War of Wizards (18 page)

Chapter Sixteen

A handful of volunteers waited outside in the courtyard the next morning, but Chantmer refused to use them and stormed off to the throne room. Darik followed meekly.

“Where is the khalifa?” Chantmer demanded. “Where is Kallia Saffa?”

He directed an angry glare toward Kallia’s ministers, which included the grand vizier, Fenerath, freshly arrived with King Daniel’s forces, and Hajir, who had been serving these last several weeks in his absence. They shrank back nervously from the wizard.

“Will nobody answer me? Where is she, sleeping? I demand to see her at once.”

Darik had grown used to Chantmer’s moods, and didn’t interrupt him as he raged. He moved over to stand by Ethan and King Daniel, the latter so much stronger than he’d been the last time Darik had seen him that he may as well have been a different man. He was tall and strong like Whelan, with a jaw like his dead brother Roderick’s, yet there was something softer in his eyes, more like the youngest of the four brothers, Ethan.

“Chantmer,” Daniel said. “What is this all about?”

“We cannot bind enough magic from these people,” Chantmer said in a tone of false patience, as if he were speaking to a small child. “We need more than they can give us.”

“Yes, Darik was telling me earlier. You want to use the prisoners. I don’t like any of this—it seems like something the dark wizard would do.”

This had been Darik’s point, also. He had confessed to Daniel the pleasure that surged through him every time the needles touched his skin, the horror and self-loathing he felt when that was coupled with the cries of his victims.

“What we have now is losing strength,” Chantmer said, “like fortified wine adulterated with water. Every day, a little more, until now it’s more water than wine.”

Daniel frowned. “So your magic no longer works? The part where you draw it from the suffering of others, you mean?”

“It no longer works at the same strength, no.” Chantmer tugged at his beard and turned on his heel to pace across the floor of the throne room, head bowed and lips muttering. “I don’t understand it,” he said when he came back. “It doesn’t work that way when we use our
own
pain. Why should it be different with the pain of others?”

“We shall provide more volunteers,” Fenerath said. The grand vizier nodded. “Yes, double, if necessary. I will offer
myself
to the torturers, if it would help. All of us will.”

“No, that would be pointless. It wouldn’t work.”

“Why not?” Darik asked. “If each glass of wine has half the strength, then we must drink twice as much to get the same effect. And if it weakens again, we can have three glasses, or four. Whatever is necessary. Why wouldn’t that work?”

“Do you have some secret source of information?” Chantmer asked sarcastically. “Is there some bit of arcane knowledge to which you are privy? Some scrap or shred of information that you would have and I would not? Do you know anything at all? No, I did not think you did, so why do you run your mouth like it has diarrhea?”

King Daniel met Darik’s gaze and gave him a sympathetic look, while Ethan threw up his hands in disgust and retreated from the throne room shaking his head. The wizard continued pacing, muttering, his brow furrowed. None of the mages or viziers risked disturbing him. Not even Daniel seemed anxious to interrupt.

Darik drew the king away from the mages when Chantmer was on the far side of the room. “You see what we’re dealing with—he thinks he rules the city.”

“Are we sure he doesn’t? It only took a few weeks in Marrabat for Chantmer to seize control,” Daniel said. “Nominally, he put me on the throne as sultan, and Marialla the sultana, but I’m not sure how we’d challenge him, not with all of those mages.”

“I wish the khalifa were here. She would stand up to him.”

“My wife is with her. Marialla says her sister is very ill.”

Darik chewed his lip. “The cursed thing in her womb will no doubt try to kill her when it comes. But without the khalifa, none of us are strong enough to contend with Chantmer.”

“Could even she manage?”

“Yes, she could,” Darik said confidently. “One word from Kallia Saffa, and the city would rise against him.”

“Then we’d better hope she regains her strength.” Daniel glanced at the wizard. “It might be necessary.”

Chantmer came back. “We need more pain,” he declared.

Roghan and the other mages nodded sagely. Darik edged back over to join them.

“These volunteers are insufficient,” Chantmer continued. “I thought their devotion to their queen would help, but it doesn’t. It is a weakness that blunts their pain and fear.” He snapped his fingers at Fenerath, who hurried over. “Vizier. How many prisoners languish in your dungeons?”

“I don’t know, but I can find out.”

