“I suppose so, but where?”
“Ethshar, of course.”
“Of course,” Sterren said sarcastically, “except that I’m not allowed to go back there!”
“Really? Well then, you could send somebody. But are you really sure you aren’t?”
Sterren opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Because of the way he had arrived, he had assumed that he would not be allowed to leave Semma, but nobody had ever actually said that. And certainly, there were all the magicians he could ever need in the Wizards’ Quarter of Ethshar of the Spices. Not that they would be eager to go gallivanting off to Semma to get involved in something as nasty and unpleasant as a war. He would need a powerful incentive. Gold would work just fine, of course.
Sterren didn’t have any gold himself, but Semma’s royal treasury contained a good bit of the stuff. As warlord, his officers had assured him that he had access to the treasury for legitimate military expenses. He didn’t even need the treasurer’s cooperation; as warlord, he outranked the treasurer.
However, he did need the king’s permission for any expenditures out of the ordinary.
Sterren realized that it was time to speak to the king.
CHAPTER 12
His Majesty Phenvel III looked distinctly bored, but Sterren pressed on with the speech he had prepared, trying not to stumble over any of the unfamiliar words. He had picked up a few choice Semmat phrases from Agor and Lar, and did not want to ruin their effect by mispronouncing them.
“It seems clear,” he said, “that if Semma has won so many of its wars, and yet neither treacherous Ophkar nor perfidious Ksinallion has ever resorted to magic to defeat us, then Ophkar and Ksinallion cannot have many magicians available. If they had magicians surely they would have used them rather than admit defeat! Therefore, they will be unable to counter whatever magic we use. One really good wizard could probably turn the tide of this next conflict, a competent demonologist might be even better, if one could bring oneself to deal with such dark forces-”
“No demons,” the king interrupted.
“Your Majesty?”
“No demons, no demonologists,” Phenvel said, emphasizing his words with a wagging finger. “No sorcerers, either. We’ll use good, clean magic if we need to use magic at all.”
“Oh, we do need to, your Majesty,” Sterren replied quickly. “I swear that my own inexperience and the sorry state that my poor senile great-uncle left the army in leave us no other choice.” He mildly regretted insulting his dead relative, but after all, the man was dead and he really had left the army in sad shape.
“All right,” the king said, “but no demonology and no sorcery. Is that clear?”
“Oh, yes, your Majesty!” Sterren grinned with sudden relief. Up until that moment he had thought the king was not listening and would reject the whole idea out of hand.
“It might be entertaining to have some real magic around here,” Phenvel said. “Agor’s all very well, with his lights and voices, but I’d like to see something new. Do you think you can find a wizard who can fly? I’ve heard that some of them can do that; is it true?”
“Oh, yes, your Majesty,” Sterren assured him. “I’ve seen it myself, in Ethshar’s great... in Ethshar.” That was true enough. He had meant to say that he had seen wizards fly in the Arena, but he didn’t know the Semmat word. He had also seen his warlock-master fly. It was not a particularly rare or valuable talent.
“Good. Find a magician who can fly.”
Sterren nodded. He knew better than to argue, though he could see little military value in the ability to levitate.
“Yes, your Majesty. Then may I have a letter of credit against the treasury, to show that I-”
“No letter!” Phenvel snapped. “Do you think I’m a fool, to give you free run of my money like that? No, I’ll give you a pound of gold and a few jewels, I understand that wizards like jewels. That should be enough, I should think.”
The bottom dropped out of Sterren’s stomach, but he did not dare argue at this point, for fear the king would change his mind and cancel the whole project.
A pound of gold, though, would barely buy a single untraceable death spell back in Ethshar, let alone magic on a scale to be of real military value. Powerful wizards did not work as cheaply as the pitiful village witches and herbalists out here on the edge of the World. So much for borrowing against the entire royal treasury to hire a squad of hotshot magicians from the Wizards’ Quarter. He would be lucky to find one really good wizard at that price; more likely he would have to settle for a few failed apprentices.
“I do like the idea of getting a few new magicians around here,” Phenvel mused, “I really do. But no sorcerers, and no demonologists, not even a little one.”
Sterren nodded again. The king was repeating himself, but that was hardly unusual. Nobody had ever dared point out such little slips, so the king made them frequently.
He was trying to phrase a request to be excused, when Phenvel said, “You’ll need to have a guard along, of course, and I think Lady Kalira should accompany you. Does that suit you?”
“Very much, your Majesty,” Sterren lied. He had hardly dared to admit it even to himself, but he had naturally had the idea of taking this opportunity to simply vanish in the streets of Ethshar in the back of his mind right from the start. Guards would make that much more difficult, but perhaps no more difficult than buying the services of a competent magician for a pound of gold and a few nondescript gems.
It appeared he was still doomed.
At the very least, though, he would be able to revisit his homeland before he died. He had been fighting off homesickness for the last day or two, ever since the possibility of returning to Ethshar had begun to seem real.
“Good,” the king said. “You’re excused, then, and I wish you a safe journey.”
Sterren bowed and backed out of the audience chamber.
In the corridor outside he straightened up, brushed at his cut-down black tunic, and then stood, staring stupidly at the door, for a good three minutes.
What was he supposed to do now? Just turn and go? How was he to collect the gold and gems, or find Lady Kalira? Who was to chose the guards he would take with him?
Kings were not much on detail work, he supposed. It was up to him. Unless someone told him otherwise, he assumed that he would have to organize the expedition himself.
He glanced around. The only people in the antechamber with him were the two doorkeepers, and he knew better than to ask one of them to leave his post.
Sterren had no servants of his own and always felt uneasy ordering the castle servants about, since they always seemed to have plenty of work to do without running his errands, but he was the warlord, commander of the Semman army, and his soldiers never seemed to do anything at all unless he was there egging them on.
He headed for the barracks.
As usual, half a dozen soldiers were dicing in the corner. The barracks were otherwise empty.
“You men!” he called.
Two of them looked up, without much interest.
“Settle up, the game’s over. Right now.”
The two glanced at each other, and two more looked up, startled.
“Now!” Sterren bellowed.
Reluctantly, the game broke up, and the six men came sloppily to attention, facing him.
“All right, you, Kather, go find the Lady Kalira and tell her I must speak to her as soon as possible. Let her choose the time and place, but make plain that it’s very urgent, and then come back here immediately and tell me what she said.”
Kather stood silently, accepting this.
“Go!”
