The Warlord's legacy

Chapter Twenty-two

AS THREE DUSTY TRAVELERS MOUNTED the broad stone steps, the guards at the door-and there were guards at the door, now, accompanying the ubiquitous clerk-moved to block their path. Jassion marched in the lead, poised, arrogant, and without visible trace of the hideous injury he would sport until the end of his days. Behind him trailed two figures clad in the costly but relatively bland garb of servants. One, the woman, held the arm of the elder man, who took small, hesitant steps as though injured or ill.

He was, in fact, gritting his teeth and straining not in pain, but in concentration, trying to keep three separate images affixed firmly in his mind. It would have been easier had he not still suffered lingering aftereffects of Khanda's attack; had his soul not been wringing its hands inside his body, wracked with fear for Mellorin and Seilloah; had he been at his best.

But only a little easier, for all that.

While Jassion spoke in low but commanding tones to the soldiers, Corvis glanced upward, peering intently at the sky through the illusion that masked his features. The uppermost reaches of the Hall of Meeting blended with the overcast skies, dark grey on darker. Only a smattering of windows and, in a few instances, the crows and sparrows perching along the roof's edge, made the looming structure visible against the clouds.

"I'm really not comfortable with this, Corvis," Irrial whispered in his ear.

"They can't see our real faces," he reminded her.

"And that worked out so well for us last time?"

He shrugged. "We've just spent weeks in the saddle. I'm not recovered from one of the top five worst experiences in my life. My head feels like a sack of meal left out in the rain, and my body like there's a pair of ogres waltzing up and down my spine. You're lucky I'm lucid; you want new ideas, go pester someone else."

"I suppose that's fair." Then, "Only one of the top five?"

"My years have been blessed with an astonishing variety of discomfort."

They didn't hear what Jassion said to the guards, but eventually he waved them forward. The soldiers stepped aside, and the trio walked with measured tread into the seat of Imphallion's mercantile government.

"It's disgraceful!" Jassion hissed as they walked, his tone still vaguely nasal. He kept his voice low despite his clear agitation, lest any of the many scurrying pages and couriers overhear. "War with Cephira, attacks by-ah, 'Rebaine'-and for all their added security, the guards just took me at my word and let us in!"

"Well, you are who you said you were," Irrial pointed out.

"They didn't know that!"

"We're pretty far from the front. And it's not as though they expect You-Know-Who to walk in the front door."

"It's disgraceful," he muttered again. "If a soldier has a job to do, he should do it! I'd have these men flogged if they worked for me."

Corvis, feeling that Jassion's sense of propriety was perhaps misplaced at the moment-particularly since they were the security breach the guards' negligence permitted-chose not to say anything to get the baron even more riled. He did, however, roll his eyes at Irrial, who rewarded him, oh so briefly, with that amused curl of her lips he'd not seen in far too long.

Through familiar corridors, up familiar stairs-and even, once, past a stain of what was probably familiar blood-they wended their way. It looked much as it had the last time they'd been here, save for the presence of many more guards. Corvis began to have serious doubts about their plan, unsure if they could win free should it go wrong. But as he had no better notions to offer, and as it was already too late even if he had, he kept his misgivings private.

The top floor, and back to that one particular office guarded by half a dozen sentries. Jassion made as if to march right past them, until they steadfastly refused to clear the way. With a full-blown aristocratic glower that Corvis wasn't certain was feigned, he announced, "The Baron Jassion of Braetlyn, and associates, to see Guildmistress Salia Mavere. Right now."

"Have you an appointment?" the guard asked, just as impressed with this strutting noble as he'd been with all the others he'd thrown out.

"No."

"Then-"

"Just announce us. She'll see us."

The guard didn't bother to hide his sigh, and Corvis feared he'd have to physically restrain Jassion from bludgeoning the man to death. After a few deep breaths, however, the baron calmed himself, and the soldier indicated the door with a shallow tilt of his head. One of the other men cracked that door open and stepped inside. They could just hear the voices, here in the hall, and while they couldn't make out a single word, the surprise in one of those voices was more than a little evident.

The guard reappeared, shaking his head in astonishment. "She'll see them," he told his commander, now sounding as surprised as Mavere had.

"She-what? But…"

"She said she'll see them."

