which was still in her hand, and noticed a tiny drop of Telurinon’s blood on the point. She shuddered.
“I think I really would have killed him,” she said.
“Probably,” Karanissa said. “Something we all knew during the Great War was that anybody can kill, under the right circumstances. Anybody can be dangerous.”
“Even a harmless little nobody like Tabaea the Thief,” Sarai said. “With this knife in her hand, she was empress of Eth-shar.” She shuddered. “Maybe I should have tried it on the Seething Death—at least then we’d be rid of it.”
“Why didn’t you?” Karanissa asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarai replied. “It just seemed like such a waste. You have no idea what it’s like, Karanissa—being able to smell everything, to practically see with your nose. And seeing in the dark, like a cat, or hearing all those sounds we can’t hear; being strong and fest...”
“Are you going to do it again, then? Kill more animals?”
Sarai hesitated.
“No,” she said at last. “I don’t need to, with Tabaea gone, and I don’t like killing anything. I don’t want to like killing.”
“Then what will you do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Sarai replied slowly. “I’ll have to think about it.” She stared at the dagger for a moment longer, men looked up at Karanissa and asked, “What’s it like, being a witch?”
Karanissa tried to explain, without much success; from there, the conversation turned to what it was like to be married to a wizard, then what it was like to share a husband, and how she had come to marry Tobas, and how Alorria had come to marry him, as well. Some of this Sarai already knew, of course; me two women had talked during the long walk down the mountains, but only now did Sarai feel able to ask the questions that really interested her.
At last, though, the conversation ran down. The daylight was starting to fade, and the hissing of the Seething Death seemed significantly closer.
“I’m hungry, and you look tired,” Karanissa said. “Would you like to come back to the inn with me for dinner and then borrow a bed?”
“That would be wonderful,” Sarai admitted gratefully. She got to her feet; the Black Dagger tumbled from her lap to the floor, and she picked it up.
She did not sheathe it immediately, but carried it loose—not for any particular reason, but on a whim. The hilt felt curiously reassuring in her hand.
Together, the two women strolled down the northeast corridor and out onto the plaza.
CHAPTER 44
Tabaea had been waiting. She had not caught up to Lady Sarai and her escort on Gate Street, Harbor Street had been crowded, and Quarter Street had soldiers patrolling it; Tabaea had not dared to jump Lady Sarai anywhere on the way. She had not dared to enter the palace, either, with all those guards and magicians about, not without the Black Dagger in her hand. Sooner or later, though, Lady Sarai would come out again; surely she wouldn’t sleep in the palace with the Seething Death still there. She would go out to Serem’s house, or to the barracks in Grandgate, or somewhere. Sooner or later she would be careless, would travel with a small enough escort that Tabaea would have her chance.
There was an abandoned wagon on the plaza, and Tabaea had seized her opportunity; she had lain down in the wagon, out of sight, and watched the door through a crack in the side.
Soon, soldiers and magicians came pouring out the door and marched or ambled away without seeing her; Lady Sarai was not among them, however.
At last, though, as evening approached, Tabaea’s patience was rewarded—out the door, all by themselves, came Lady Sarai and that tall black-haired witch.
And Lady Sarai was holding the Black Dagger in her hand.
Using all her speed, all her agility, Tabaea leaped from the wagon and threw herself at Lady Sarai’s arm.
Sarai didn’t even see her coming; she was still blinking, letting her eyes adjust to the fading sunlight, when something smashed into her arm, spinning her around, knocking the Black Dagger from her hand. She staggered and fell as pain shot through her hand.
“Tabaea!” Karanissa shouted.
The self-proclaimed empress was already past them, and inside the palace, running down the corridor with the Black Dagger in her hand.
“I think I sprained my wrist,” Sarai said, sitting dazed on the pavement. “What happened?”
“It’s Tabaea!” Karanissa told her, reaching down to help her up. “She took the dagger!”
Sarai blinked, then got to her feet as quickly as she could. “I thought you said she was gone,” she said.
“She’s back,” Karanissa answered.
“Why haven’t the wizards killed her?” Sarai asked, still slightly dazed. “They were so hot for vengeance...”
“They hadn’t got around to it yet,” Karanissa answered. “They were too busy worrying about the Seething Death. And what difference does it make why? They didn ’t kill her, and she’s back. Come on!” As Sarai moved uncertainly toward the palace door, Karanissa cupped her hands around her mouth and called to a pair of guards nearby, “Tabaea! Tabaea’s back! Get help! Bring torches!”
Then she and Sarai stepped cautiously into the palace.
Tabaea ran into the dark corridors, dagger held out before her, hurrying toward the throne room. Had Sarai already stopped the Seething Death? That would ruin her plan to become the city’s savior—but on the other hand, she could still resume her role as empress, now that she had the dagger back.
She wondered how big the Seething Death was now—had it kept spreading? Was it still sixty feet across, as Heremon had reported, or had it grown even larger?
Then she heard the hissing and came skidding to a stop.
Full night had fallen outside; the passageway ahead was utterly dark, even to Tabaea’s enhanced vision, but she could hear the Death hissing and bubbling, and she could smell its foul reek. She needed light; guided by smell, she groped on the floor and found a fragment of greasy cotton rag. She wrapped it around a broken table leg and knotted it; then she held this makeshift torch up over her head and felt for the whisper that gave a warlock power.
She knew how to use warlockry to light fires, but she was too nervous to concentrate properly; she had no more than warmed her makeshift torch when a golden light sprang up behind her. She whirled and saw the tall witch holding up a glowing hand— witch-light, Tabaea realized. Lady Sarai was at the witch’s side.
“Stay back!” Tabaea shrieked, brandishing the dagger and backing a few steps down a side-passage.
The other two followed her. “What are you doing in here?” Sarai called. “I thought you had abdicated!”
“That was conditional!” Tabaea shouted back. “That was if you people stopped the Seething Death, but you didn’t! I will, and then I’ll resume my rightful throne!”
Sarai and Karanissa looked at each other.
“You can’t,” Sarai said.
“Yes I can!” Tabaea screamed. “I have the Black Dagger back, and it can cut any wizardry!”
“Not that it can’t,” Sarai said. “Just look at it, Your Majesty!”
Karanissa added, “If you just wait, we have a way to stop it— my husband should be here soon, with the spell.”
“No!” Tabaea shouted. “I’ll stop it! Not you! I will!” She looked past the two women at the sound of approaching steps, heavy boots on marble—soldiers, not magicians.
That was all right; she wanted witnesses, wanted all the soldiers to side with her this time. Torchlight
