor somehow?"

  “No,” said Adriana. A dwarf leaped out of the path of their rickshaw and shook his fist at the drivers. “He's dead. Virmual Postwick was my mentor, but he's one of the victims you've been sent to investigate."

  “Oh. I'm sorry."

  The crowded street gave way suddenly to a residential neighborhood, one obviously reserved for Hurst's upper class. Large estates and mansions were set far back from the road, many surrounded by their own low walls or bordered by obscuring hedges and rows of trees. For the first time since entering the city Alexander saw grassy lawns. One house even boasted a tiny stream winding through the front yard.

  “Virmual was the council's leader in trade developments. This is the worst possible time for us to have lost him, with the tension between us and Addamantia getting worse by the day."

  “Murders always come at the worst possible time,” said Alexander. “Have you met Count Eduard Hafflston? He's in Hurst somewhere. He must've been negotiating the new tariffs with Postwick."

  “Yes!” Adriana snapped her fingers. “That's why you seemed so familiar to me. You and Hafflston speak quite a bit alike."

  “I'm not surprised. He trained me."

  “Really? The count's a Huntsman also?"

  “Not anymore.” Alexander tried to stretch his legs and found it a hopeless task in the confines of the rickshaw. Ahead, Governor's Way ended at a gate. The wall that ran from it in each direction wasn't nearly as tall as that surrounding the city, but it still made an impressive barrier for the keep yards.

  “Hafflston was a Huntsman when I was a boy,” Alexander said. “My parents died when I was ten—they were aboard the Westerly Gallant when it sunk off Charlain. So, the baronial orphanage took me in, and somehow I wound up one of Hafflston's Huntsman trainees. Must've shown some kind of skill, either that or I wasn't good enough at anything else. Anyway, I'm supposed to report to him while I'm here. Among other things, Eduard's got pigeons I can use to update Baron Alfrid."

  “Mine passed young, too,” said Adriana. “My father fought during the Elven Exodus and died at Gossamer Pass. My mother took sick shortly after and followed him—by force of will, I think."

  “No brothers o
r sisters for you, either?"

  A strange shadow darkened her expression briefly and Alexander noticed her hesitate before answering. “None,” she said. “Just myself."

  The spearmen at the gate of the keep saw them coming and waved the pedestrians away, clearing the path for the rickshaw drivers to run through with little loss of speed. The guards on either side saluted. They must have recognized Adriana, Alexander guessed.

  “So, Alexander, do you think you can find the person responsible for our assassinations?"

  “It's hard to say. A deviant in Hurst couldn't be all that different from a deviant in Addamantia. Of course, I don't know the city very well, or have informants.” Alexander's voice trailed away to silence, and he shook his head. “I'm going to share our techniques of discovery with you, but I don't know how much use I'll be in the actual hunt. Everywhere I look, I'm reminded that I don't know anything about Hurst.” He turned to find Adriana's unblinking brown eyes locked on his, waiting patiently. “Who stands to gain if I fail?"

  “Not if you fail. Just by your very presence."

  The parade grounds sprawled before them, a thick carpet of dark green. On the far edge rose the sheer walls of the keep, a stone rectangle rounded by the corner towers. “I don't understand,” said Alexander.

  “The Emperor's critics are already painting you to be an Addamantian spy. They say that the Baron is capitalizing on our situation to place an agent close to the Imperial court. Some even suggest that Addamantia is behind the killings, setting up the excuse to send you here under the semblance of goodwill. As you can imagine, the loss of Virmual Postwick in the midst of negotiations doesn't hurt their claim."

  “Wonderful. I'm here for a job I didn't particularly want, working for people who don't particularly want me.” The rickshaw veered to the left, following a road toward the south side of the keep. A tall hedge sprang up to their right, obscuring the keep from Alexander's view.

  “So, you're the fortunate one appointed to chaperone the foreign spy?” he asked.

  “No, I volunteered."

  Alexander laughed. “You're not serious?"

  “Completely."

  “Why the blazes would you do that? After what you just told me, I'd think every man and woman in the Emperor's court would be running from this assignment."

  “There have been four assassinations of a nature completely unfamiliar to us, all within the past month and a half. The—

  “Four? I was only aware of—"

  “The last one occurred while you were en route from Addamantia. It was a bard named Rominfeld. Have you heard of him?"

  “I don't know if there's a man in the Western Realm who hasn't heard of him,” said Alexander. “I can't think of a single reason why someone'd want to kill him, though."

  “Neither can anyone on the Imperial council. Nobody's seen anything like this before and the theories are endless. Real action, though, is pretty damned lacking. The army runs special patrols for a few nights, we double the Air Corps on duty and the wizards scry until they nearly pass out, and what happens? A few weeks go by, and someone else dies. It's incredible. Inefficiency is not a prime characteristic of the Emperor's counselors—I find it unbelievable that so many men could be pursuing these murders and so little has actually been accomplished."

  “So, you're going to wager on the total wildcard?"

  “It's an easy choice. Nothing else has produced results, so I'll try the atypical path. The killer needs to be discovered quickly, Alexander. The factions of the court are at one another's throats already over the trade negotiations—the assassinations are making things infinitely worse."

  The rickshaw drivers made their way through the barracks buildings, racing past marching soldiers and screaming officers. A stable appeared ahead, a low building with young boys leading horses in and out. The drivers were finally breathing hard. Their upper bodies expanded and contracted evenly, glistening with a light sheen. The rickshaw slowed as they approached the stable.