The officer was visibly crestfallen. "All right," he grumbled. Then, before Jassion took half a step, "but not under arms."

"My companions are not armed," he replied. "Search them if you like. As for me…" He raised his hand, slowly so as not to cause undue alarm, to touch the hilt protruding over his shoulder. "I'll not be relinquishing my sword, no. Ask the Guildmistress. I doubt she'll explain why, but she'll assure you it's all right."

Corvis did his best to look meek, face aimed at the floor so nobody would see him grinding his teeth. Just seeing the blade on Jassion's back was enough to make him want to…

The guard returned to the office looking even more dubious, and came out looking even more perplexed. "She says it's all right."

The officer grunted something impolite and stepped aside. Without so much as a nod of acknowledgment, Jassion strode past, Corvis and Irrial following close behind.

"Baron Jassion?" Salia asked, rising from behind her desk. "I have to admit, I'm a bit concerned to learn you're here. Why-?"

It all happened at once, between one breath and the next. Irrial firmly shut the door behind her. Jassion bowed low before the Guildmistress, far lower than was his wont. And Corvis, allowing his concentration to lapse and the illusions to drop, sprinted across the room like a starving leopard. His fist closed around Sunder's hilt, yanking it from the scabbard across Jassion's back-and gods, had that taken long hours of arguing, and many oaths on Jassion's part, before Irrial convinced him to place the weapon, however briefly, in the baron's care. In the heartbeats it took him to vault the desk, sending a flurry of parchment in all directions, the Kholben Shiar had shifted once more from Jassion's two-hander to Corvis's axe, the blade of which now gently kissed the priestess's throat. Corvis wasn't certain whether he, or Salia herself, was more disturbed by the weapon's eager quiver.

"If you so much as raise your voice above a whisper," Corvis warned her, "the Blacksmiths' Guild will be, ah, let's say, looking for a new head."

Her glare was sharper than Sunder itself, her face as pallid as those parchments drifting slowly to the floor, her jaw clenched tight enough to bend raw iron-but she nodded shallowly.

"I'd apologize for the discourtesy," Jassion told her, moving to stand before the desk. The bandage tied across his face, discolored where humors occasionally seeped from his ravaged nose, was now clearly visible. "But in all honesty, I'd prefer to let him kill you."

"Jassion, what…?" Even at a whisper, her fury and her confusion-and yes, her fear-were palpable.

"I do not," he said harshly, "appreciate being used, Mavere."

"I don't know what you've done to him," she began, eyes flickering to the man at her side, "what spells you've cast on him, but-"

"No spells, Salia. No tricks, no sorcery. You said that you had knowledge of magic when we last spoke. Take a good look at him."

She shrugged, wincing as the movement scraped the skin of her throat across the blade. "Wouldn't help. Illusions I can detect; they're visible. If I could sense spells of the mind, I'd have discovered all your puppets in Guild ranks long ago." Her voice seemed almost wistful at that.

Corvis frowned, but it made sense.

"And I cannot," she added, "think of anything other than the most potent magics that would inspire Lord Jassion to cooperate with you."

"You should have thought harder then," Irrial interjected, sliding the latch home on the door and stepping into the center of the room, "before starting all this."

The Guildmistress looked from one to the other, saw no pity anywhere. Corvis could see in her expression that she was weighing the odds if she called for the guards.

"You'd be dead before your voice reached them," he warned. Her shoulders slumped.

"Where's Kaleb?" she demanded.

Jassion smiled shallowly. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you-oh. Perhaps you mean Khanda?"

So stiffly did Salia tense that Corvis had to yank Sunder back a hair to avoid cutting her. "How did-?"

"What were you thinking, you stupid bitch?" Irrial and Corvis exchanged worried glances, concerned that Jassion's own temper might alert the guards, but so far the baron was managing-albeit barely-to keep his voice low. "How could you use me that way? How could you unleash something like that creature on your own people?"

"I assure you, Khanda is completely under control."

"Not for long," Corvis told her. Then, at her expression, "You asked what could inspire Jassion and me to work together? That'd do it, wouldn't you think?"

