He drew the storm around him, whipped it into a howling maelstrom, and forced its winds to whirl faster, until his cloak was flapping with a sound like the breaking of stone; still the gem remained undimmed. Maintaining the roaring hurricane, he moved the earth as well, rippling it around him like a lake in a breeze. He pulled the rain from the sky in sheets, in streams, and pounded lightning on the shifting ground, surrounding himself in a halo of crawling electric fire.
Finally, he could stand no more; he fell to his knees. The earth stilled. One hand fell from the sword's hilt; the lightning stopped, and the wind dropped. In the sudden silence after the final thunderclap, he closed his eyes and heard the beating of the rain soften to a gentle patter.
He opened his eyes and looked hopelessly at the sword. His fingers adhered to the hilt as firmly as ever.
The gem glowed fiery red, and he thought he heard mocking laughter, his own voice laughing at his despair.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The twenty-first councilor and Derelind's report from Mormoreth arrived almost simultaneously.
It was the Seer of Weideth, uncomfortable on a borrowed horse, who completed the Council's quorum; he arrived late in the evening while a light, chilling drizzle blew down out of the north, and his calls to the castle's gatekeeper went unheeded for fully fifteen minutes, unheard over the hiss of the rain and the mutter of the wind. There was only a single guard posted at the gate after dark and he was huddled well away from the window, drawing what warmth he could from his shuttered lantern and a skin of cheap red wine; finally, though, he heard something worth checking on and peered down to discover the Seer, shivering at the gate, wrapped in an immense gray cloak.
The gatekeeper was an honest man and not inconsiderate; he hurried to his winch and called down an apology as he cranked open the portcullis. That done, he rushed down the tower steps, stumbling in the dark and very nearly sending himself falling headfirst, and opened the Lesser Portal. In daylight there would have been two other guards to share the task.
'My lord, I am very sorry, truly I am! I had not thought any would be out in such dreary weather!'
The Seer nodded, but did not manage to say anything. His home village was kept perpetually warm and dry by the heat of the neighboring volcanoes, and he was not accustomed to the damp chill of autumn rains.
'I should have known better, though, with all of you folk arriving for these past several days; I don't suppose you're the last, either. I guess the rain caught you already on the road, and you didn't wish to waste money on an inn with the castle so close; I'd do the same myself. It's damnably strange weather for this early in the year, too, my lord-far colder than any year in my memory.'
The Seer looked at the gatekeeper and realized that he was a very lonely man, spending his nights sitting alone at the gate. He was unmarried, with no children, and his most recent woman had left him a few days earlier.
That was not his business, the Seer told himself. His gift sometimes told him more than he wanted to know-and then other times it wouldn't tell him anything. He wished it were more reliable. He didn't particularly care if he were ever a great prophet, but it would be pleasant, he mused, at least to be a competent one, rather than having erratic flashes of insight and foreknowledge.
It was the guard's loneliness, combined with his genuine contrition, that had brought on his little speech. He would go on talking until he got an answer.
'Oh, I'm all right,' the Seer managed. 'You mustn't trouble yourself.'
'That's kind of you, my lord. Is there anything I can do for you?'
'Where can I put my horse?'
The gatekeeper replied with directions to the stable, instructions on whom to rouse and how, and warnings against trusting the worthless grooms.
'Thank you,' the Seer replied. He rode on as directed, before the man could begin another speech.
At the stable, he obtained directions to a hall where he might find someone who would know where he was supposed to be; following them, he got lost briefly in the maze of stone corridors. Eventually, though, by asking whomever he chanced to meet, he found his way to the upper gallery where the Council was gathering.
Chalkara noticed him as he reached the top of the stairs and recognized him immediately from his sending. 'Greetings, O Seer,' she said. 'I hadn't known you were here. When did you arrive?'
The Seer held out a flap of his cloak so that she could see that it was still wet and answered, 'Just now. What's going on?'
A stranger in a gaudy robe of purple velvet pushed past him and entered the gallery as Chalkara answered, 'It's rather complicated to explain, and the meeting is about to start. Why don't you just come in, sit down, and warm up? If you have any questions, ask them as they come up.'
Confused, the Seer let Chalkara shove him through the door. There were chairs inside, arranged around a row of three long tables; he was tired, and sank into one gratefully.
The room was lighted by several dozen candles in hanging chandeliers and standing candelabra, and a dozen or so men and women were already seated around the tables. Others were arriving as he took this in. Shandiph was seated at the head of the table he had chosen; none of the others were immediately recognizable. There was a tiny old woman seated at Shandiph's right.
A stout man not quite into middle age seated himself at the Seer's right and remarked without preamble, 'You're wet.'
'It's raining,' he answered.
'Have you just arrived, then?'
'Yes.'
'Who are you?'
'I am the Seer of Weideth.'
'Ah, then it's you who started all this!'
'I suppose it is. Who are you, then?'
'You don't know me? I am Deriam of Ur-Dormulk, and probably the only wizard here who knows what he's doing.' He gestured to take in the entire assembly.
The Seer decided that he didn't care for Deriam of Ur-Dormulk. He was trying to think of a polite way to break off the conversation when Shandiph rose and broke it off for him by calling the meeting to order.
'I see that we now have the necessary numbers,' he said when the entire group was seated and silent, 'counting Derelind. With this quorum, then, we are constituted an official gathering of the Council of the Most High, empowered to take action on behalf of the entire membership. I think that you will all agree shortly that some action must be taken, and quickly.'
He paused dramatically, and someone in his audience snorted derisively. Shandiph ignored it.
'We have just received word, through the offices of the sorceress Zhinza, from Derelind the Hermit, who was earlier sent to the city of Mormoreth, in Orfin to ascertain the status of our comrade Shang and the basilisk which had been placed in his keeping. I now yield to Zhinza, so that she may give Derelind's message herself.' He gestured toward the ancient woman and then sank into his chair.
Zhinza rose and proclaimed, 'Shang is dead. I was right.'
Deriam muttered something into his beard.
'Tell them what Derelind said,' Shandiph reminded her.
'Derelind said,' she went on, 'that he arrived safely and found that Mormoreth is now inhabited by the bandit tribe that formerly roamed the Plain of Derbarok. Being a wizard, he was easily able to convince the bandits to talk to him and tell him how this came about. They claim the city was given to them as a gift by the person who killed Shang, as a blood-price for several tribesmen he killed as well.'
'All right, woman, who was it killed him?' Karag demanded.
'Shang was killed by an overman named Garth.'
There was a moment of stunned silence as this news sank in.
