how long a wait that might require. We wouldn’t have noticed anything; to us the trip would still be instantaneous, but we would actually have lost those nighttime hours. I did that once; it messed up my sleeping schedule for days. And the weather can affect it, too — in fact, we may have missed a day or two if the weather was bad, but the prognostications were all favorable, so I don’t think we have.”
“I never heard of anything like that before.”
“Of course not; it’s a military secret, like almost any useful magic. Only the Wizards’ Guild and important officers know anything about most of the more powerful wizardry. You’d be amazed what wizardry can do; there are spells for any number of things you would never have thought possible.”
“Could they make more tapestries?”
“There are others, but right now no wizard can be spared for long enough to make more.” Valder was over his shock and beginning to think again. “Couldn’t they use them to dump assassins, or whole regiments, behind enemy lines, maybe right in the enemy’s capital?”
Kelder sighed. “It’s a lovely theory, isn’t it? But it won’t work. The wizard making the tapestry needs to see the scene he’s weaving very, very clearly. If it isn’t absolutely perfect, right down to the smallest detail, the tapestry won’t work — or at least won’t work properly. We don’t have any way of seeing clearly enough behind enemy lines; our scrying spells are good enough for most needs, but not for making these tapestries.”
After a moment’s pause he added, “Yet.”
Valder decided against pursuing the matter; instead he looked around the battlements. He had seen this fortress from a distance, assuming that it was indeed General Gor’s headquarters, but he had never before been inside its walls. Tandellin was here somewhere, he remembered.
The place was impressive. The stone walls appeared to be several feet thick, and the outer faces were steep enough that he could see nothing of them from where he stood. He did not care to lean very far out over the seaward parapet; the height was dizzying.
From where he stood, he could see nothing beyond the fortress walls but the sea, the sky, a few gulls, and, very far off in the northeastern distance, a line of dark green hills. The citadel was built atop the highest ground in the area, a jagged cliff that towered above broken rocks right at the ocean’s edge — Valder remembered that from his previous visit.
The wall he stood upon stretched for almost a hundred yards in either direction; behind it, the courtyard was more than a hundred feet across, but long enough that that seemed disproportionately narrow. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of people were going about their business there. Men were sharpening swords or practicing their use, women were hanging clothes out to dry, and members of both sexes were sitting or standing in pairs or groups, talking. Off at the northern corner, two sentries peered out over the ocean; to the south, a bend in the wall and a small guardhouse hid the next pair from Valder.
“Well,” Kelder said, “if you’ve finished admiring the view, we have an appointment with one of General Gor’s staff, a Captain Dumery, who is to get you settled in and tell you your next assignment.”
“Oh,” Valder said unenthusiastically. He had no interest in any assignments, and the mere mention of one had ruined his enjoyment of his surroundings.
Kelder ignored the soldier’s tone and led the way to one of the staircases down into the court. They descended and, from the foot of the steps, proceeded across the court, through a vestibule into a corridor, down a flight of stairs, back along another corridor, across a large hall, along still another corridor, down another flight, across yet another corridor into a smaller hall, from there into an antechamber, and finally into a small room lined with tightly packed shelves. Valder was startled to see a small window slit with a view of the ocean; he had gotten turned around and would have guessed that they were deep in the interior of the Fortress, facing south toward the shipyards, and nowhere near the seaward side.
The room was inhabited by a small, white-haired man who invited them to sit down. He himself was perched on a stool, so that, when Valder and Kelder took the two low chairs provided, he could, short as he was, still look down on his visitors.
“You’re Valder?” he asked. His voice was thin but steady.
Valder nodded.
“That’s Wirikidor?”
“Yes,” Valder said.
“It works the way Darrend says it does?”
“It seems to.”
“Good. Then we want you to kill the Northern Emperor.”
Valder stared up at the old man in silent astonishment. Kelder started and said, “You’re not serious!”
The white-haired man shrugged. “Oh, well, maybe I’m not. If we can locate him, however, I think this man might be our best shot. After all, that sword is like nothing anyone has ever had before, so far as I know, and they probably have no defense against it. They can defend against just about everything else we throw at them!” He sighed. “Unfortunately, we can’t locate him. Never could. So we’ll be sending you against anyone important we can locate, Valder. Any problem with that?”
“Ah,” Valder said, trying to give himself time to think.
“You know, I assume, that the sword is going to turn on me eventually, after a certain number of drawings.”
“Yes, of course — but you have a long way yet to go. Darrend told me that it would take a hundred or so deaths before it could kill you, and you’ve only used up what, maybe five?”
“Seventeen,” Valder corrected him.
“So many? Ah, well, that still leaves us with eighty-three, give or take a couple.”
Valder was desperately unhappy at the sound of this, but could not think how to phrase a protest. Before he could work out what to say, the white-haired man raised a hand in dismissal. “I’ll call you when we need you,” he said. “My secretary will tell you where to go.”
Valder started to speak, but Kelder shushed him and hurried him out of the room.
CHAPTER 16
While Valder remained inside the fortress walls, life as General Gor’s assassin was not unpleasant. The food was good and plentiful, where the meals in General Karannin’s camp had not been, although a far larger portion of it was seafood than Valder might have liked. The floors were dry stone, rather than dirt or mud, and most of them had some sort of covering, whether carpets, rush matting, or at least strewn straw, so that they were not unpleasantly cold and hard underfoot. He had been assigned his own little room deep in the bowels of the stronghold, with a tiny slit of window letting in air and, for a few hours a day when the sun was in the right part of the sky, light. He could not see out of the opening, which was eight or nine feet from the floor, but he judged it to be facing southwest.
To keep him from being called upon for menial duties, he had been issued new clothing. His worn and weathered old uniform was disposed of, and he was instructed that from now on he was to wear the gray-and-black tunic and black kilt that indicated the wearer to be performing some special service for General Gor. This outfit was more practical for sneaking about at night and had a certain drastic elegance, but Valder thought it uncomfortably reminiscent of northern uniforms; he was reluctant to be seen in it until he had observed other people in the Fortress, including Kelder, similarly attired.
He quickly discovered that the new uniform had one very definite advantage: it attracted women. Valder, unsure just what special services Gor was in the habit of demanding, was not sure why this was so, but it was undeniable that women who had scarcely glanced at him in his old green kilt and battered breastplate now stared at him with hungry eyes and looked for excuses to speak with him. Since he did not know when he might be sent off on a mission that could easily end in capture or mutilation, he refused to make any sort of long-term arrangements, but did spare an hour now and then to accompany a particularly eager or attractive young woman back to her quarters.
He hoped that such women were not disappointed, that the black-and-gray uniform had not led them to expect something more than an ordinary man.