"It's not possible. Jassion, whatever Rebaine's told you, it's a lie. He-"

"Is more convincing than you. Especially given what I've seen recently." Then, though it clearly cost him, he forced his voice, his expression, to calm. "Mavere, I only saw the aftermath of the Twins' rampage through Mecepheum, but you were present for all of it. You've seen what creatures of such power can do-and you've seen how little we can do to stop them. We know some of what Khanda plans, and I assure you, if he succeeds you'll wish you'd died back then."

"It's a lie," she insisted stubbornly.

"Perhaps you'll want to ask Nenavar about that?" Corvis suggested. Again, standing so close, he couldn't possibly miss the tension that ran across Salia's body like a cold shiver. She knew the name, all right.

"It's he who assured me that the bonds on the summoning were unbreakable. And I've seen him put Kaleb-Khanda-in his place. Besides, even if I wanted to, I've no means of just calling him here. I'd have to send a messenger, and I doubt you're willing to sit in this office for the hours it would take for a reply."

"I can be surprisingly patient," Corvis told her. "So can Irrial. Jassion might be a problem, I imagine." He ignored the bandage-wrapped glare. "But that's all moot, since you're not sending a messenger. You're going to take us to him."

Her laugh was a forced and feeble thing. "And why would I do that?"

"Because even walking through the halls or the streets, we can kill you before any help arrives," Jassion snarled at her. "And if you won't help us, there's no reason not to kill you right now for what you've done!"

"More to the point," Corvis said, shaking his head in exasperation, "no matter how certain you think you are that we're lying to you, you can see Jassion and me standing here, working together, telling you the same thing. And you're worried that we just might be telling you the truth. Tell me, Salia, would Verelian be served by his own priestess unleashing a demon in the mortal world? Are you willing to go down in history as the next Audriss-assuming there even is a history after Khanda gets through with us?

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish with all of this," he continued more softly, "though I think I can guess a good chunk of it. But what I'm certain of is that all your plans won't be worth a gnome's chamber pot if Khanda breaks loose. So you tell us, Salia. Which way do you want it?" THEY'D NEEDED HER COMPLIANCE, prayed for it, even counted on it-but that didn't mean they were remotely ready to trust it. Throughout the nerve-racking trek through the corridors and stairs of the Hall of Meeting, one or the other of them remained at Mavere's back, ready to act if she even looked askance at a passing guard, the others equally alert in case any of the passing guards looked askance at them. Even after they'd gathered their horses, and hers, they walked the beasts through Mecepheum's streets, the better to ensure the Guildmistress remained within easy reach. Only once they'd passed through the main gates did they mount up and ride, and even then they took steps to ensure Salia remained in their midst.

The faint but steady autumn breezes and overcast skies had brought a certain chill to the roads. Thus, though she'd claimed that the ride was only a few hours, they'd taken the opportunity-always with careful eyes on Salia, of course-to acquire some traveling cloaks and coats before leaving the city. It was partly for the sake of their own comfort, but mostly as an excuse, under the guise of "friendly assistance" while shopping, for Irrial to search their unwilling guest for concealed weapons. More than once, Corvis sensed the priestess's gaze upon him and had looked around to see not merely the anger and the fear that he'd anticipated-even, he had to admit, reveled in-but also a peculiar puzzlement.

He wasn't about to ask her what was wrong, of course. But he did wonder.

As they traversed a minor highway that was festively garbed in fallen leaves of red and gold, Corvis watched Jassion with idly hostile curiosity. The baron fiddled with the ties around his throat, trying to keep the knot of his bandage from getting caught in the folds of his new midnight-hued cloak. He fidgeted, craned his neck-and somehow, even from the rear, Corvis could tell that he frowned.

Perhaps sensing the older man's questioning gaze, Jassion tugged on the reins, dropping back a few paces. "I'm no great believer in omens," the nobleman told him, "but I have to admit, I'm not pleased at that."

Corvis glanced up and noted, despite their growing distance from Mecepheum, a number of crows circling high above. He thought back to the birds perched atop the roof of the Hall of Meeting, and he, too, frowned thoughtfully.

"Keep on going with the others," he said suddenly, wheeling his own horse about. "I'll catch up."

"What? Where are you-?"

"Probably nowhere. You've just got me paranoid now. I want to make sure nobody's following-that Mavere didn't somehow manage to signal anyone."

