“Move the Drasnian pikemen four paces to the left!” the sergeant bellowed from the top of the tower, and a dozen men on the ground began redeploying the tiny lead figures.
“We all must serve in the capacity our Emperor chooses for us,” Lord Morin replied philosophically.
“I don’t see you climbing the ladder,” the general accused.
“Our Emperor has chosen another capacity for me,” Morin said rather smugly.
That evening the weary little Emperor sought his bed. “It’s very exciting, Morin,” he murmured drowsily, holding the velvet-lined case that contained the solid gold figures representing Ce’Nedra and Rhodar and the rest of the army’s leaders close to.his chest, “but it’s very tiring, too.”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
“There always seems to be so much that I still have to do.”
“That’s the nature of command, your Majesty,” Morin observed. But the Emperor had already dropped off.
Lord Morin removed the case from the Emperor’s hands and carefully pulled the covers up around the sleeping man’s shoulders. “Sleep, Ran Borune,” he said very gently. “You can play with your little toy soldiers again tomorrow.”
Sadi the eunuch had quietly left the palace at Sthiss Tor by a secret doorway that opened behind the slaves’ quarters onto a shabby back street that twisted and turned in the general direction of the harbor. He had quite deliberately waited for the cover of the afternoon rainstorm and had dressed himself in the shabby clothing of a dockworker. Accompanying him was the one-eyed assassin, Issus, who also wore nondescript clothing. Sadi’s security precautions were routine, but his choice of Issus as his companion was not. Issus was not a member of the palace guard nor of Sadi’s personal retinue, but Sadi was not concerned on this afternoon’s outing with appearances or proprieties. Issus was by and large uncorrupted by palace politics and had a reputation for unswerving loyalty to whomever was paying him at the moment.
The two passed down the rainswept street to a certain disreputable establishment frequented by lower-class workers, and went through a rather noisy taproom to the maze of cubicles at the back, where other entertainments were provided. At the end of a foul-smelling hallway, a lean, hard-eyed woman, whose arms were covered from wrist to elbow with cheap, gaudy bracelets, pointed wordlessly at a scarred door, then turned abruptly and disappeared through another doorway.
Behind the door lay a filthy room with only a bed for furniture. On the bed were two sets of clothing that smelled of tar and salt water, and sitting on the floor were two large tankards of lukewarm ale. Wordlessly, Sadi and Issus changed clothes. From beneath the soiled pillow, Issus pulled a pair of wigs and two sets of false whiskers.
“How can they drink this?” Sadi demanded, sniffing at one of the tankards and wrinkling his nose.
Issus shrugged. “Alorns have peculiar tastes. You don’t have to drink it all, Sadi. Splash most of it on your clothes. Drasnian sailors spill a lot of ale when they’re out in search of amusement. How do I look?”
Sadi gave him a quick glance. “Ridiculous,” he replied. “Hair and a beard don’t really suit you, Issus.”
Issus laughed. “And they look particularly out of place on you. ” He shrugged and carefully poured ale down the front of his tar-spattered tunic. “I suppose we look enough like Drasnians to get by, and we certainly smell like Drasnians. Hook your beard on a little tighter, and let’s get moving before it stops raining.”
“Are we going out the back?”
Issus shook his head. “If we’re being followed, the back will be watched. We’ll leave the way ordinary Drasnian sailors leave.”
“And how is that?”
“I’ve made arrangements to have us thrown out.”
Sadi had never been thrown out of any place before, and he found the experience not particularly amusing. The two burly ruffians who unceremoniously pitched him into the street were a bit rough about it, and Sadi picked up several scrapes and abrasions in the process.
Issus staggered to his feet and stood bawling curses at the closed door, then lurched over and pulled Sadi up out of the mud. Together they reeled in apparent drunkenness down the street toward the Drasnian enclave. Sadi noted that there had been two men in a doorway across the street when he and Issus had been ejected and that the two did not move to follow.
Once they entered the Drasnian enclave, Issus led the way rather quickly to the house of Droblek, the Drasnian port authority. They were admitted immediately and conveyed at once to a dimly lighted but comfortable room where the enormously fat Droblek sat sweating. With him was Count Melgon, the aristocratic ambassador from Tolnedra.
“Novel attire for the chief eunuch of Salmissra’s household,” Count Melgon observed as Sadi pulled off his wig and false beard.