  “I'm starting to wonder what I've gotten into here,” said Alexander. “It sounds like our killer could be anyone from Hurst to Addamantia."

  The rickshaw stopped, and Adriana jumped out gracefully. Alexander followed at a slower pace, stretching his legs while his knees protested.

  “Oh, I don't think the killer is actually from either city,” said Adriana.

  “But you said—"

  “I think someone controls the killer. But the killer isn't man or dwarf. It's a demon of some sort."

  “A demon?” Alexander tried to hide his amusement, but judging from the look on Adriana's face he was unsuccessful.

  “I've got horses waiting,” she said. “It's an hour's ride, and we'll see if you're still laughing."

  * * * * *

  The candles burned to just above the midday mark, but lunch was a distant wish for Harri Domerrit, the Emperor's majordomo. Wrangling with these red-skinned desert demons taxed even Domerrit's powers of diplomacy. The fandyiha, Mezzino, seemed tireless in his arguments and quite intent on sitting in Domerrit's office until the majordomo agreed to the Sandlander's request. Domerrit ran a hand over his bald head, massaging his scalp, then scolded himself mentally for the lapse. Though the Sandlanders professed to be unfamiliar with western customs, one of the three creatures before him must recognize the gesture as a sign of frustration.

  The majordomo shifted his considerable bulk in his chair and leaned back. He laced his fingers together over the top of his prodigious belly and projected the appearance of attentive understanding. Domerrit possessed considerable skill in the arts of diplomacy and argumentation; he simply didn't desire to practice his talents with a trio of sand-eating barbarians.

  He noted the two lesser Sandlanders glancing surreptitiously around the office. Even after three hours they were obviously still impressed by the luxurious furnishings. The irregular stonework of the ceiling, fashioned by dwarven artisans, served as both decoration and a powerful acoustic tool to emphasize Domerrit's voice. The walls were lined with bookshelves carved from expensive hardwood and packed neatly with leather-bound tomes. A huge map hung in a gap in the shelves, displaying the Western Realm from sea to eastern mountain range. The map was laboriously detailed, including even the abandoned elven villages discovered after the Exodus. Between the majordomo and the Sandlanders rested a massive desk of the same wood. Domerrit saw it as a physical reminder of his own function: he represented the final barrier between a visitor and the Emperor himself.

  “Perhaps you don't fully understand the importance of the grimoire to my clan,” said Mezzino. “This is not simply a book. It is the holy relic of my people, the lore of our ancestors for hundreds of generations. To lose it is to lose our identity as a clan.” His dry voice grated on Domerrit's ears. How could one with such a raspy palate expect to function as a diplomat? He must be incapable of the subtleties of inflection and tone. But then, Mezzino's approach had been nothing if not blunt. Domerrit wondered briefly how he had allowed straightforward, albeit ridiculous, demands to dominate his morning schedule.

  “I simply cannot disrupt the work of the Emperor's wizards,” Domerrit said. “His Righteousness is very protective of his mages. Their finely tuned harmony with the mystical forces leaves them very sensitive to human conflict. His Righteousness shelters them from our more earthly problems as much as possible.” That was worded well, the majordomo thought. He'd write that one down for later use.

  Mezzino suppressed a snort. The thaumaluk had spent much of the previous night riding the arcane winds, sensing the disruptions of the alchemists, healers, and wizards abounding in Hurst. According to Ravasakh's report, magical energy pounded constantly through the city-state like a mob of club-wielding lunatics. The fandyiha began to wonder if Domerrit used some arcane creation to increase his patience—he'd expected to wear the majordomo down through sheer stubbornness by now.

  “Lengthy interruption of their work is not necessary,” Mezzino said. “We simply wish to ask your wizar
ds whether the thief has attempted to sell them the grimoire.” The last was an outright lie, of course. Mezzino needed to get Ravasakh in close proximity to these western versions of thaumaluk. Ravasakh should be able to detect ambient traces of the grimoire's power on any man who'd made use of it.

  Domerrit brightened. “In that case, I'll request the Prime Wizard to start the inquiry. If your thief has contacted an Imperial wizard, Nikkolynda will find out."

  “Your thief,” said Mezzino.

  Domerrit scowled. “His Righteousness cannot be responsible for every action of everyone who takes residence in Hurst."

  “Strange. The herald who opened public audience this morning claimed His Righteousness was responsible for their happiness and safety."

  The majordomo tried a different tack. “Tell me, fandyiha, if a Sandlander from your clan stole a diamond from a westerner, would you, as leader, accept the blame?"

  “By our custom, I would compensate the foreigner from my own wealth. Then we would feed the thief to the sand."

  Domerrit hid his surprise and studied the faces of the two feyrhakin. Their alien features were damnably hard to read, but he detected no betrayal of doubt.

  “All right,” the majordomo said, “let's move on, shall we? Nikkolynda will survey the Imperial wizards. Now, the matter of the hundred men camped outside our southern gate. His Righteousness is curious why your mission requires such a heavily armed host."

  “Crossing the Bahalak Mountains is a hazardous venture. Better for one hundred men to lose a few than for five men to lose all,” said Kalnai, speaking for the first time.

  “The trade caravans bring rumors of conflict between the cities of the Western Realm,” Mezzino added. “We walk with caution when stepping into a foreign war is possible."

  “Oh, not much fear of that,” said Domerrit. “Though economic relations have been strained, I assure you that we're nowhere close to armed conflict with Addamantia. Even our minor trade squabbles will be resolved shortly."