One Hundredth Magic Page 5

The majordomo smiled briefly before returning to a less revealing expression. “Will your men be entering the city as well, or do you prefer to leave them camped outside the walls? I'm sure His Righteousness will accommodate you either way, though barracks space is a bit tough to come by. We actually have gnome crews constructing new quarters for our men as we speak."

  “My feyrhakin and I will find quarters at an inn, but the others will remain outside your walls. However, if the majordomo will permit it, we would like to offer a trade."

  “A trade?"

  “This expedition marks the first official meeting between a fandyiha of Clan Vysthuk and His Righteousness,” said Shinvai. “Though we regret the circumstances, Mezzino Malakkahn does bring his people to you in peace. As a gesture of comradeship, we propose that a few of our best fighting men train with your soldiers. They can trade technique and perhaps foster some understanding between our cultures."

  Domerrit's pulse quickened at the offer. He forced himself to remain calm, hiding his excitement from the Sandlanders. Though the Emperor would see little use in the exercise, his son Fenric would be ecstatic. The fighting ability of the Burning Men was rumored to be magnificent. No one in the Western Realm had trained with them before; this was an opportunity not to be passed.

  “Fandyiha, I'm delighted,” Domerrit said to Mezzino. “I'm sure His Righteousness would be honored to participate in such an exchange.” He glanced at the candles again, moving deliberately so that the Sandlanders would mark the direction of his gaze. “I believe our course is set for us. Imperial drivers will meet you outside the keep to take you to the inn of your choice, and I'll speak with the Prime Wizard immediately. His Righteousness will, of course, be happy to pay for your lodging. Once you're comfortable, I'll send a representative from the infantry to schedule the exercises. I can't express how pleased the Emperor will be."

  “We seek only friends across the sand,” said Mezzino.

  “And we'll ferret out your clan's grimoire as fast as humanly possible. Trust me, the man who besmirched the honor of His Righteousness will come to regret it."

  “Oh, I've no doubt of that,” said Mezzino.

  * * * * *

  While the streets of Hurst teemed with life in the early afternoon, Kandys Corlithian slept. Voices and the sounds of rickshaw wheels drifted up to her second-story window. The shutters were open a few inches to the breeze but angle-bolted to deter any uninvited guests. The small apartment described a completely utilitarian tenant—nothing frivolous existed in the thief's quarters. A small cooking stove sat next to a food pantry. The table and two chairs were positioned defensively in the middle of the floor, opposite the exterior door. Kandys's bed was situated in a corner on the far side of the room from the door. The footboard overlapped the windowsill by a few inches, just enough to trip up any unwary intruder.

  Opposite the bed stood a solid-looking wardrobe. It reached from floor to ceiling and was wider than the arm span of a tall man. A heavy metal lock hung open on the clasp of one door. Beside the bed, around the corner from the window, was the entrance to a small lavatory. The room was a marvel of gnome engineering, with pipes carrying water in and waste away. Kandys prided herself on her ability to tolerate inhospitable surroundings—her profession necessitated it—but she detested using old-fashioned chamber pots when working in less-civilized parts of the Realm.

  The thief slept fitfully, as if the noises from the street disturbed her. She tossed and turned, twisting a thin sheet around her legs and pushing the pillow half off the side of the bed. The muscles in her abdomen flexed and her hands clenched and released. The top mattress had actually shifted as her lithe figure contorted, revealing the handle of a short dagger. Kandys's thin bedgown was soaked with sweat.

  A loud crash sounded from outside as a rickshaw wheel broke. Shouts followed, but the commotion failed to rouse the sleeping thief. She was too far immersed in her dream.

  She was back in the desert, creeping her way through the rock warren of Crag Vysthuk. No torches illuminated this portion of the Sandlanders’ home. They had provided a number of the fascinating light jars for their western guests, but that was back in the section of the crag reserved for the foreign traders. While the rest of the caravan slept or participated in the Sandlanders’ midnight hunt, Kandys had stolen her way into the most forbidden part of the clan's home. Although they did build some structures on the sand above, the majority of the clan lived and worked in rooms tunneled from the solid rock. Kandys had utilized the elaborate system of narrow air vents to explore the miniature city. These passageways carried air from the surface, as well as the miniscule amounts of moisture trapped there by the Sandlanders’ water nets. The Burning Men grew tall and stout, far too large to consider traversing the small airways. Even their children would find the smooth passages a tight fit. To their human cousins, however, particularly to a smallish woman, the wind tunnels were a distinct possibility.

