shocking contrast to her colorless features. She glared defiantly at Lord Kalthon.
“Speak,” Kalthon told her.
“What would you have me say?” Kallia demanded. “’I’ve told my story and been called a liar. I know what you people all think of demonologists, and it’s true we deal with creatures even worse than humans, but that doesn’t make us all murderers and thieves.”
“Nobody here said it did,” Kalthon said mildly. “If the overlords of the Hegemony believed demonology to be inherently evil they would have outlawed it. We accept that your occupation does not condemn you—and at any rate, you’re here as the accuser. I’ve been given a summary of your claim, but I’d like to hear it all from your own mouth.”
“It’s simple enough,” Kallia said, slightly mollified. “Her-emon robbed my shop—I woke up when I heard the noise, and I looked down the stairs and saw him leaving with his arms full. He didn’t see me, and I didn’t say anything, because I was unarmed and defenseless, and he’s a powerful wizard. When I came downstairs I found that several of my belongings were missing.”
“What sort of belongings?”
Kallia hesitated, and Kalthon allowed his expression to grow impatient.
“Blood,” Kallia said, “jars of different kinds of blood. And gold, and a few small gems, and some small animals—a ferret, some mice, certain rare insects.”
“These are things you need in your, um, in your business?” Kalthon asked, stroking his beard.
“Does it matter?” Kallia asked wearily. “It might.”
Kallia frowned. “Then yes, I need them in my work. Demons often demand payment for their services— blood, or gold, or lives, usually.” She turned and shouted at the observers at the room’s lower end, “Not always human lives!”
Sarai, perversely, found herself grinning at the woman’s defiance and forced herself to stop.
Kalthon nodded. “And you believe the thief to have been this Heremon the Mage?”
“I know it was he, my lord!” Kallia insisted. “I saw his face plainly and his robe, the same one he wears now! I see him almost every day; there could be no mistake. And who but a wizard would want things like virgin’s blood?”
“Anyone who thought to sell them,” Kalthon said calmly. “Particularly when there’s gold, as well. So you know Heremon?”
“Of course! Our shops are across the street from one another, on Wizard Street in Eastside.”
Kalthon stroked his beard again. “And you are rivals, perhaps?”
Kallia looked perplexed. “I had not thought so, Lord Kalthon, but why else would he choose to rob me?”
Sarai watched as the interrogation continued. The question of how the thief had gotten into the shop came up; the door had been broken. Kallia was asked why she had had no magical protections for her gold and gems, and she explained that she did have protection: a minor demon, a nameless imp, really, served as her nightwatch. The creature had been found dead— further proof, if any beyond the sight of Kallia’s own eyes was needed, that the thief was a magician of some power.
Several of the observers were growing visibly bored; most trials were much briefer, with Okko settling matters of fact in short order, allowing Lord Kalthon to get directly to the matter of setting the penalty. This case, on the heels of the boundary dispute over the soldier’s well, was dragging things out unbearably.
The next area of questioning was a little more delicate. Given that Kallia was a demonologist, with many of the resources of Hell at her beck and call, why had she resorted to the courts for justice, instead of simply sending a demon after Heremon?
It took some coaxing before she would admit that she was afraid. Heremon was not some mere apprentice; he was a mage and was reputed to be high in the local hierarchy of the Wizards’ Guild, a Guildmaster perhaps—though of course, no outsider could ever know for sure anything that went on in that Guild. Kallia feared that if she took personal vengeance upon Heremon, the Guild would retaliate—if, indeed, whatever demon she sent succeeded in the first place; there was no telling what magical defenses the mage might have, particularly since he would surely be expecting some sort of reaction.
She had not cared to risk the enmity of the Wizards’ Guild. People who angered individual wizards might live; people who angered the Wizards’ Guild did not. So she had resorted to the overlord’s government and appealed to the Lord Magistrate of Eastside, who had passed the whole affair on to the palace.
And here she was, and what was Lord Kalthon going to do about it?
Lord Kalthon sighed, thanked her for her testimony, and dismissed her. Heremon the Mage was called forward.
“My lord,” he said, “I am at a loss to explain this. Kallia is my neighbor, and I had thought that we were friends, after a fashion, and there can be no doubt that her shop was robbed, for I saw the broken door and the dead demon myself, but why she should accuse me I cannot guess. I swear, by all the gods and unseen powers, that I have never set foot in her shop without her invitation and that I did not break her door, nor slay the demon, nor take anything from her shop.”
“Yet she says she saw you there,” Kalthon pointed out. “She lies,” Heremon said. “What else can it be?” The questioning continued, but nothing else of any use came out. Heremon would not speak of the Wizards’ Guild, insisting that he had sworn an oath to reveal nothing about it and that it was not relevant.
Lord Kalthon sighed again, more deeply this time, and waved the wizard away. When the participants were out of earshot he leaned over and asked Okko, “Who lied?”
The theurgist looked up at him and turned up an empty palm. “My lord,” he said, “I don’t know. By my divinations, the wizard spoke nothing but truth—but there are spells that would conceal lies from me, simple spells that even an apprentice might use, and that a mage of Heremon’s ability...”He didn’t bother finishing the sentence.
“What of the woman?” the Minister of Justice asked. Okko shook his head. “Lord Kalthon, she is so tainted with demon scent that the gods I confer with will not admit she exists at all, and can say nothing about whether she lies.”
“Damn.” He considered. “Okko, you know something about the other schools of magic, don’t you?”
Okko eyed the minister warily and hesitated before replying, “A little.”
“Who can tell if a demonologist is lying? Who can’t a wizard fool?” Okko thought that over very carefully, then shrugged. “I would guess,” he said, “that one demonologist could tell if another were engaged in trickery. And I’m sure that one wizard, properly trained, can detect another’s spells.”
“Then can you find me a demonologist we can trust? One who has no prior connection with this Kallia? And we’ll need a wizard, one who’s not in the Wizards’ Guild...”
Okko held up a hand. “No, my lord,” he said. “All wizards are members of the Guild. For anyone not in the Guild, to practice wizardry is to commit suicide.” “Well... do your best, then.” “As you wish.” Okko bowed his head. Lord Kalthon straightened in his chair and announced, “This case cannot be decided today. All parties hereto will return here tomorrow at this same time. Failure to appear will be accounted an admission of guilt and a crime against the Hegemony, punishable at the overlord’s pleasure; if there is anyone who has a problem with that, tell my clerk. Next case.”
Sarai sat, only half listening, as the next case, a local magistrate’s son accused of rape, was presented. She was thinking over the two magicians’ statements.
If Heremon was lying, then why had he robbed Kallia? A successful wizard didn’t need to resort to theft, not for the sort of things taken from Kallia. Even dragon’s blood was not so rare or precious as all that. There were supposed to be substances wizards used that would be almost impossible to obtain, but they weren’t anything a demonologist would have.
But then, if Heremon had not robbed Kallia, why would she say that he had? What could she hope to gain by making false accusations? Could she perhaps have some use for Heremon? Might she need a wizard’s soul to appease some demon?
Sarai shook her head. Nobody knew what demonologists might need except other demonologists. That might be the explanation, but she wasn’t going to figure it out; she didn’t know enough about the so-called black arts.
Could there perhaps be something else at work?
