Den of thieves

Chapter Forty-Eight

“So you can read, boy? I’m impressed.”

Malden lowered his head in humility. “I have that gift,” he said. “Milord Hazoth, I beg your pardon for my intrusion. I assure you I would not have come here had I not been in possession of certain information, which-”

“Cythera,” Hazoth said, ignoring him, “perhaps things have changed since I was last abroad in the world. It is possible that manners have changed. Is it common these days for peasants to speak before they have been bidden?”

Malden looked up to see Cythera blush beneath the ink on her face. “Malden is no peasant. He is a free man, master. At least as long as he resides within the city’s walls.”

“Indeed?” Hazoth said, sounding surprised. “And that entitles him to come to my house and disturb my studies?” He rose from his chair and walked across the room to the tapestry map, as if trying to recall to himself where he was. “And if I were to, say, transport him instantaneously to-let us see-to here?” He pointed at a place close to the Western Reach, a region marked on the map as devoted to agriculture and possessing no towns large enough to merit inclusion at the map’s scale. “If he were to find himself in the midst of a bean field, on some petty viscount’s estate, with no way to return. What would become of him?”

Cythera glanced at Malden and shook her head a tiny fraction of an inch. He was not to speak now, that much was clear.

“He would be arrested for trespass by the reeve of that place,” she replied. “Most likely he would be forced to accept an oathbond, and would spend the rest of his life toiling as a common farmhand.”

“And then he would be required to pay proper respect when brought before his betters.” Hazoth reached under his veil and stroked his chin. “It would require a certain ritual to send him thence, however, and such operations take time. Far quicker, I think, to simply ensure that he does not talk out of turn again.” He brought his free hand up in the air and made a complex gesture.

Malden felt as if an iron pincer had gripped his throat. He tried to open his mouth and felt the invisible force constrict until he could barely breathe. It was much like the barrier outside that had held him aloft in the air, but worse-the barrier had been unpleasant, but this was actually painful. He had no doubt that if Hazoth so chose, he could cause the force to squeeze until his windpipe were crushed.

“There,” Hazoth said, and moved back to his chair. “Much better. I hadn’t finished speaking, boy. I had more to say, and now I can. I was going to say how impressed I was with you. Cythera has spoken quite highly of your abilities as a thief, but that is a subject I find uninteresting. I am far more admiring of your willingness to overcome your-quite natural-fear of anyone more powerful than you. Coming here today was an act of uncommon valor in a lowborn not-quite-peasant such as yourself. And valor is commendable, even in its cruder forms. Rudeness, however, is always unacceptable, and I will not have it in my house. Had you not impressed me so much, I would extinguish your life like that of a rodent I found in my larder, do you understand? But I have chosen to be merciful.” He waved his hand. “You may now say, ‘Thank you, Magus.’ ”

The hold on Malden’s wind was gone, as if it had never been there.

“Thank you, Magus,” he said.

“You are most welcome. There. Not so hard to be polite, is it? You may speak.”

“I apologize,” Malden said, his heart burning in his chest, “for my rudeness.”

“Quite all right. I believe you had a message for me. Say it now.”

Malden cleared his throat. “I’ve come to tell you that you are in danger. Anselm Vry, the bailiff of this city, is searching you out even now. He knows the crown has been stolen, and he intends to recover it regardless of who might be inconvenienced.”

“That’s all you came to say?”

Malden nodded. The sorcerer had not told him he could speak.

“Very good. It is ever so kind of you to come and tell me this. It shows good business sense as well. You were hired to perform a task and you were paid handsomely. I take it your coming here to offer me warning was all part of the service, hmm? You are acting out of pure altruism, and want nothing further as recompense. Surely you didn’t think this would earn you some more coin. After all, the gold I gave you already should last a lifetime for one of such humble aspirations of yourself. That is, if you haven’t already drank it all, or spent it on some shiny but worthless bauble. You may speak.”

Malden chose his words carefully. “I admit, Magus, that my intentions were not unalloyed with self-interest. Vry intends to torture anyone connected with the theft until they provide the crown’s location. I fear he has some way of discovering my involvement, and that he will put me to the ordeal. It had occurred to me that you might be able to offer me some protection from that fate. It would be in our mutual self-interest, as then I could not reveal-”

“You and I have no mutual interests of any sort,” Hazoth told him. “Tell me something-you may answer me this-do you know why I wear this veil?”

Malden lowered his eyes. He thought of Anselm Vry’s hedge wizard, and what came from peering into his shew-stone. “It is my understanding that magic is never free. That power comes from the demons a magician treats with. So as his power grows, his body is twisted and deformed to resemble the creatures of the pit. I assume you wear the veil to hide some disfigurement.” An eye out of place, a face turned the texture of tree bark, a beard of writhing flesh…

“Oh, very good! And yes, that is the reason for the tradition. I don’t suppose your brain is capable of understanding what happens when one siphons power through the flaws in the underpinnings of our fractured cosmos, but you have the gist down pat. Perhaps you will brace yourself to take a look at what is beneath my veil.”

Malden’s stomach tightened as Hazoth reached up to lift the black crape away from his face. For a sorcerer as powerful as Hazoth, the price of magic must have been exceeding steep. Would the uncovering reveal skin as scaly and shiny as an asp’s? Would there be pus, and open sores that never closed, or even wounds so deep the skull would be visible? Would the face look human at all?

Then the veil was rolled back and Malden saw Hazoth’s face and he gasped in surprise. For the countenance thus exposed was perfect.

It was the face of a demigod. The cheekbones were high, the limpid blue eyes set perfectly far apart, the nose powerful without being over prominent. The skin was as clear as milk, with no blemish visible anywhere. It was a face of youth, of compassion, of inherent goodness and decency-except for the eyes, which were as hard as iron.

“I wear this veil,” Hazoth told Malden, “because if I did not, no one would take me seriously. They would think my power slight, my magic untested. Whereas in fact the opposite is true. When one becomes powerful enough, one is able to shape one’s appearance to fit one’s fancy. And I am quite powerful indeed. Let Anselm Vry come to my door, as you did. I will welcome him inside, and if he troubles me, I will dispatch him like an obnoxious fly.”