With a shake of his shaven head, Setne refused. "Most unacceptable—and for your own sake, too, I must add, Lord Chamberlain. The words I have are for your sovereign alone. When may I speak with the king?"
Sir Chauncey set his mouth in a tight line. "As you wish, Magister. The next possible audience is the day after tomorrow. Please be at the citadel on the stroke of eight."
"I understand," the wizard-priest replied. "Thank you for your courteous assistance in this matter."
"No trouble at all, sir," the chamberlain said with sudden thawing to his cold tone. "Yes . . . speaking of courtesy, is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? Have you lodging?"
"There is nothing, thank you. There is a small Egyptian quarter in Londun, I believe. Several acquaintances of mine dwell there, and I will stay with one of them until the day of the audience."
Sir Chauncey was still being helpful. "I say, Magister Inhetep. At least allow me to get you a chair and a guide! That section of Londun is quite a warren. It's possible to get lost just trying to arrive in the vicinity."
"That's most kind but unnecessary," Setne said, with a smile of thanks to match the chamberlain's own cordiality. "I appreciate your offer, and it is good to find you bear no animosity due to my abruptness and persistence. You see, Sir Chauncey, this is a most critical matter, and the safety of the crown itself might be involved. Anyway, I will be here as you instruct, and meanwhile I shall find my way about town well enough. As they say, we dweomercraefters are a hard lot to lose."
"Yes . . ." the chamberlain replied with distraction. The words Setne had uttered regarding the safety of the crown had had a sharp impact on the man. "Well, until we meet again, Magister."
Escorted out and on his way, Inhetep walked briskly for several blocks, the cold winter air pushing him along. Having completed that constitutional, the tall Egyptian sought out a public carriage, and after a few minutes found a small hansom typical of Londun. It was unoccupied, so he climbed in and asked the driver to take him to the foreign quarter—the place where Egyptians were to be found, if the man knew where that was. "Near 'nuff," the cabbie replied, and whipped the tired old plug pulling the small cab into a sort of trot. Near the river warehouses in the Limehouse district, however, the man stopped the conveyance and asked for payment, saying, "Hit's gettin' too blamed dark ta see, so's I'll take m'fare now—place yer lookin' fer be only aways orff."
Sleet was beginning to fall, and the stuff was being swirled about by a freezing wind which blew in gusts off the nearby river. Setne hunched down in his great cloak and slogged ahead, taking the first lane to the left, then another to the right, and finally a twisting way of alley-width to the left again. No witchlights or other magickal illuminations were in evidence here. Such things were subject to theft, of course, for having a light of that sort saved a poor man much in the way of candles, lamp oil, and the like. There was a sputtering torch a little ways ahead, the flambeau set into a niche and semi-shielded from the elements in order for its flame to lure passersby into the drinking house before which it stood. A sign there showed a double-faced deity sporting eight arms which brandished various weapons, and crude lettering beneath proclaimed it in both Brytho-Kelltic and Vedic as the "Golden Shiva."
There were darker shapes in the gloom and sleet where Setne had been only a moment before. Without seeming to notice them, the tall man stepped to the doorway to the tavern, ducked under the low lintel, and pushed open the door. Twanging strains of music, a hum of voices, and red-gold light rushed out over the hissing ice and blustering wind. Then the door banged shut, and the alleyway was left to its dismal self. Inhetep stepped inside and shook off the crusted sleet, shed his damp cloak, and found a seat near the carved bar. He smiled a little. At least the folk of Sindraj, Hind, and Ceylon alike, appreciated warmth.
"Date wine," he informed the sloe-eyed wench who came to his table. She brought a battered pewter goblet of the syrupy stuff, and Setne sipped it with a satisfied sigh. Perhaps it wasn't very good, but it reminded him of home. There were lamps burning low and a large fireplace ablaze in the corner. Setne looked around the large room and the clusters of patrons, perhaps two score in all. His gaze fell to the floor. Sure enough. In the center was a heavy iron grill, and nobody went near it. "Salamander?" he asked when the serving girl came by his table again.
She merely nodded. It was of no interest to her. "More wine, effendi? Perhaps you seek other things too . . . ?"
Four men had entered the place. "Finally," Setne muttered aloud. The dusky-skinned wench looked puzzled and hopeful. "More wine?" "Yes." "Other things?" "No," the Egyptian managed somewhat distractedly. He was keeping careful watch on the four without looking at them. That required all of his attention, so Inhetep didn't see the shrug and flounce as the girl went to fetch more wine. Inhetep paid for his order and pretended to be absorbed in his drinking and the six musicians who sawed and toodled and thumped away nearby. Then he called the wench over to his table again. "How do I find the district where the Egyptian folk dwell?" he asked loudly.