  Since the caravan's arrival at Crag Vysthuk Kandys had spent every night exploring the deepest sections of the habitat. She'd begun to despair that her target wouldn't be found in time, but now, on the last eve of their stay, she'd located the clan's grimoire.

  The chamber beneath her was empty. It had been empty for the past hour, during which Kandys lay quietly in the high wall. She allowed her body to rest after the arduous trek through the crag. The thaumaluk's ritual chamber remained undisturbed during that time. Tonight was a religious event of some sort for the Sandlanders, and the men of the trading caravan had been invited to join in the celebration. Back in Hurst, Kandys's employers had briefed her on the proceedings. The majority of the Burning Men would be out on the sand until the early hours of the morning, hunting the desert animals and reveling beneath some particular alignment of stars. Most important, the thaumaluk would be with them to administer a rite of passage to the oldest boys. Kandys's informants believed that an orgy of inebriation would follow, making tonight the ideal time for the clan's most important relic to disappear.

  Kandys flexed her muscles systematically in the tight confines of the airway, starting from her feet and working her way up. When she felt the blood warming her arms and legs again, she emerged from the vent, dropping seven or eight feet into the ritual chamber.

  She straightened and grimaced. Her entire body was shrouded in black. Her shirt was tucked into tight-fitting trousers and the thick slippers of a ropedancer encased her feet. The thief's hair was soaked and combed straight down to her upper back, covered by the black hood that exposed only her eyes. A small tear in the fabric over her left leg revealed scraped flesh. It didn't bleed heavily, but it stung. Kandys pushed it from her mind and turned slowly in a full circle, scanning the room.

  The examination didn't take long. Though the chamber was used for the Sandlanders’ arcane rituals, it obviously wasn't meant for storage. The circular walls bore countless scratches where the natural cave had been laboriously smoothed into a rounded shape. The actual entrance yawned a few feet to the side of the air vent. It was covered by a thick curtain. Beyond this, she had been warned, would be two guards. Though these Burning Men might well be celebrating their religious night on post, Kandys worked under the assumption that they were fully alert.

  Identical holes in the rock floor were dug to each side of the door. Fire pits, she realized. Each one was deeper than the thief was tall, and the bottoms glowed with a phosphorescent lichen. At about head level, numerous iron hooks sprouted from the wall. They were spaced some six feet apart and traveled from one side of the doorway all the way around to the other. Opposite the entryway, sitting on the ground between two iron standards, was a huge chest. From the standards hung long banners, richly encrusted with desert gems, but Kandys ignored these. Her attention was given only to the chest.

  Its curved lid came nearly to the thief's thigh, and its width was enough that she could barely touch both sides simultaneously. It was pieced together from interlocking slats of ironwood, then banded by hammered lengths of metal.
Nothing short of dropping it from a cliff would break the vessel open, Kandys knew. She didn't mind; she had much more subtle methods of obtaining her goal.

  Kneeling before the massive chest, the thief scrutinized the lock mechanism. It definitely wasn't gnome, human or dwarven. Still, only so many ways existed to physically secure a container. Kandys knew she could pick the lock, but she continued to examine it without touching. A small glint from inside the housing caught her eye. She traced back horizontally from the object until she found an indentation in the metalwork, a circle about the size of her fingertip. An identical recess appeared on the opposite side of the lock. Though they could just be part of the ornamentation, Kandys's experience said that the indentations were safety catches for a hidden trap. She breathed in and out slowly, prepared herself to spring away if need be, then set her thumbs against the metal and pressed firmly. A tiny movement and the sensation of a clicking sound within the mechanism confirmed her suspicion.