"Paranoid indeed," Jassion said. "But probably wise," he acknowledged, riding on ahead. CORVIS DID INDEED CATCH BACK UP a few moments later and fell into step behind the others.

"Anything?" Jassion called over his shoulder.

"No danger," Corvis replied, wrapping his own crimson cloak more tightly against the autumn chill. "As you said, just paranoid."

Irrial might have detected the odd tenor in his voice, or that he sat somewhat straighter in the saddle than before. But Irrial rode at the front, with Salia between her and the others, and Jassion didn't know his hated ally well enough to notice. He simply nodded, and the four rode on.

Above, the crows continued to circle for a few moments more, and then, one by one, they departed for more worthwhile surroundings. MECEPHEUM, AS BOTH IMPHALLION'S CAPITAL and its richest community, was one of those cities that doesn't seem to know when to stop. Like a noblewoman's skirts, neighborhoods and estates spread from the main walls.

At the edge of what could even pretend to be called Mecepheum stood a large estate. A squat stone manor occupied the property's center, surrounded on three sides by gardens and on the rear by a hedge maze that ran across several gentle knolls. A marble wall separated the grounds from the outside, but it wasn't much of an impediment-the iron gate in its center was unbarred, and the wall itself a mere three feet high. Obviously, it had been built not as security, but just an ornate and expensive means of declaring My territory starts here.

Save for the lack of guards, footmen, or even a bell-pull at the gate, there was nothing to differentiate it from any of the other rich, aristocratic estates that sprouted sporadically-gilded mushrooms, as Corvis couldn't help but think of them-throughout these long swathes of pseudo-Mecepheum.

"I have to admit," Irrial said as they halted just outside the gate, "it's not what I was expecting."

"Nor I," Jassion said.

"No?" Salia scoffed. "You imagined a bleak tower of black stones? An imposing castle of impossible spires? Or maybe a dank cave somewhere?"

"Well, he is a powerful wizard…," Irrial protested mildly.

"And you've been reading too many melodramas. Nenavar earns his wealth by hiring his services out to any who can afford them-a rare and select few, to be sure-and enjoys that wealth as any man would. What better place for him to live than here?"

"If we're through critiquing the aesthetics of the nice diabolist," Corvis asked irritably, "do you suppose we might get a move on? I'd like to take steps to prevent it before Khanda finally shows up and tries to rip my spine out through my arsehole."

"I don't actually read many melodramas," Irrial informed them as they moved toward the gate. "I prefer to watch them performed on stage. I find it a lot more-"

"Irrial?"

"Yes, Corvis?"

"Let it go."

Jassion pushed the gate wide and led them onto the property. Corvis, who'd half expected it to swing ponderously open on its own, was peculiarly grateful that the wizard hadn't enchanted it to do so. The path led, straight as a lance, through nicely trimmed grasses and well-maintained gardens of tulips and potato blossoms to the manor door. At no point were they approached or harassed, nor did they see any sign of movement, from either the property or the house itself, for which the breeze could not account.

"Are you certain he's here?" Jassion demanded.

Salia shrugged. "How would I know?"

The door, like the manor itself, was thick, solidly built, but relatively unadorned. It boasted a brass knocker in the form of a simple ring, a smaller knob-also brass-and nothing more.

Corvis shrugged and pounded on the heavy wood. They heard the echoes reverberating through the chamber beyond, and a large chamber it must have been, but even after many minutes and several more knocks, they received no response. He clasped the knob, more out of habit than any real hope the door was unlocked, and sure enough it declined to cooperate.

"I refuse to be killed," he told the others without bothering to look back at them, "because one man happened to be out for tea when we showed up on his stoop." He muttered a few words, casting a spell to make obvious any wards or curses Nenavar might have placed upon his door. He spotted only a handful, far fewer than he anticipated, and knew that none could withstand the touch of the Kholben Shiar. Directing his companions to stand back, he hefted Sunder and brought it down beside the knob.

Wood, metal, and magic splintered, the door swung ajar, and beyond it Corvis and the others saw…

… Nothing. The house was empty. One great hollow chamber, lacking even interior walls.

"I love what he's done with the place," Corvis said blandly.

"I don't understand," Salia muttered, flinching from Jassion's angry glare. "I've sent multiple couriers! This is where he told us to find him, and this is where they've come."

