Sarai nodded.
That seemed to conclude the exchange of information; the Guild had gotten no further in actually determining the identity of the killers than Sarai had. Accordingly, Sarai and Telurinon threw the meeting open to speculation.
“Lady Sarai, you said it might be a cult,” a woman asked. “I know what Thengor told us, but do you think it might be demonologists after all? Maybe it’s the demons themselves using the other magicks—they can do that, can’t they?”
“What kind of a cult?” another voice demanded.
“I don’t know,” Sarai replied. “A cult of assassins, maybe...”
“Demerchan!” The name was repeated by half a dozen voices.
“No,” Sarai said, “I don’t think so.” She described her unexpected visit from Abran of Demerchan. Mereth confirmed her account.
“Maybe it’s the Empire of Vond that’s behind the killings,” a woman suggested. “Wasn’t Vond himself supposed to be some sort of superwarlock?”
“Call in the Vondish ambassador, Lady Sarai! Demand an explanation!”
“No, it’s Demerchan!”
Several voices chimed in with their opinions, and for a moment, chaos reigned.
“What could Vond hope to gain by killing those six people?” “Fear!”
“Magic!”
“They knew too much!” “It’s a sacrifice to a demon!”
“Not Demerchan, Vond! Vond is doing it to disrupt and weaken the Hegemony!”
“Demerchan is killing them to prepare the way to take over the city!”
“It’s a conspiracy that’s trying to overthrow the overlord!”
The discussion deteriorated into several small arguments, and Sarai prepared to take her leave; she had made her point and learned about as much as she could reasonably expect to learn.
And while the wizards argued and Lady Sarai straightened her skirt, Tabaea the Thief crouched in the shadows a few yards away at the top of the staircase, safely out of sight, listening.
Learning about this meeting had been easy; two different wizards had mentioned it in her hearing as she spied on them. Getting in to eavesdrop, however, had been more difficult. She had thought about trying to slip in under some false identity, perhaps as one of the inn’s maids, but had lost her nerve, and instead settled for breaking in through an attic window and hiding at the top of the stairs.
She had been late in arriving and had fled temporarily when all the soldiers marched in, but even when she abandoned her post in the shadows, Tabaea had the ears of a cat—or rather, several cats, and a bird, and several dogs. She had missed some of the discussion and couldn’t see what going on from her chosen place of concealment, but she heard most of it.
They were blaming the Empire of Vond for the killings, which was crazy—that was way off at the other end of the World, wasn’t it? And they were blaming the cult of Demerchan, whatever that was. They were blaming demonologists, and the Council of Warlocks, and even each other. They were blaming Lady Sarai for not catching the killer. They were blaming demons and monsters and just about everything except the Northern Empire. Someone even suggested that spriggans, those squeaky little green creatures like the one that had startled her in Serem’s house so long ago, were not the harmless little nuisances they appeared to be, but diabolical killers working under the direction of some renegade archimage.
Tabaea smiled broadly at that. Spriggans, killing people? The idea of spriggans as deliberate murderers was completely absurd.
Lady Sarai was leaving, and someone named Teneria of Fish-ertown was going with her. Teneria had not said much of anything, but Tabaea had heard someone explain that she was a witch who knew about ways witchcraft and warlockry were related.
Tabaea wished Teneria had spoken up more. After all, Tabaea had both the warlock talent and some witch’s skills and would have liked learning more about them.
Not that she was still as ignorant as she had been when she began. She had listened to warlocks and witches as they talked among themselves and as they lectured their apprentices. She knew that warlockry came down to two abilities, the ability to move things without touching them and the ability to create or remove heat and that everything else was just applications of those. She knew that warlocks had infinite power available and that they drew on a mysterious source somewhere in the wilderness of southern Aldagmor, far to the northeast. She knew about the Calling—she didn’t know what it was, nobody did, but she knew that any warlock who used too much power was irresistibly drawn to the mysterious source of that power and never seen again. She knew that the first warning of the Call would be nightmares, and she had sworn that if she ever again had a nightmare she would give up warlockry.
As for witchcraft, that drew its power from the witch’s heart and belly, which was why witches were so limited in what they could do. A witch could die of exhaustion doing tasks a warlock or wizard would find easy. Witches, therefore, had learned subtlety, had learned to use knowledge more than power—but Tabaea had only the power and not the knowledge, and she wasn’t sure she had the patience to learn.
It did occur to her that thanks to the Black Dagger, she surely had more raw strength in her heart and gut than any other witch who had ever lived; still, she was not sure of how to use it. She wasn’t really sure how to use any of her stolen skills and strengths, though she was learning.
Tabaea found it very amusing mat the magicians all thought she was a conspiracy, rather than an individual; she giggled quietly into the palm of her hand. Little Tabaea the Thief, a World-spanning conspiracy of evil?
Besides, she wasn’t evil, not really; she just wanted her share of the good things in life. She wanted to be on top, instead of on the bottom.
One of the wizards had suggested that the conspirators intended to overthrow the overlord and take over the city. Tabaea hadn ’t thought of that.
Overthrow the overlord? Rule Ethshar of the Sands? She liked that idea. She liked it very much indeed. The entire city at her beck and call? Servants to fulfill her every whim? Her choice of the baubles and pretties on Luxury Street, or of the handsome men of Morningside? What a lovely thought—Tabaea the First, Overlord of Ethshar!
No, not overlord—that wasn’t enough. The overlord ruled as part of the triumvirate and as first among the lords; she wanted to rule on her own, like the monarchs in the Small Kingdoms. Rather than overlord, she would be queen! Queen of Ethshar!
And why stop with the city? Why not conquer the entire World and be empress? She was not giggling anymore; she was starting to take the idea seriously. Why not?
Well, because she was just one woman, that was why. She had her magical powers, of course—she was stronger, more powerful than anyone. She knew, from her eavesdropping and some careful experimentation, that most magic could not work against her: The Black Dagger seemed to nullify any wizardry; she had warlockry of her own, and the one thing a warlock’s power couldn’t seem to touch was another warlock; witchcraft could not directly defeat her because she was stronger than any other witch; theurgy was inherently nonviolent and therefore could not harm her.
Sorcery was still an unknown, though; demonology and some of the minor arts were mysteries, too. And she was not at all sure what would happen if someone managed to get at her with an ordinary weapon. It was not likely that anyone ever could, given ner stolen senses and strength and speed—but on the other hand, she still had to sleep sometimes.
But who had to know any of that?
Conquer the city...
She would, she decided, have to think this over very carefully indeed.
Moving as silently as a cat, she hurried away, back to the window she had left open, and then out to the open air.
