when Varnaythus was using the art, at which point all manner of unpleasant things would happen.
A soft, musical tone sounded out of the empty air, and Varnaythus turned towards one of the office’s featureless walls. Nothing happened for a moment; then the outline of a doorframe appeared in the middle of the wall. It glowed dimly, seeming to quiver a little around the edges, then solidified.
“Enter,” he said, and the glowing door swung open to admit two other men.
One of them looked to be about the same age as Varnaythus, and he was even more nondescript and bland looking. The other was younger, with red-blond hair and gray eyes. At just over six feet, he was also considerably taller than the other two, and his clothing was much richer, that of a mid-level functionary at court, perhaps. Looking through the door by which they’d entered the office, it was as if that single door had opened into two totally separate locations…which was fair enough, since that was exactly what it had done.
“You’re late,” Varnaythus observed brusquely, waving the newcomers to chairs in front of his desk. He waited until they’d seated themselves, then sank back into his own chair, leaned his elbows on the blotter on either side of his gramerhain with his fingers interlaced above it, and leaned forward to rest his chin on the backs of his raised hands. “I don’t want to belabor the point,” he said then, “but using the art is risky enough without having our timetable screwed up.”
“I couldn’t get to the portal,” the older of his two guests said. He shrugged. “Someone decided to choose today to drop off two dray loads of tea. Somehow I didn’t think you’d want me activating it from my end with half a dozen warehouseman carrying crates of tea in and out.”
“No, I don’t suppose that would have been a very good idea,” Varnaythus acknowledged. He straightened, then leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “I never was very happy about that location. Unfortunately, moving it at this point would be too risky. As a matter of fact, it would be safer to build an entirely new portal somewhere else.” He raised one eyebrow. “Would you happen to have a more convenient-and safer-spot in mind, Salgahn?”
“Not right this minute, no,” Salgahn replied. “I’ll think about it. There aren’t really all that many options, though. Not unless I want to risk letting some of the other dog brothers find out about it.”
His final sentence ended on the rising note of a question and he raised one eyebrow.
“Not yet.” Varnaythus shook his head quickly.
“With all due respect, Varnaythus,” the younger of the two newcomers said, “we’ve been saying ‘not yet’ for over six years now. Are we ever really going to move at all?”
Varnaythus regarded him thoughtfully. Unlike himself, Magister Malahk Sahrdohr truly was as young as he looked, but he’d proven himself to be smart, ambitious, and capable. As his title indicated, he ranked well below a master wizard like Varnaythus in both training and raw strength, but he’d risen high and quickly in the service of the Church of Carnadosa through a combination of the intelligent use of the skills he did possess and a degree of absolute ruthlessness Varnaythus had seldom seen equaled.
“You do remember what happened the last time we ‘moved’ here in the Kingdom, don’t you?” he inquired mildly.
“Of course I do.” Sahrdohr shrugged. “I read all the reports before I even left Trofrolantha. And I understand why we had to let things settle back down. But it’s been six years. Forgive me for pointing this out, but the original plan indicated we were rapidly approaching one of the critical cusp points, and it’s only gotten closer since. If we don’t do something soon, it’s going to be right on top of us!”
Varnaythus nodded. Sahrdohr had a valid point, although Varnaythus suspected his impatience had more to do with his current role here in Sothofalas than with approaching “cusp points.” In his alter ego as Mahrahk Firearrow, Sahrdohr was a mid-level bureaucrat in the Exchequer. His position gave him access to all sorts of sensitive information but it was junior enough to keep him from attracting unwanted attention, and he did his job well. Unfortunately, it restricted him to a much less luxurious lifestyle than the one to which he had been accustomed in Kontovar and required him to be civil to and even take orders from men without so much as a trace of the magical ability which would have given them authority there. That had to be irksome enough by itself, yet his position inside the Palace itself meant he dared not employ the art at all. The King kept at least two or three magi at court permanently, and the magister would have been promptly detected if he’d done anything of the sort.