And Corvis abruptly understood. "But he wanted them to find him. Us, perhaps less so." He stepped from the door to stare up at the nearest window, idly spinning Sunder at his side. "It's a neat trick, Nenavar!" he shouted, his words carrying to all corners of the property on a voice that had once bellowed across battlefields. "I don't know if it's a teleportation you've cast on the doorway, or an illusion, or even a bubble of an alternative realm inside the house. And I don't care. My companions and I have nowhere to be, so I'm more than happy to take the time to chop through your damn walls! Maybe that'll take us around your little spell, or maybe I'll just have to keep it up until the house collapses. Either way I promise that it'll end with you and me both in a bad mood.

"Or you can assume that, just maybe, Mavere had a good reason for bringing us here, and you can deign to talk to us."

Silence. Until, from behind him, Irrial called out, "Khanda's found a way to free himself from your spells!"

Corvis stared at her. She just shrugged.

The door slammed shut of its own accord, then opened once more. This time it revealed a cozy foyer, replete with burning incense and a cloak rack.

"Come in." The voice was thin, old and on the edge of quavering. It also came from everywhere at once. "Make yourselves at home. But Rebaine, I know what you're capable of, and I know what the Kholben Shiar are capable of, and I assure you I have more than enough power to deal with you both."

"Of course you do." Corvis watched his companions hang their cloaks upon the pegs, ignored their questioning glances when he refrained from doing the same. When they were ready, he led the way into the hall beyond.

Here was all the opulence the manor's exterior eschewed. Fine paintings hung in gilded frames; recessed niches held golden candelabra. More braziers filled the air with a subtle incense, a little cloying for Corvis's tastes but not overwhelming. Even a few of the windows, which had appeared mundane from the outside, showed themselves to be ornate stained glass when viewed from within. Through several of those, Corvis caught glimpses of movement-trees, perhaps, or low-hanging fog-that didn't remotely match the terrain of the estate outside. He wondered where in the world those windows looked. Then he wondered onto which world those windows looked, and then he decided to stop wondering.

Assuming that their host would let them know if they chose wrong, Corvis ignored the various closed doors and smaller side passages to either side of the hall, continuing straight until it opened up into a great room. Bookshelves stood like soldiers at attention along one wall, while a large staircase occupied another. The rest of the chamber boasted plush sofas and small reading tables. A balcony loomed above, and the man staring down at them could only have been Nenavar himself.

He looked, to Corvis, like a vulture masquerading as a man.

"I'm sorry, Nenavar," Salia began. "I didn't really have any-"

He waved a hand in arrogant dismissal. "What's this nonsense about Khanda, Rebaine? My creatures cannot harm me, and I'd certainly never release him from his bonds!"

"If you're so certain of that," Jassion murmured, "why did you let us in?"

"He can't harm you with his magics," Corvis corrected, ignoring the baron (as usual). "But Khanda's picked up some human sorcery along the way. You've no protection from that."

"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly, "but there's no magic he could master potent enough to defeat me before I could cripple him."

Corvis tapped a finger against his own head. "Not even one of Selakrian's own incantations, Nenavar?"

Even from where he stood, he saw the blood drain from the wizard's face, saw his hands clench on the railing. "You kept one?"

"I did."

"Then perhaps the solution, Rebaine, is to kill you."

"You could try." The old warlord smiled. "Of course, Khanda's already ripped most of it from my mind. You sure me being dead would stop him from getting the rest out of me?"

Nenavar disappeared from the balcony, whether via teleportation or simply stepping back into the shadows, Corvis couldn't guess. He reappeared a moment later through one of the room's sundry doors.

"We've much work to do," he said simply. "I'll require your help in setting up; it'll go much faster than if I do it myself."

"That's it?" Jassion asked incredulously from behind. "No oaths, no threats of what'll happen if we try to harm you, no safeguards? Just 'we have work to do'?"

Nenavar offered an uneven, sickly smile. "Would you like to have a demon roving about our world unchecked, my lord?"

"Not especially."

"Oddly enough, neither would I. Now be silent and either assist or get out of our way."

For half an hour and more, Corvis and Nenavar mixed powders and herbs, drew ornate sigils across the great stone-floored cellar beneath the house. Irrial, Salia, and Jassion pounded constantly up and down the steps, fetching and carrying at Nenavar's decree-some with greater alacrity than others.