"I am uncertain," the Hindi woman said with a pout. That changed to a smile when Inhetep produced a pair of coppers, slipped one into the girl's hand, and told her to use the other to bring them both another drink. The wench then related several ways of getting to the area Setne had inquired about. "Oh, you are looking for the place where they have many shops offering the goods of your country for sale?" she asked in response to his words. "Then you need only to go along the next street aways. When you see the sign of the Gypsies—an eye in a ball of glass— turn to your right. In a little while you will come to the place where your folk live."
With that, the wizard-priest grinned and gestured toward the musicians. "Bring a full ewer of whatever they like and ask them to join me," Inhetep told the sloe-eyed maid. "If you are free, come and sit with me, too. With such a short way to go, I can spend much time here having fun." The wench went off to do as he had asked. One of the four men also got up and left the tavern. Setne was positive the man had overheard everything. Still smiling, the Egyptian soon had the company of the band, the serving maid, and a couple of other women who had drifted over to the group. Setne put his purse on the table and emptied it. A dozen or more copper and silver coins spilled forth. "Now that should do for our thirst!" he said drunkenly. "Can any of you charming ladies dance?"
Within half an hour, there was a roistering party in full swing around the Egyptian's table. Soon, in fact, several of his fellow-countrymen appeared as if by magick in the Golden Shiva. Although they were of common sort, Inhetep welcomed them as if the three were cousins. The musicians resumed their places to accompany the woman who was dancing for Setne. Then another woman performed and more folk joined the noisy throng. More silver came from somewhere on the magister's person, and greater quantities of beer, wine, and spirits arrived. "Is there a pair of strong fellows here?" the shaven-headed priest-mage cried. "I'll pay the winner of a wrestling bout four dolphosess. I want some entertainment of the rigorous sort!" Although several of the wenches volunteered other sports, Inhetep held firm, and soon a pair of stalwarts agreed to give it a try. A space was cleared for them as Setne set out four of the Achaean coins, silver disks each worth about twenty-five of the common Albish bronze coins. The match began—and in no time the contest brought bedlam to the tavern.
As several tipsy onlookers cheered the wrestlers, a third contestant leaped into the fray. Someone joined the trio in order to even things out. Then a tankard was hurled into the crowd, and a general melee commenced. At the height of the brawl, several people managed to escape the devastation. Beside a stray Hindi or two and a Phonecian gambler, the three Egyptians who had wandered in left the tavern the same way, but with more energy than when they had entered. Anybody keeping track of the wizard-priest would not have wondered why he didn't leave when his countrymen did. Somehow the tall man had become embroiled in the fighting and was seen only occasionally in the sprawl, a shaven head here, a lean, coppery arm there. In fact, three hard-eyed men were watching Inhetep as he brawled. Naturally, they paid no attention to those who left hurriedly.
Outside, the three Egyptians ran off toward their own quarter as fast as they could. There was no telling when the watch would arrive to break up the melee and arrest all they could lay their hands on. The cost of damages and the fines would certainly pauper a working man! It was no more than a half-dozen blocks to the part of Londun where the former folk of Pharaoh dwelled. Actual distance was difficult to measure in the slant and twist of street and alley. Halfway there, the men slowed to a brisk walk, breath steaming in the chill air. Only then did they feel safe in laughing and jesting about the whole affair. They headed directly for their own favorite drinking establishment, the Fattened Goose. "Where's Buhor?" one of them asked when they arrived. The second man shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps he decided to go home—he hardly said a word after we left that stupid Hindi tavern." The first Egyptian was about to go back into the street despite the cold and look for his friend, but then he saw a pair of sisters he knew. "Too bad for him," he said to his companion, pointing toward the women and winking.
Buhor was eventually dragged unconscious from the Golden Shiva. He had no idea how he had become involved in the fighting, swearing to the local magistrate that he could remember nothing except talking and drinking with friends. Unimpressed, the judge fined him heavily, and Buhor would have ended up in the workhouse had not some unknown benefactor paid over the whole sum on his behalf. Meanwhile, however, the three Albish men fared better—and worse. The police were quick to defer to them when one of their number presented certain credentials. "Search for a tall Egyptian," that one told the lieutenant in charge of the watchmen. "He's easily spotted—shaven pate, hawk nose, and green eyes. His name is Inhetep, Setne Inhetep, and he's wanted for questioning by the Royal Palace." No trace of the wanted man could be found, however, so soon thereafter the three hard-eyed men had to report back to their superior empty-handed. Nobody ever saw them again.