Varnaythus felt an unwilling ripple of sympathy for the younger man. Being forced to restrict his use of the art was hard for any wizard; renouncing it entirely, even if only temporarily, as Sahrdohr’s role had required him to do, was the next best thing to intolerable. All questions of power and ambition aside, there was a splendor to the art, a glory no wizard could truly resist. He had to reach out to it, for better or for worse, and Sahrdohr had been denied the chance to do that for over four years, ever since his own arrival here in Sothofalas. No wonder he was feeling impatient.
“If you’ve read the reports, Malahk,” the older wizard said after a moment, “then you know I’m the only one of the senior agents originally assigned to this operation who’s still alive. Salgahn here and I did our jobs just about perfectly, and I still barely got away with my skin. Jerghar and Paratha were less fortunate, and Farrier is…still laboring under the Spider’s disapproval, shall we say?”
He grimaced at the thought of how the Twisted One had chosen to express Her unhappiness with Dahlaha Farrier. He’d never liked the woman, but seeing what had happened to her made him uncomfortably aware of what could happen to him. And that was with Shigu’s decision to be “lenient” with the servant who’d failed Her.
“Worse,” he continued, “our last little escapade almost certainly warned the other side-Wencit, at the very least-that we’ve become far more interested in the Sothoii than we ever were before. Don’t you think it makes sense to proceed with a modicum of caution when all of that is true?”
“Caution, yes,” Sahrdohr agreed. “But we can’t afford to allow ourselves to be paralyzed, either. Especially not if we really are coming up on one of the cusp points.”
“And would you happen to know why it’s a cusp point?” Varnaythus asked mildly, extending his thumbs and tapping them together. He raised both eyebrows and cocked his head, and Sahrdohr looked back with a stubborn expression for several seconds. Then the younger man shrugged irritably.
“No,” he said shortly.
“Neither do I,” Varnaythus told him. It was Sahrdohr’s eyebrows’ turn to shoot upward and his eyes widened with surprise. Surprise that turned into skepticism almost instantly, Varnaythus noticed.
“I’m telling you the truth,” he said. “I realize that’s a novel approach, but we’re in rather an unusual situation here. They haven’t told me why They want us to do what They want us to do. All They’ve told me is what They want us to do. Now, to me that suggests this may be even more important than They’re prepared to admit even to us. Either that or They don’t know everything that’s involved here. Either way, there’s no way I’m going to rush in and blow this operation a second time. Is that understood?”
Sahrdohr gazed at him for at least a minute. Then he nodded slowly, and Varnaythus nodded back just a bit more emphatically. Both of them understood the subtext of what Varnaythus had just said. He’d avoided the Dark Gods’ displeasure because unlike his deceased associates, he’d carried out his own portion of the operation almost flawlessly. Perhaps even more importantly, he’d covered his backside by carefully sending very complete reports- including reports of the several times he’d warned those associates that things were slipping-back to Kontovar. Coupled with the years of successful service he’d given to Carnadosa, that had sufficed to protect him from divine wrath. It was unusual for one of the Dark Gods’ minions to survive the failure of a single mission remotely this important, however; it was unheard of for one of them to survive a second failure.
Varnaythus understood that, and he had no intention of failing, yet he wished passionately that his mistress had explained more about the reasons for this operation. What he’d said to Sahrdohr was nothing but the truth, and he hated operating blindly. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to do it, but he’d never liked it. It was difficult-and risky-to improvise or modify strategies when he didn’t even know what the ultimate motives of and reasons for his orders were.
The orders themselves were remarkably clear and unambiguous, however. That was something.
“All right,” he said after a moment, allowing his chair to come back upright. “Having just told you we’re not going to move until we’re ready, now I’m going to tell you that we are ready…almost.”
“We are?” Sahrdohr straightened with a jerk, and even Salgahn’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
“‘Almost,’ I said,” Varnaythus cautioned, raising one index finger. “There’s been a certain degree of… discussion back and forth, and I’ve convinced Them we need a narrower focus this time. One of the reasons we failed last time was that each of Them had His or Her own objectives and strategies. This time our Lady is in charge, Sahrdohr, and we’re going to avoid the kinds of distractions that got in the way last time.”