"I think," the old wizard told Corvis as the Guildmistress stomped away once more, "that Mavere still does not entirely believe you are telling the truth."

"Why do you?" Corvis couldn't help but ask.

"Because you have not attacked me. Because I do not think you would have revealed that you possess one of Selakrian's invocations just to run a bluff. And because the notion you've raised is horrifying enough that I cannot afford to risk it."

"Perhaps you ought to have considered that before you bloody well summoned Khanda in the first place!"

Nenavar smiled, then winced as he knelt to expand the sigil, his old joints popping loudly in the quiet. "It's what I do, Rebaine. I'm a conjurer. I've never had any difficulties before."

"And you've summoned demons before, have you?"

"A time or two. You've actually encountered my work yourself, you know."

Corvis froze a moment, then continued crushing dried leaves in a small iron pestle. "Have I?"

"Indeed." But he refused to elaborate.

"Why are you even a part of this, Nenavar? What's it all about?"

"Money. A lot of money, and a promise of continued employment in the new order."

"Heh. That's never a good phrase. Tell me."

"Nenavar!" It was Mavere, returned to the cellar with an armload of supplies. "Keep silent!"

But the old wizard, perhaps rattled by his guests' revelations and reluctant to alienate those who stood between him and his errant minion, ignored her command. "What do you think, Rebaine? I'm sure you've got most of it puzzled out already."

Corvis nodded and handed over the powder, watching as Nenavar sprinkled it throughout the corners of the room. "I know it involves Cephira and some of Imphallion's Guilds," he said. "And I know you got Khanda's name from Ellowaine."

"Right… A bit more of this, if you would."

Returning to the worktable and spilling out more leaves, Corvis continued. "It's a power play, obviously. It always is, where the Guilds are concerned. But I'm tired, I hurt, and I'm just a bit worried about Khanda right now." He mashed down on the leaves with more force than necessary, practically bending the iron in which they lay. "So you tell me."

"Nenavar…," Salia warned. Again, he chose not to listen.

"I know not who first came up with the idea, whether it was General Rhykus or an Imphallian Guildmaster. Cephira would conquer the eastern reaches of Imphallion, and the Guilds wouldn't interfere. Most of the eastern provinces are still strongholds of the nobility, so their power would be substantially weakened. Once done, only then would the Guilds move, fielding their own armies to 'prevent' the invaders from moving any farther, perhaps driving them back-but only partway to the border. Cephira annexes new territories, since the eventual treaty would allow them to keep what they'd taken. The Guilds get to be the heroes who saved the rest of Imphallion from Cephiran conquest. Between their new public support and the further weakening of the noble Houses, they would squelch the political infighting between Guilds and aristocracy once and for all, transforming Imphallion into a true mercantile empire."

Corvis was certain he was driving his teeth back through his gums, so tightly was his jaw clenched, and Salia physically recoiled from his fury. He noticed only then than Irrial and Jassion stood upon the stairs as well, having paused in their errands to hear the wizard's revelations.

"Let me see," Corvis growled darkly, "if I can fill in the rest, then. The Guilds had to eliminate several nobles who weren't based in the east, but were too entrenched to ignore. And they needed an excuse to explain why they didn't react to the invasion sooner. So here comes 'Corvis Rebaine,' whose murders accomplish both right nicely." He took a step toward the stairs, his fists trembling. "I am so bloody sick of being used!"

"But it wasn't just nobles," Irrial noted from atop the stairs. " 'Rebaine' butchered Guildsmen, too."

"Oh, I can answer that, too," Corvis told her. "Only a few Guildmasters would be in on this scheme-and some of them probably decided it was too treasonous even for them to swallow. So they had to go, before they could talk. And that also nicely covered up the fact that most of the intended victims were nobles.

"None of which answers my main question: Why Khanda?"

Salia said nothing, her face stiff.

"Because he knew you well enough to make the murders truly convincing," Nenavar answered in her stead. "Because he possessed enough power to reach the targets no matter what precautions they took, and because it put a neutral third party-that would be me, since I was technically working for both sides-in position to force either the Guilds or the Cephirans to abide by the terms of the agreement, should one or the other attempt to renege. Although any demon would have done for those latter purposes, of course."