“Just a bit of deception, my Lord Ambassador,” Sadi replied. “I didn’t particularly want this meeting to become general knowledge.”
“Can he be trusted?” Droblek asked bluntly, pointing at Issus.
Sadi’s expression became whimsical. “Can you be trusted, Issus?” he asked.
“You’ve paid me for up to the end of the month.” Issus shrugged. “After that, we’ll see. I might get a better offer.”
“You see?” Sadi said to the two seated men. “Issus can be trusted until the end of the month – at least as much as anybody in Sthiss Tor can be trusted. One thing I’ve noticed about Issus – he’s a simple, uncomplicated man. Once you buy him, he stays bought. I think it’s referred to as professional ethics.”
Droblek grunted sourly. “Do you suppose we could get to the point? Why did you go to so much trouble to arrange this meeting? Why didn’t you just summon us to the palace?”
“My dear Droblek,” Sadi murmured, “you know the kind of intrigue that infests the palace. I’d prefer that what passes between us remain more or less confidential. The matter itself is rather uncomplicated. I’ve been approached by the emissary of Taur Urgas.”
The two regarded him with no show of surprise.
“I gather that you already knew.”
“We’re hardly children, Sadi,” Count Melgon told him.
“I am at present in negotiations with the new ambassador from Rak Goska,” Sadi mentioned.
“Isn’t that the third one so far this summer?” Melgon asked.
Sadi nodded. “The Murgos seem to be particularly susceptible to certain fevers which abound in the swamps.”
“We’ve noticed that,” Droblek said dryly. “What is your prognosis for the present emissary’s continued good health?”
“I don’t imagine he’s any more immune than his countrymen. He’s already beginning to feel unwell.”
“Maybe he’ll be lucky and recover,” Droblek suggested.
“Not very likely,” Issus said with an ugly laugh.
“The tendency of Murgo ambassadors to die unexpectedly has succeeded in keeping the negotiations moving very slowly,” Sadi continued. “I’d like for you gentlemen to inform King Rhodar and Ran Borune that these delays will probably continue.”
“Why?” Droblek asked.
“I want them to understand and appreciate my efforts in their present campaign against the Angarak kingdoms.”
“Tolnedra has no involvement in that campaign,” Melgon asserted quickly.
“Of course not.” Sadi smiled.
“Just how far are you willing to go, Sadi?” Droblek asked curiously.
“That depends almost entirely upon who’s winning at any given moment,” Sadi replied urbanely. “If the Rivan Queen’s campaign in the east begins to run into difficulties, I suspect that the pestilence will subside and the Murgo emissaries will stop dying so conveniently. I’d almost have to make an accommodation with Taur Urgas at that point.”
“Don’t you find that just a bit contemptible, Sadi?” Droblek asked acidly.
Sadi shrugged. “We’re a contemptible sort of people, Droblek,” he admitted, “but we survive. That’s no mean accomplishment for a weak nation lying between two major powers. Tell Rhodar and Ran Borune that I’ll stall the Murgos off for as long as things continue to go in their favor. I want them both to be aware of their obligation to me.”
“And will you advise them when your position is about to change?” Melgon asked.
“Of course not,” Sadi replied. “I’m corrupt, Melgon. I’m not stupid.”
“You’re not much of an ally, Sadi,” Droblek told him.
“I never pretended to be. I’m looking out for myself. At the moment, my interests and yours happen to coincide, that’s all. I do, however, expect to be remembered for my assistance.”
“You’re trying to play it both ways, Sadi,” Droblek accused him bluntly.
“I know.” Sadi smiled. “Disgusting, isn’t it?”
Queen Islena of Cherek was in an absolute panic. This time Merel had gone too far. The advice they had received from Porenn had seemed quite sound – had indeed raised the possibility of a brilliant stroke which would disarm Grodeg and the Bear-cult once and for all. The imagined prospect of the helpless rage into which this would plummet the towering ecclesiast was almost a satisfaction in itself. Like so many people, Queen Islena took such pleasure in an imagined triumph that the real thing became almost too much trouble. The victories of the imagination involved no risks, and a confrontation with an enemy always ended satisfactorily when both sides of the conversation came from one’s own daydreams. Left to her own devices, Islena would probably have been content to let it go at that.