  With the trap disabled, Kandys went to work on the lock. She reached into the waistband of her trousers, into the pouch sewn there, and withdrew a set of picks. Though the lock construction was foreign, the pieces fell into place easily as she maneuvered the pick in one hand and lever in the other. The pins and tumblers moved in a logical, familiar manner under her practiced hands. She felt the spring give way, and the lock was open.

  A slight hiss reached her ears and something pushed against her wrist. Looking down, Kandys spotted a thin needle on the floor. Even in the dim light she could make out a dark coating on its blunted point. Turning her wrist, she found the tiny hole where the needle had punctured the sleeve. A tiny dimple showed where the thin sheet of pounded metal strapped to her forearm had done its job. She opened the top of the chest carefully, wary of both more traps and noises which might alert the guards.

  No more spring-loaded needles released, however, and the heavy curtain remained closed. The chest contained only one item, a thick, leather-bound book. Kandys lifted it from the interior of the trunk and examined the cover. The leather was dyed a dark red, nearly black. Intertwined streamers of a much brighter crimson bordered the outside edges. Strange characters of the same color formed three words in the center of the front face. Two silver clasps held the tome closed. Neither was locked, but Kandys didn't lift the cover. Instead, she concentrated on the words, comparing them to the memory of similar characters scrawled on a sheet of parchment. They matched.

  The thief lifted her shirt, revealing a purse large enough to hold the Sandlander grimoire. The straps of the purse were looped around her neck, and inside she found a dark piece of suede. According to her anonymous employer, the suede would mute the ambient arcane energy of the book. Without it, the clan's thaumaluk would detect its presence by merely walking near the caravan. Though Kandys professed little faith in such otherworldly senses, she followed instructions and wrapped the grimoire before tucking it into the purse.

  The hooks in the walls made ascension to the air vent easy. Kandys shut the chest and set the needle trap before departing, then retraced her route through the confining airways. The addition of the thick book made the journey an even tighter trial, but she inched along steadily, withdrawing into her mind to stave off the panic brought about by the confining darkness. Her sense of direction led unerringly back to the upper levels of the crag. After an eternity of crawling, she finally emerged in a storeroom close to the traders’ quarters.

  “Hello, thief,” said a hard, low voice.

  Kandys spun to find a Burning Man standing next to the air hole. He was nearly seven feet tall, with the red, hairless skin common to his people. Gold hoops hung from his earlobes, and he wore only a long, white skirt. The bottom edge of the skirt was trimmed with the same intertwined pattern bordering the grimoire. His muscular body appeared to have been carved from stone. Kandys recognized the skirt and earrings as the regalia of the thaumaluk. She'd been discovered by Ravasakh.

  “Let's have a look at you, thief,” said the Burning Man. He stared at her with scarlet eyes, but didn't move.

  Kandys half-crouched just out of arm's reach from the Sandlander. Two doors led from the storeroom. Ravasakh stood directly in the path to one, but the other was a possibility, depending on the Burning Man's quickness. Kandys tried to spring sideways but her muscles refused to obey. Ravasakh's eyes bored into her mind, transfixing the thief. Against her will, her hand began to rise toward the black hood.

  “No,” she protested.

  “Show me your face,” the thaumaluk commanded.

  “No!” Kandys grasped her wrist with the opposite hand, trying to force her arm back down. A hot burst of pain flared to life somewhere behind her eyes. Ravasakh grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth inset with black gems. He gestured, and her left hand flung wide, releasing its grip. She reached for her hood, felt the thin cotton beneath her fingertips as she screamed...

  The bare walls of her apartment echoed the thief's scream for what seemed like hours. She sat up in the bed, sweat stinging her eyes as she groped blindly for the dagger between the mattresses. Her bedgown was plastered to her body. When the familiar surroundings finally registered, the thief shuddered and fell still. She forced her breathing to slow and waited for her heart to cease racing.

  She recalled the dream with vivid clarity. The detail of the theft had replayed with perfect accuracy; if her unconscious mind had portrayed anything incorrectly, she couldn't identify the mistake. The confrontation after, however, had been pure fiction. No Burning Man, Ravasakh nor any other, had happened upon her in the store room. She'd returned to the slumbering caravan and finished her charade as a trader's escort, then departed for the Western Realm the next morning.

