'There's more where that came from,' Thrul said of his wine. 'I can arrange for a bottle or two to be ready when you depart.'
The Chairmaster sipped from the goblet and wrinkled his long nose. 'Not necessary, Lord Invocation. It's pleasant enough for a city balcony, but it won't travel well.'
Thrul seethed. He knew his vintages. The wine was exceptional, but no one argued with the Chairmaster. 'Considering how much you travel, it's a wonder you can find any wine at all,' he said, all polite sympathy.
'All life has its hardships,' the Chairmaster agreed, taking up the goblet again. 'Yours as well as mine. Lord Necromancy has called for a Convocation. There's a complaint against you, Lord Invocation. It is said that you trespass against Illusion, that you've set wards and guards around her tower-the truth of which I ascertained on my way here. These are serious charges, Lord Invocation, with serious penalties, as you must know. You must answer to your peers at a time, within the next month, and at a place, within Thay, of your choosing.'
'Bezantur, for the place,' Thrul said quickly. Though the Master's visit was early, his contingencies were in place, along with his wards and his guards. 'Tomorrow at sundown, for the time.'
'The charges are most serious,' the Master said after a lengthy pause. 'Surely you wish to reconsider? Perhaps to withdraw your provocations entirely? This could be settled without a Convocation, I think. Lady Illusion wishes only to have her freedoms restored.'
'Lady Illusion can stand on the top of her tower and howl at the moon, for all I care. I want a Convocation. The place is Bezantur. The time is tomorrow at sunset.'
Thrul had the once-in-any-lifetime satisfaction of seeing the Chairmaster at a loss for words.
'It will be difficult,' he managed after a moment.
'Well, that's not my problem, is it? Bezantur is within Thay, isn't it? This room, if I chose it, is within Thay. Tomorrow is within a month? Today would be acceptable as well. Surely this is not a surprise. I have notified my chairkeeper yesterday; he will be here in time. I warned my allies that they should do likewise.'
By allies Thrul meant Nevron of Conjuration and Lauzoril. Nevron had already acknowledged the message; his chair and its keeper were already moving toward the city. Lauzoril, typically, hadn't; Lord Enchantment never acknowledged messages. You sent a message to one of his chancellors and then you waited-like a common petitioner-for his answer. If Thrul's warning hadn't reached Lauzoril… If the Chairmaster couldn't find him, then whatever else tomorrow's Convocation accomplished, it might rid Invocation of a pesky ally.
'Surely Lord Necromancy did likewise before he notified you, that, too, is within the rules. Unless Lord Necromancy has no allies left? That would place quite a burden on you, wouldn't it? If you had to find everyone yourself?'
Thrul's question made the Chairmaster squirm. Not the reaction he'd expected. Convocation was, after all, a long-honored compromise among zulkirs who needed, on occasion, to actually govern the realm they dominated and resolve their private disputes without inciting a civil war. Each zulkir, without exception, would have preferred to do away with compromise, but since Thay's independence from Mulhorand, no zulkir had come close to subjugating all his peers.
None had come closer than Szass Tam had been a year ago, before some major conspiracy had collapsed and driven him into hiding. But the lich would rise again and again, until he was destroyed, which was why a zulkir like Aznar Thrul needed not only allies among his peers, but a tharchionate as well. History showed-Thrul was an avid student of history-that the man who succeeded an ambitious failure, such as Szass Tam must inevitably become, would reap the rewards his predecessor had been denied: a unified Thay and seven puppet zulkirs.
Every Red Wizard, especially a zulkir, should have a guiding dream. Until his was reality, however, Invocation relied on tradition, on Convocation and, however reluctantly, on the Chairmaster. The thought that Szass Tam might have subverted the Chairmaster before he'd found the way to do so himself was a bone in Thrul's throat.
