Inos might have guessed that, for the mat was so positioned that anyone standing on it would be facing the two women, putting the three of them in a logical triangular grouping. She wondered why no chair had been provided; that seemed very inhospitable.
It was a curious mat, patterned in metallic tones of gold and silver and fiery copper, but as thin as paint. Even the knife-edge joints in the smooth mosaic floor seemed to show through to its surface, yet Inos could imagine that this strange carpet was not resting on the floor at all, but was somehow suspended above it, and the shiny spirals in the metallic surface went round and round while a faint, high note like a distant violin.
She jumped.
Rasha had snapped her fingers. “Don’t look too hard at the mat, Inosolan. It’s powerful stuff for a mundane.”
“Er . . . yes. Thank you.” Shakily Inos took a mouthful of wine, still aware of a faint singing in her ears. The patterns seemed to have daubed themselves on her eyes, dancing faintly in the air between her and anything she looked at.
“They’re known in the trade as welcome mats,” Rasha remarked. ”So much power tends to leak a little. As I said, our guest will materialize there. There could be danger.”
“Danger?”
“Yes, danger. And not just to your precious virtue, either!” Why did she keep raising the stakes? Of course there were old tales of sorcerer wars and battles where occult powers had been loosed, but Inos had never paid them much heed.
“The sorcerous rarely trust one another.” Rasha lowered her long dark lashes, and for a moment looked as untrustworthy as could be imagined. ”Olybino may attempt a strike at me.”
“Oh?” Inos wondered darkly which team she should be cheering.
“He may seek to lay a loyalty spell upon me. The wardens are particularly fond of that abomination—I expect they all do it. Of course, I might prove to be the stronger, and then he would be mine.” Rasha smiled in thoughtful silence and sipped her wine.
Inos debated which question to ask first. Apparently she was expected to ask something. “Is there any way of . . . Can you judge in advance who—”
“Who’s stronger? Not usually. It would require extensive intelligence work, and of course a sorcerer will normally seek to invoke the aid of his votaries. Battles between sorcerers can mushroom into occult wars with dozens involved on each side. That was what destroyed Shing Pol, and Lutant. Even the water in the harbor boiled at Lutant, so they say . . . I’m sure Olybino has been around long enough to have collected quite a few votaries.”
“Slave sorcerers?”
Rasha smiled, catlike. “But he has not had time to bring any to Arakkaran by mundane means, and I haven’t detected any occult intrusions. I might have missed them, of course.” She did not seem very worried; indeed, she seemed to be looking forward to whatever was going happen. “As I said, he may be too cautious to come himself. Even if he does, he will probably materialize very faintly, just a transparent wraith. In that case we shall merely have a civilized little chat, and he will depart again. If we wants to use any sorcery here, then he must project more of himself, and if he steps off the welcome mat, we can be sure his intentions are hostile—he will be trying to bring in help. I doubt that even a warlock can manage to do that and hold me off at the same time, but you had best take cover if it happens.”
“Take cover where, your Majesty?”
“Downstairs. Run like hell,” Rasha snapped. That was the first real flaw Inos had detected in the aristocratic impersonation. The accent was still pure Hubban aristocrat, but the words did not ring true, even as humor.
“Run swiftly,” Rasha said crossly, “to the stairs and get below floor level—understand? Apart from this chamber, the palace is shielded. That doesn’t mean he can’t come after you, of course, once he has dealt with me.” She took another sip of wine, again regarding Inos carefully as she did so. “Or he might try to steal you away from me. Refuse any invitations or instructions to approach the welcome mat. Your aunt would miss you.”
So that was why Kade had not been invited! Inos was a token in the evil game, and Kade was a hostage for her good behavior.
Inos reached for her glass again, conscious that her hand was shaking again. She hoped that was only from anger.
“Tell me about him,” she said.
Rasha smiled like a satisfied cat. “He is about my age, and an idiot. He likes to play with soldiers, and yet he has no more sense of strategy than a pigeon. About a year ago, the dwarf Zinixo appeared out of nowhere and slew Ag-An, the witch of the west. Had Olybino had any sense at all, he would have hailed the new warlock and tried to make friends. Instead he let himself be talked into a counterattack with Lith’rian, the elf. Elves hate dwarves, of course, but what had that to do with East? Nothing! Anyway, they failed miserably! So East has made a dangerous enemy. Whatever he may tell you, just remember that he is a very worried warlock!”
“Worried, ma’am?” What on earth could worry a warlock? The sorceress nodded gloatingly. “He fears the dwarf’s grudge. Only his alliance with Lith’rian protects him; he certainly can not trust mad old Bright Water to take his part, especially now his legions have despoiled her fellow goblins. So he needs the support of the imperor. He can vote, too, remember, if the Four split evenly.”
Inos nodded dumbly, wondering what this had to do with her.
“Olybino has two thousand men stranded in Bright Water’s sector, likely to be destroyed by jotnar as soon as the ice goes out. What will the imperor say to that, mmm?”
“I know that, but where do I come in?”
“You,” Rasha said with obvious relish, “are extremely important!”
“I am?” Inos felt a tremor of excitement and hope.
“Yes, you are. If the warlock aids his troops against the jotnar raiders, then he violates the Protocol, because they are reserved to the witch of the north. If he tries to withdraw his men, then the goblins will attack, and Bright Water may come to their assistance. Again, he would provoke an occult war between wardens.”
“So he needs a peaceful solution!” Inos cried. Who would have dreamed that events in tiny Krasnegar could have such farflung repercussions? But Kade had been right all along to trust Rasha! Cool heads must prevail, she had said.
“And a peaceful solution needs you, Inosolan. If the wardens agree to put you on your throne, then they can force Kalkor to withdraw his claim, and the imperor, also. You are the only solution that may be acceptable to both sides.”
Foronod and the hometown jotnar could not resist the wardens, either. They would just have to accept a reigning queen whether they liked it or not! Wonderful! Inos took a drink in celebration.
The sorceress lifted her own glass and sniffed, testing the fragrance of the wine while regarding Inos carefully over the rim. “Azak lusts after you.”
Damnable woman!
“You blush, so you already know that.”
“I have seen no evidence of it; he avoids me utterly. And any lady would blush at such a statement.”
“Lady?” the sorceress muttered. “What exactly is a lady? Never mind. Give me your opinion of our self-styled sultan.”
“He is crude and violent, a barbarian!” Of course, if all a woman cared for was muscles and size, then Azak was unsurpassed. But what sort of woman would want a human stallion? Red fire burned within the ice—Rasha’s eyes glittered at Inos over the top of the glass. Inos wondered nervously what she might have provoked, and why, but all the sorceress said was, “You have not told me what you think of my wine.”
Inos reached for her goblet. “It is quite delicious, ma’am. Elvish, is it not?”
“No, it’s only the local rotgut, but I upgraded it. Glad you like it. Where have you tasted elvish?”
“At Kinvale, at Winterfest. Well, my father let me try it once . . . ”
Rasha sipped thoughtfully, still playing the part of haughty aristocrat to perfection. In what way was this cryptic sorceress hoping to impress the warlock? Inos could imagine her floating into any ladies’ salon at Kinvale without ruffling a single eyelash—except of course the conspiratorial mothers and duennas would indulge in mass suicide on seeing their marriageable wards and daughters so utterly outclassed. A mere adept, knowing only two words of power, could master any skill with ease, so Kade would have found a sorceress a miraculously quick pupil.
Coursing after hounds with Azak suddenly seemed like a very relaxing occupation compared to this sinister soiree.