“Do so at once.” When he was gone, Chantmer continued. “No doubt there will be hundreds of prisoners. That should suffice for a couple of days. The real question is why this is necessary. What we were doing was effective, but now it is not. Why our strength should weaken, I cannot say, though it pains me to admit it.”

Darik couldn’t resist needling. “I’ll bet Markal would know.”

Chantmer turned a withering gaze. “I think not. In any event, we have no way to contact Markal, and it wouldn’t matter if he could give us an answer. We would still be forced to find alternative means.”

Fenerath returned leading Hajir. The younger vizier seemed uncomfortable approaching the wizards.

“Do you have answers?” Chantmer demanded.

Hajir stroked nervously at the oiled tips of his beard. “Not as many prisoners as you would suppose. The khalifa ordered many of them released upon her ascension, and she has always ruled with a light touch.”

“I have no time for this. How many can you give me?”

“There are twenty-two men and four women in the dungeons.”

“So few?” Chantmer sounded dismayed and horrified.

“Yes, my lord. Twenty-six in total.”

“I can add sums, you dolt. I should throw
you
to the torturers, it would save us all the trouble of dealing with a witless fool.”

A lesser man of Balsalom would be groveling at the feet of the khalifa’s vizier, but it was Hajir who seemed to be shaking in fear, and now he rushed to explain himself.

“The rest of the prisoners were released to join the army, or granted leniency by the khalifa, may she live forever. She ordered their ears docked, or their faces branded as thieves and brigands, but she kept behind only a few murderers and other violent people whose crimes had fallen short of execution.”

“They will have to do,” Chantmer said. “For today. Tomorrow, we will look farther afield. Bring them from the dungeons.”

Darik could no longer hold his tongue. “We have been commanded not to torture prisoners.” He fixed Hajir with a sharp look. “We all heard from the khalifa’s own mouth, may she live forever.”

“This is true?” Fenerath asked. He had been with Daniel’s army when she’d made the proclamation.

“Yes, Grand Vizier,” Hajir said. “But the wizard—”

“The wizard is not your mistress.” Fenerath turned to Chantmer. “If the khalifa—may she live forever—ordered us not to touch the prisoners, then we surely will not.”

“This is intolerable,” Chantmer said.

“Yet tolerate it you must.”

Darik eyed Fenerath with new appreciation. The former guildmaster of the merchants guild had been Darik’s father’s rival, and seemed overly cunning and calculating, but there was a strength to him, too, if he could stand up to Chantmer.

“Where is she?” Chantmer said. “I demand to see Kallia Saffa.”

“And what will you tell me when I come?” came a quiet voice from the far side of the room.

The khalifa stood pale and erect, one hand on her swollen belly, the other against one of the fluted columns for support. Her sister Marialla held her arm and put a hand on the small of her back. Marialla was taller than Kallia, a striking, statuesque beauty. There were men who would be very envious of Daniel for being the one who’d earned her hand. Ethan was with the two women. He must have gone to fetch them when Chantmer started to rave.

“I need more,” the wizard said as she crossed to him. “I agreed to use your volunteers before, but they aren’t enough. If you don’t give me more, this city will fall, and you will be responsible for the death of tens of thousands of your loyal subjects. Can you imagine the slaughter?”

“Don’t patronize me, Chantmer. The fate of Balsalom weighs constantly on my mind. But what are you asking?”

“More pain. More suffering. What I have now has failed. Give me more. I must have it!”

Kallia looked at Darik. “Is it true what he says?”

Darik chewed anxiously at his lip. “Yes, my queen. We were too weak to stop them last night. If not for Daniel’s arrival, the city would have fallen. Chantmer says that tonight will be worse, and I believe him.”

“Give me the prisoners,” Chantmer said. “That will be enough for tonight, perhaps tomorrow, too. After that, we can make harder decisions if necessary.”

“You will kill the prisoners?” she asked.

“Yes. They will die in misery and terror.”

“I see.”

“It is no more than they deserve, and what’s more, their suffering will ensure—”

“I am not a child,” she said sharply. Her tone held a bite of anger, and Chantmer, who was usually on the other side of such comments, fell silent.