  Strange that the nightmare occurred now, two months after the actual event. Did something in the previous night's work trigger the memory? Could it simply be the random wanderings of her unconscious mind? For the first time, Kandys wondered about the nature of the book she'd been sent to appropriate. She'd understood that the tome was a history of the Sandlander people, a collection of valuable insights into the desert dwellers’ culture. She thought of the suede and its implicit warning. Yes, there was definitely more to the book than a recording of history. For the first time since her trip to the desert, Kandys gave serious consideration to her whim of temporary retirement. The idea held much more appeal now, as she pictured the thaumaluk's glare impaling her psyche, capturing her willpower. Perhaps a trip west was called for, to Balis Tyrok. Better yet, onto a ship at Balis Tyrok and out to sea. Endless water instead of endless sand, and no Burning Men.

  * * * * *

  “The representative from the Emperor's army will be here soon,” said Kalnai. He sat on the floor of their inn room, leaning against an upended mattress. Typical of a western guest home, the beds were just short enough to be uncomfortable for a Sandlander. The surprised innkeeper had been hesitant to rent space to the Burning Men but more than happy to send the bill for three rooms to the Emperor. Kalnai, Teriya, Shinvai and their fandyiha thus took seats on the floor, ringing the prostrate body of Ravasakh. The thaumaluk kept so motionless he could have easily been mistaken for a corpse. Only careful scrutiny would reveal the rise and fall of his chest.

  “Teriya, you'll arrange the training ventures,” said Mezzino. “Select ten men. Make sure there're no hotheads in the bunch. This is a friendly exchange, not a provocation.” The Sandlanders spoke in their native tongue. If the westerners had posted spies outside the door, it was unlikely they'd found one who understood the desert language.

  “I would prefer to assist in the search,” said Teriya.

  “Your preference is noted,” Mezzino said. “You'll arrange the training exercises."

  Ravasakh's eyes opened suddenly. His pupils were shrunk almost to nonexistence.

  “Any luck?” asked Kalnai. He toyed with a short dagger, which sported a strange, black blade.

  The thaumaluk pulled himself upright and nodded to Mezzino. “Feyrhakin Shinvai was correc
t, Fandyiha. The thief works at night, and thus sleeps during the day."

  The Burning Men leaned forward eagerly. “Can you identify him, Ravasakh?” asked Shinvai.

  Ravasakh accepted a flask from Teriya and shook his head. “The thief wore a mask. I tried to make him remove it, but he escaped my control too soon.” He took a long pull from the flask.

  “But you have the sense of him?” said Mezzino.

  “Yes, Fandyiha. I'll wager he won't sleep again today, but I'll find him again soon."

  “Well done, Ravasakh,” said Shinvai.

  “What about locating the grimoire now?” said Teriya.

  Mezzino scowled. “That unctuous little Domerrit has no intention of letting us petition the Emperor directly. He's hiding something."

  “That man is disgusting,” said Shinvai. “How do these westerners let themselves become so gross?"

  “Soft skin,” Kalnai said. “It's why they shrivel up and die in more hospitable climates.”

  “We should locate this Nikkolynda and question him ourselves,” Teriya said.

  “No,” said Mezzino. “We have no allies here. Antagonizing the Emperor's representatives gains us nothing."

  “Not if the Emperor doesn't find out,” said Teriya. Across the room, Kalnai shook his head.

  “Tracing the grimoire through the thief is the safest way,” said Ravasakh.

  “What about the summoning of the bayyalis?” Shinvai asked. “I don't understand the purpose in summoning and banishing them. Is this wizard simply playing with the grimoire?"

  “There have been no conjurations since our arrival,” Ravasakh said. “I offer no guess as to the wizard's purpose."

  “Western thaumaluk contact the bayyalis to elicit otherworldly information,” said Shinvai.

  “If they can perform such feats, why steal our methods?” asked Mezzino.

  “Perhaps they plan an assault on the clans and believe that a desert bayyalis can provide them with the weaknesses of the clans,” Teriya said.