The current Chairmaster had been an illusionist before his elevation, years before Thrul or Mythrell'aa had begun to claw to the top of their respective specialties. Thrul's own grandfather, Nymor, Lord Illusion in that time, had branded him. Aznar Thrul had counted on the Chairmaster's memory playing in his favor when the right time came, but had Mythrell'aa beaten him?
'You'd be a fool,' Thrul said very quietly, very calmly. 'The last Chairmaster who betrayed his office still bathes in fire beneath Thaymount. You might find yourself joining him or, worse, sitting in one of Larloch's chairs yourself.'
To his credit, the Chairmaster never flinched. He sipped his wine as if he'd heard nothing. Either the man was innocent of deception-a rarity among Red Wizards-or he was a master of it.
Larloch, reputedly a sorcerer-king of ancient Netheril, had flourished and vanished millennia ago, leaving a legacy of artifacts that tempted many a young wizard to his or her doom. The legend of his eight chairs, magical voids from which no spell could be cast, into which no harm could come, had proved real enough. Seated in his or her chair, attuned not only to the appropriate wizardly discipline but to purely individual differences, a zulkir was both powerless and invulnerable.
Naturally, every zulkir from Buvaar on contrived to maximize the powerlessness of the others while maintaining, or increasing, his own invulnerability. At Thrul's ideal Convocation, seven other zulkirs would sit rigid and helpless in their chairs, their lives and their disciples' lives held permanently hostage to his whim. Real Convocations, however, demanded compromise.
Hence, the chairkeepers, eight wizards whose sole task was guarding the particular chair placed in their possession, and the Chairmaster, who alone could order the chairs assembled for a Convocation. The Chairmaster also guaranteed the safe passage of the zulkirs as they came to sit and, later, depart.
The Mighty Tharchion, Mightier Zulkir maintained the best of all possible relationships with his own chairkeeper, a diviner by training.
'Have you accepted my terms?' Thrul asked, thinking of his supper going to waste in front of him. The Chairmaster was known to practice the diplomacy of unlimited patience.
'They are faultless, Lord Invocation, as you knew. The 'keepers will select a suitable chamber-'
'I'd prefer an open location. The slave market will suffice. I'll declare a holiday; the market will be closed.'
The Chairmaster nodded. 'Weather permitting; I cannot control the weather in a priest-ridden city like this one. If you would choose another place…?'
'I've chosen. I have my own charges to bring. It is not I who trespass against Illusion, but Illusion that trespasses against me, and in trespassing against me, trespasses against my city, which is a trespass against Thay, which is a trespass against all Red Wizards. I have proof.'
'Most irregular, Lord Invocation. If you have proof, you should have called the Convocation yourself. Illusion will not be prepared.'
'Exactly.'
The Chairmaster stood; his chair vanished. 'I will tell the others what has been said here,' he warned.
'I'm counting on it.'
The Chairmaster seemed about to speak: his chin lifted, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing and with a flash of golden light followed his chair into thin air. Thrul finished his eggs. They were warm now but they hadn't lost their flavor. Ignoring the pickled rice, he turned his attention to his main course: peppered gnolls' tongues in aspic. No wonder the slaves had been so anxious. He poured a black sauce over the quivering mound and savored the fragrant steam it produced.
'O Mighty Tharchion-'
'Go away.'
'Mightier Zulkir. It is that woman again. The one with the carnelian; the one without a name.'
Thrul stared at the dissolving mound on his plate. If he didn't eat it quickly, it wouldn't be worth eating at all. With an angry sigh, he pushed away from the table.
'Dispose of it,' he told the chamberlain, 'and I will see the woman in my bedchamber. Clothed or unclothed, however she wishes.'
She wished for clothing, but was quite willing to remove her garments-another little disappointment in an altogether frustrating day. She was, however, a challenging partner, which Thrul would never have expected. It raised a host of questions and possibilities, best left until after tomorrow's Convocation.
'The Chairmaster has been here,' he said afterward, when they were both dressed.
'I saw him depart.'
