what it did—but then you killed Inza the Apprentice, and Serem the Wise, and Kelder of Quarter Street, and others. And when the guards came to arrest you for those murders, you declared yourself empress, and used the knife’s magic to occupy the palace.”
“I am the empress!” Tabaea insisted. “I rule the city—the old guards don’t dare show their faces, and the overlord and his family all fled before me!”
“But that,” Sarai said, holding up the dagger, “was when you had this.”
“And I’ll have it again! Give it back to me!”
Outrageously, mockingly, Sarai laughed. She dared to laugh at the empress of Ethshar!
Moving faster than humanly possible, Tabaea lunged for Sarai, intending to snatch the knife away from her.
Moving faster than humanly possible, Sarai dodged, flinging Arl aside, and spun to face Tabaea again, with the enchanted knife raised and ready.
“Think a minute, Tabaea,” the noblewoman said. “We both have stolen lives and stolen talents—but I have the dagger. If you stab me, I lose a life—but if I stab you, you not only lose a life, I gain one. And maybe, you know, maybe this dagger will take more than one at a time. Maybe I only have to kill you once.”
Tabaea, hearing this, started to turn, then stopped herself. No ordinary enemy would have seen the tiny little twitch, but Sarai saw it.
“And yes, you’re right; I’m not a witch nor a warlock,” the overlord’s Minister of Investigation said. Then she pointed with the dagger to her companions, and added, “But they are, over there, and they’re on my side.”
Tabaea glanced at Arl—but there was no need for Sarai to say a word about the rat-faced little chancellor; he was crawling away from both women, heading for the stairs, obviously wanting only to be out of sight.
But Sarai hadn’t cut his throat when she had the chance, when Tabaea had attacked; Lord Kalthon’s daughter was apparently not as bloodthirsty as her father was said to be.
“Are you planning to kill me?” Tabaea demanded.
Sarai blinked, catlike and quick. “I suppose we ought to,” she said. Tabaea thought she sounded almost startled, not at the question, but at her own reply. “After all, you’re a murderer. But there were some exceptional circumstances here, and I think my father and I, acting in the overlord’s behalf, would accept a plea for mercy and commute the sentence to exile from the city—if you surrender now and don’t force us to do any more damage to depose you.”
“You think,” Tabaea said. “And what if I don’t surrender, then? I’ve seen you move—you’re fast, all right, and yes, you have the dagger, but I think I’m still faster and stronger. Your magicians and I cancel each other out. Are you ready to take me on and try to kill me, here and now?”
“Oh, no,” Sarai said, smiling again. “I don’t have to. All I have to do is get us all out of here alive, and I think I can manage that much. And after that, we’ll let the wizards and the demon-ologists try out their spells on you—now that you don’t have the Black Dagger. Or maybe we’ll just wait.”
“Wait for what?” Tabaea demanded, shaken by the woman’s confidence and the threat of demons and wizardry. She could still counter witchcraft, since she had the talent and more raw vitality than any three normal witches; she could still counter warlockry because of the inherent limits on every warlock; but without the dagger she had no defense against other magicks.
“For the Seething Death to get you,” Sarai replied, pointing to the pool of wizard-stuff. “True, it didn’t get you immediately, but it will keep spreading until it does—unless we use the countercharm to stop it.”
Disconcerted, Tabaea turned to stare at the puddle—and the instant she did, the two witches and the unhurt warlock dashed for the stairs. The assassin, still unconscious, sailed along behind them, unsupported through the air—his fellow warlock was doing that, Tabaea sensed.
She let them go. This was between Sarai and herself, now. Sarai seemed very sure of herself—but was she really? The sight of the fleeing witches reminded Tabaea of her own witchcraft—she had so many choices now, so many things she could do, that there were times when she forgot some of them. “That stufF is going to go on spreading?” she asked. “That’s right,” Sarai said—but Tabaea, witch-senses alert, knew that was a half truth. Sarai was hiding something. “Until it kills me? It’s after me, specifically?” “That’s right,” Sarai said—but this time it was a lie, Tabaea knew.
“Unless you use the countercharm?” “A wizard working for us,” Sarai said, “not me.” And that was a lie, too. It was all lies and tricks.
Except, perhaps, the part about using wizardry to kill her. Tabaea was between Sarai and the nearest staircase; the other exits were far across the throne room. Sarai was fast, but Tabaea thought she was faster. Sarai had the Black Dagger—and Tabaea needed it. Only the dagger could guard her against wizards.
She had killed a Guildmaster; even if Lord Kalthon gave her mercy, the Wizards’ Guild never would. She knew that. They hadn’t killed her yet—but Tabaea remembered when Sarai had first shown the dagger. The other magicians had been surprised. The Wizards’ Guild must not have known about the theft, either. And only the fact that they didn’t know Lady Sarai had gotten the Black Dagger away from her had kept Tabaea alive this long, she was suddenly certain.
She might lose a fight with Lady Sarai, but at least she’d have a chance; if she didn’t get the dagger back, she was as good as dead.
She lunged.
CHAPTER 39
Oarai had watched from the stairs as Teneria worked at her healing and had watched as the Seething Death dissolved the bowl Tabaea had used to cover it, had seen and smelled that Tabaea was on the ragged edge of panic, and had realized that the situation was critical.
Tabaea had to be removed, and the Seething Death had to be stopped.
The wizards could handle Tabaea now, once they knew the dagger was gone; all Sarai had to do was to tell Tobas, or even just Karanissa or Teneria, that she had stolen the Black Dagger.
Stopping the Seething Death wouldn’t be so easy.
Or would it? The Black Dagger negated most wizardry; would it be able to stop the Seething Death?
That was something to think about, maybe something to try if Tabaea ever left the room—but at that thought, something occurred to Sarai that she should, she told herself, have considered sooner: Bringing the Black Dagger so close to Tabaea might have been a foolish risk to take. If the self-proclaimed empress were to realize that the knife was there...
Just then, Tabaea demanded, “Art, bring those people in here.”
The funny little man who was acting as Tabaea’s majordomo looked up. “What people, Your Majesty?” he asked.
“Those people on the stairs.” Tabaea waved for them to come forward, and said, “You, all of you—come closer.”
Sarai cursed herself for getting into this dangerous a position. She should have slipped away while she had the chance, gone to the Guildhouse, and told them everything.
“Line up,” Tabaea ordered. Then she turned and shouted at Teneria, “Go on healing him!”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Teneria replied. Tabaea pointed at Karanissa. “You,” she said, “get over there.” She ordered Vengar to the dais, as well.
And then she turned back and pointed directly at Sarai and said, “And you, Pharea.”
For an instant, Sarai froze; how had Tabaea recognized her? “Pharea” had had a different face.
But then she realized what had given it away, what must have given it away: her scent.
She should have known; after all, she could now recognize the odor of anyone she had been near herself, and Tabaea had killed not just one dog, but several.
The method didn’t really matter, though; all that mattered was that Sarai had been spotted.
But of course, Tabaea didn’t know everything; she didn’t know who “Pharea” was, didn’t know everything that was going on. She couldn’t. She had magic, she had superhuman senses, but she wasn’t omniscient. If Sarai let