Kallia looked around the throne room, seeming to take in the other viziers, messengers, and captains of the watch who wished to speak with her. “Fenerath, send them all away. You go too, Hajir. Ethan, please leave. Chantmer, see your wizards to their courtyard. They can prepare their own tattoos, at least. I will have Marialla, Fenerath, Chantmer, and Daniel with me to make this decision. And Darik, of course.”

“Darik?” Chantmer said. “You would send away my mages, but keep the boy?”

“Yes. Quickly, now.”

Moments later, the last footsteps echoed across the throne room, and the six of them were alone. Chantmer stood off a pace; the rest gathered around the khalifa.

“I will make the decision,” she said, “but I want to hear your opinions. Chantmer has spoken his mind, but what about the rest of you? Daniel?”

Daniel’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t respond for a long moment. Darik could see that he was giving it deliberate thought. Among them, Daniel probably understood the khalifa’s struggles better than the rest. His mind had been tormented by the dark wizard, and he had stepped down from the throne in favor of his brother Whelan, too weak to take up the standard as the warrior king.

“No, I wouldn’t do it,” Daniel said at last. “I don’t trust Chantmer—he would betray us. For all I know, he has weakened these spells himself so as to push you into this decision. Tomorrow, he will push again. Soon, we’ll be slaughtering innocents to keep Chantmer fighting one more night.”

“Preposterous,” Chantmer said. “You weren’t there, you couldn’t possibly know.”

“I
was
there, I was fighting with my army for my very life. Or did you miss that part?”

Marialla touched Daniel’s arm. “My husband, do not argue with him. This is not the time or place.”

“Yes, of course.” Daniel nodded at Kallia. “I am firmly against it, Khalifa, but I will defer to your judgment.”

“Chantmer, you have had your say already,” Kallia said. “Please do not distract us by disputing with each person who speaks.”

The wizard scowled and turned his back. Darik studied him, looking for some hint of deception. He didn’t think Chantmer was betraying them again, at least not so obviously, but he hadn’t considered that the wizard might be weakening their attacks on purpose. Could Daniel be right?

“Fenerath?” Kallia asked.

The grand vizier eyed Chantmer, then glanced at Daniel, as if turning over both opinions. “I suggest we follow the wizard’s plan. Our position is desperate, and this magic is keeping the wights out of the city. I bowed to your wish in abolishing the torturers guild, but I didn’t agree with it. Some crimes are worthy of terrible retribution. And I would gladly sacrifice those criminals to save Balsalom.”

Chantmer turned around. “Finally, some sense.”

“Marialla?” Kallia asked her sister.

“No,” the princess said quickly.

The khalifa seemed surprised. “That is all? No reason?”

“My reason is that I know your heart. You wouldn’t commit this evil if given a choice. As for the wizardry behind it—” Marialla waved dismissively. “—I know nothing of magic. But I don’t believe there can be only one way forward. We brought an entire army with us from Marrabat. Surely with their aid, the city will be spared long enough to send for help. The griffin people may arrive, perhaps, or the barbarian wizards.”

Chantmer looked like he wanted to say something else, but Kallia gave him a sharp look, and he kept his mouth shut for once.

“That leaves you, Darik,” Kallia said.

“With apologies, my queen,” Darik began hesitantly, “I don’t think . . . I’m not so wise or knowledgeable as to add my voice to the debate.”

Chantmer lifted his eyebrows. He gave Darik a curt nod that looked almost like respect.

“You are one of my husband’s closest friends,” Kallia said, “and you have studied with wizards and fought by their side. Perhaps you can imagine what Markal would say. Would he tell me to do this?”

Darik had considered this question many times already. During his fitful hours of sleep, he’d even dreamed of Markal, argued with him about it in his sleep.

“No,” Darik said at last. “Markal wouldn’t do it. I know he wouldn’t.”

Chantmer snorted. “I’ve known Markal since before you were born. Since before your
parents
were born, your grandparents. You walk with him a few weeks, and you think you know his mind?”

“Chantmer, please!” Kallia said. “By the Brothers, can you stop?”

“I imagine this is how the dark wizard started,” Darik said. “How anyone who sets himself down the wrong path begins. It’s one single step, followed by another and another.” He pointedly avoided glancing at Chantmer as he said this. “One justification follows the next in pursuit of power or security or whatever noble-seeming goal you have in mind. First, we torture volunteers, then we torture prisoners. Finally, innocents. How long until the city is filled with the corpses of our victims?