"And me?" Jassion's voice shook, making his words almost unintelligible. "Where do I fit in?"

Perhaps sensing the growing fury mere feet behind her, Salia decided that silence was no longer the prudent course. "We had to look as though we were dealing with the threat of Rebaine, and we had to ensure that he didn't pop up somewhere public and put the lie to what we were doing. And in so doing, we would also punish him for the crimes he committed against Imphallion so long ago. Something else," she added bitterly, "that Khanda was supposed to make happen."

Minutes passed, and nobody spoke. Corvis glared down at Sunder, battling a desperate need to kill something.

"I don't believe it," he said finally, tearing his gaze from the demon-forged blade. "Oh, it makes sense, but… Mavere was there, when Audriss summoned the Children of Apocalypse. I saw you," he continued, now turning toward her, "how you reacted. No political scheme would entice you to risk that happening again."

"I was assured there was no risk," she muttered, but she could not meet his eyes.

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Irrial who figured it out. "She was afraid."

"Shut your mouth, you godsdamned-!"

But nobody was listening to the priestess at that point. "Of me?" Corvis demanded. "More than she was of a demon? I was bad, but I wasn't that-"

"The demons didn't threaten to take her mind from her, Corvis."

Finally, finally he understood. "You thought you might be one of them," he whispered, marveling. "You figured out that I'd charmed many of the Guildmasters, and you were afraid you were among them!"

"Until you had to hold that damn axe to my throat to force me to bring you here, yes," Mavere admitted, her shoulders sagging. "How could I know otherwise? How could I be sure that any choice I made was my own? I had to know I was free of you, you bastard!"

"Well," Corvis said dully. "Congratulations on your success."

Mavere turned away, and again there was silence.

"We should continue," Nenavar said finally. "We're almost ready." Again he began bustling about, while the trio on the stairs descended into the cellar proper.

"What exactly are we doing, Rebaine?" Jassion demanded.

"A banishing incantation. An exorcism, if you prefer. Nenavar called Khanda, so Nenavar is best suited to send him back. It's no easy spell, though."

"We can't just kill the old man? Isn't that what you did with Audriss, to banish Maukra and Mimgol?"

"I never did learn if it was killing Audriss or burning the book, actually," Corvis corrected. "But no, not all summoning incantations work that way. This one doesn't, it appears."

"Too bad. It would've made things much simpler."

Corvis nodded his agreement. Only then did they glance at each other, horrified to realize how alike they were thinking. Jassion scowled and moved across the room.

"All right," Nenavar said, standing as straight as his aged back would permit, "I need everyone to move away from the sigil, and to keep silent. Once I've begun, I can afford no-"

Corvis recognized the sound from above, the hideous shrieking of displaced air, but the wide-open cellar offered nowhere to hide. Portions of the ceiling burst in a rain of stone as Khanda's pillar of eldritch force slammed into the earth, hurling people around the chamber, dolls caught up in a child's tantrum. Even as he smashed into the far wall, his head ringing, his lungs burning as the breath rushed from them, Corvis could not help but note that neither Nenavar himself, nor the arcane runes upon the floor, were touched.

The old wizard raised his hands, seeking the source of the attack. "Come out, Khanda!" he cried. "You know you cannot harm me!" He clenched a fist in anger, and from somewhere in the broken house above, a voice shrieked in agony.

But Corvis saw, too, a dark-clad figure slipping through the ruins of the cellar, concealed from the others by piles of rubble-a figure that was most assuredly not Khanda.

"Mellorin!" He tried to shout, but his words emerged in only a ragged wheeze. "Mellorin, no! You don't know what he is! You don't-"

For an instant she rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "I know exactly who he is! And I know who you are, Father! I'm just glad I'm here to see you get some sliver of what you deserve."

"No, please…"

But she was already moving. Nenavar had only just heard something, only begun to look behind, when she whipped the pommel of a heavy dagger across the back of his head, watched as he tumbled senseless to the debris-strewn floor.

Corvis struggled halfway to his feet, reaching out imploringly for his daughter, when his ears were assaulted by the shriek of another spell from above. He saw only an instant of the second detonation before he tumbled, limp and senseless, to the far corner.