The day after the disturbance in the Golden Shiva, a mob attacked the Egyptian district. The Bow Street Runners found answers for the Lord Mayor. It seemed that they were whipped into a frenzy in secret cult meetings. Something to do with an Eastern god called Set-Anubis and a traitor. A lot of silver and gold was involved—the mob had been showered with silver coins to encourage them to find and kill the traitor. Gold was promised them if they succeeded. Before further investigation could proceed, however, the proceedings came to a halt.
Word arrived from the citadel. The Royal Chamberlain, Sir Chauncey, had been found murdered. Beside him was a statuette of the Egyptian deity, the one with a black jackal's head, Anubis. There had been a warning, too. The Lord Mayor was charged with finding the culprit, and one Magister Setne Inhetep was the chief suspect. The Runners were in the right district, so they simply switched from seeking the cause of the riot to looking for the wanted man.
For a week thereafter, all of Londun was buzzing with the story. Broadsides reported the tale in lurid and fanciful detail. The followers of the underground cult of Set disappeared. There were massive searches in the whole foreign quarter, and virtually every Egyptian, or foreign male over average height for that matter, was hauled into one station or another for scrutiny and questioning. The initial furor settled, but there were still whispers of the strange business. Rumors persisted that the whole matter was a plot by rebels and foreigners to overthrow the king and the Kelltic gods, too. There was a good deal of indignation among the good people of the city. All foreigners found it necessary to keep a very low profile. Those who went abroad made a point of visiting local temples to pay their respects to the established pantheon of Albion. But no trace was found of the ur-kheri-heb, the Egyptian wizard-priest named Setne Inhetep.
—= 10 ——
Camelough stood on the high ground and even higher bluffs of the eastern shores of Lake Lhian-nan. The big lake was fed in part by the waters of the River Newid, a deep and lovely stream navigable by boat and barge for several leagues above the city, and for miles and miles beyond that by smaller craft. A number of villages lined the banks of the Newid, appearing amid fields and woods almost as if part of nature's growth. These charming little settlements were the homes of local farmers and tradesmen, as well as those of a few gentry and even nobles from Camelough whose summer residences lay in one or another of the riverside hamlets. Thus, among the thatched cottages and narrow buildings could be seen stately houses with high walls protecting them, little castles on the shore, or moated villas. The size and construction depended upon the status of its owner and the size of his or her purse. Because of the mild climate of Lyonnesse, activity continued in these residences even during the depth of winter; some of the aristocrats rusticated over the Sunsebb holidays in their country estates, for the local shire knights and prosperous merchants were renowned for their wassails and festivities during the merry season.
Mild or not, the trip up the River Newid in an open boat was a cold one, with damp wind to accompany the chill night air. "How much further?" Setne demanded of the two broad-shouldered men pulling on opposite oars of his hired gig.
"At least 'nuther 'our, yer worship," the man at the tiller answered. He did so because the two rowers needed all of their breath to maintain the fast pace dictated by this strange man who had engaged them to row upstream in the middle of the night. "Wind's foul, ya see, an' the boys'll be needin' ta take a rest soon," he added.
"Never mind slacking off," the Egyptian snapped. "You can change off with each other and get some respite that way. If you manage to get me to my destination before midnight, I'll give you each a pair of silver drakes."
Their destination was a collection of buildings and villas called Glaistig Pool. "Must be one hellsapoppin' carouse yer awaitin' ta gets ta," the helmsman cried loudly, so as to be heard above the wind and splash of water. His long-haired passenger merely grunted and jingled the coins. "Alright," the riverman growled, "we'll be swap-pin' duty on 'em oars. 'Ave yer coin all nice an' ready like."
Inhetep wore a wig, of course. It was a common enough thing in his own country, and in past centuries such attire had been social convention even in Lyonnesse. These days, however, nobody knew of them—at least not commonly, and the three men working the boat were certainly common. Had the wizard-priest appeared with shaven pate, one of them might have connected Setne to the Egyptian wanted by the crown officials. But none of them knew as they labored against the stiff breeze and strong current. When they rounded the bend near the villa Setne was seeking, he asked the men to put him ashore where a huge old willow tree jutted out over the dark water of the river.
" 'E's got eyes like a owl," one of the rowers hissed to his mate, for only after a minute of hard pulling did he see the tree the Egyptian had described. The captain informed Inhetep, "Yer 'bout a mile from the dock o' Glaistig Pool, yer are."
"This will do fine, boatman," Setne said firmly. "My dear cousin's lodge is but a few rods away from this spot." There was a dwelling about a bowshot's distance, but it was neither the habitation of any of Setne's kin nor his actual destination. The less these men knew the better. As the skiff thumped against the bank, Setne carefully handed each man the promised payment, two silver drakes. Then from a small shoulderbag he drew forth a squarish pottery bottle. "Here, my good fellows. Something extra for your hard and long efforts on a cold night. It's Hybernian whiskey, fine old single malt and full of warmth. Drink a tot for me on your way home!"
"That we will, yer worship. Ta yer 'ealth!" the boatman added, as he unstoppered the bottle and took a good swig. "Aaarr, now 'ats whiskey!"
Inhetep watched as the gig and the three riv-ermen disappeared back into the mists. The whiskey was excellent Hybernian, all right, but it was also dweomered so as to make one's memory a bit fuzzy. In a day, not one of the three would remember the trip or the passenger they had had in their skiff. Not unless they drank only a little of the stuff, and knowing men such as the river boatmen were, Setne was sure that the whole quart would be gone long before they made Camelough, ten miles down the Newid. He gave a secret smile and turned to face the land.
Inhetep hadn't stayed in Londun after the day of the riot near Limehouse. His being followed, the mob, and then the murder of the Chamberlain told a plain story: the Master of Jackals was intent on eliminating his opponent, and the criminal would stop at nothing until the magister was dead, or at least held fast in some deep dungeon where he couldn't interfere with what the Master Jackal intended. First had been the suspicion and assassination attempted in Cam-elough, leading to Setne's being a wanted man in all Lyonnesse. Relatively minor attempts on his life followed. Then came the matter in Londun and the posting of a reward there for him as a suspect in treasonous matters, rioting, and the killing of a crown officer. It was too late for the mastermind behind the plot to do anything about his successful visits to the other three kingdoms of Avillonia—Cymru, Hybernia, and Caledonia. Setne knew that there would be similar warrants on his person in those realms, though, for the Master of Jackals was a thorough and bitter enemy. "We shall see who hounds who, Jackal," he hissed under his breath as he recalled the events. Then the tall Egyptian strode into the darkness of a grove of trees, heading toward a walled castle-manor on the riverbank about a half-mile distant upstream.
The fact that there were so few clues and no trails to follow in the extortion and murders made no more difference to Inhetep than the fact that he had no path to walk along in reaching the building for which he was headed. "Perhaps the final goal isn't as apparent," he said aloud as he stepped over a fallen limb about halfway to the tall building protected by its high walls. "But I am sure who will serve as guide to that desired place." At the edge of the copse he stopped, staying well back in the shadows of the leafless trees, hardwoods which had all shed their greenery in the frosts of the autumn gone.
The high walls formed a right angle to the main building and a lower wing, so that inside there was a courtyard—and garden, too, probably of considerable extent. The curtain of stone was only about twenty feet high, with an octagonal tower at its corner. The squat construction was about ten feet taller than the wall itself, and a dim light showed from its upper portion, a lantern's glow from the arrow slits. Inhetep watched the tower for a few minutes. A yellow light washed out for a moment. Someone had emerged from inside. A dark form moved along a parapet inside the place, head and shoulders just dis-cernable between the crenellations of the battlement. Despite its looks, the fortified manor was a functional stronghold. The sentries were obviously not particularly alert, taking time to warm themselves instead of continually pacing their posts, but that was typical of any such place not under threat of attack. The owner and guests holding their revel inside the great hall were not expecting unfriendly visitors. Yet if the sentries were slack, there were probably less fallible alarms protecting the manor.
It was necessary to approach the chateau more closely in order to discover what castings were in place to ward it from intruders. The wizard-priest stole forth as silently as a shadow. A quarter moon was shining, but scattered clouds alternately made the landscape dark then light as they crossed the night sky. Setne moved with the darkness, so that when the soft moonlight again illuminated the open ground around the dwelling, he was cloaked in the shadow of the tower. From there the copper-skinned Egyptian used his special senses and a charm to find what magick guarded the walls and gate.
The weaving was so subtle that even Inhetep almost missed reading the castings aright. The protections were not the forthright sort of priest-craeft nor the bold sort typical of dweomercraeft. The magicks woven through stone and wood and all around were a net so clever that most prospective intruders would view them as but weak wards easily avoided or removed by counter-spell. Energies were drawn in parallel, castings set so as to enwrap and at the same time support one another in a vertical manner. Dispel one, and those above and below would react. Then the varied horizontal forces could not be passed through without undesirable consequences. No negation would disarm these protections.
"I am not surprised," Inhetep thought to himself "Alarms, voices, quasi-spirits and goblin guards, spun into a web of deadly traps and killing magick too. Each is so laid as to be in harmonic sympathy with the other. Dissonance or discord will come if even the least is disturbed, but there is an answer . . ." And as that crossed his mind. Setne took from his girdle a little ivory tube wrapped with a filigree of silver, a miniature flute, and began to play upon it. There was no sound, at least as far as human ears could hear. Yet there were notes, a melody of ever-increasing complexity. A discernable darkness grew before him. Had the sentries been able to view it, they would have seen something like a spot of pewter-gray appear on the stone wall. The circle grew aelfrom coin-size to the diameter of a saucer, a platter, a targ, then a great round shield. Still Setne played soundlessly. The lightless circle was now nearly as tall as the Egyptian. Fingers moving rhythmically on the tiny instrument, Inhetep paced slowly ahead. Dogs began to bark and howl inside the little fortress. Setne ignored them. He went into the grayness, but it was no longer stone; it was space. As he stepped slowly into the enchanted nothingness, a faint fire sprang from his head and shoulders, running along arms, body, and legs, so that it appeared he was burning with a violet blaze. After but a few paces, however, the little lilac tongues of flame shrank, sparkled, and died in a coruscation of deep purple motes as they shot off into the sooty nothingness. With a last, inaudible trill, Inhetep stepped through the solid stone wall into the courtyard and ceased playing the ivory instrument.
He was standing amid several flowering shrubs, which screened the harsh rock surrounding the hall. The dogs ceased their yowling the moment the wizard-priest stopped playing the flute, but the sergeant-at-arms had already appeared in the yard with a handful of guards. They had torches and were armed.
"Corporal of the guard!" the officer called loudly. Setne crouched in the shrubbery made magickally green and blooming for the festivities. Light from the tower's open door spilled into the courtyard and over the greenish witch-lights set at intervals along the buildings. "Is all well?"
The soldier in charge of the watch cried out for his sentries to report. "East wall. All's quiet!" came a voice. "South wall," shouted another gruff voice, "and it's as dead as a blarsted graveyard . . . sar!"
"You get yer arse outta that tower, Clouter, an' makes double sartin that nuffin' disturbs the lords inside this evenin', 'ear me?"
The guardsman was irritated but didn't dare argue. "Them damned dogs was jes' tryin' ta sing along wi' the band playin' from inside, Sarge, but oT Clouter'll stay sharp the res' of the night if it'll makes ya happy."
"Happy my arse, ya lazy blarster. I'll be back in a 'our ta check!" Sergeant and guards stamped around a little, giving a hasty and mostly cursory inspection of the area, then returned to the warmth and revelry of the main building.
Inhetep remained absolutely still. The corporal was standing almost directly above where he hid, and the man was peering down. Then Setne
heard the sound of splattering about a yard away. It's a lucky thing you're not relieving your bladder on me, the wizard-priest thought darkly as the corporal finished urinating. Then the guard walked off, and Inhetep glided from the bushes and across the yard to the lower wing of the villa. Neither spell nor lock were set to prevent entry here inside the walls. The door opened at his touch, and Setne entered a dark, narrow hallway. It turned right, and a door to the left certainly led into the barn area where horses and carriages were kept and feed stored. This was the servants' wing, and it was virtually deserted now because of the revel in the great hall. All staff were busy caring for master and guests. At the end of the corridor, Setne selected a door at random and entered.
» In the small room, evidently one belonging to an important servant, the wizard-priest discarded his dark, woolen cloak and high boots. He hung them on one of several empty pegs on the wall rack. Beside them he placed his wig. He was now clad in only his Egyptian garments, but these were rich and decorated with gold and glittering gems as befitted one attending a noble feast. Instead of sandals, Setne drew on a pair of low, slightly pointed buskins, almost slipperlike in their lightness and flexibility. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Now let the fun begin!" he exclaimed aloud. "No more hare to chivvy from thicket to thicket." He pulled the
door open again and reentered the hallway. "Inhetep is now the hound who will be nipping the jackals here. . . So saying, the tall man left the low wing and entered the main building.
The place was a mansion. Thick beams supported high ceilings. Polished hardwood floors and wainscoted walls were glowing under soft, dweom-ered lights that resembled the warm illumination of wax tapers. A servitor came hurrying around the corner. "I ... you ... is there ... ?" the pretty little maid stammered, obviously flustered by the bald-headed, copper-skinned stranger, who was dressed as a noble. "Yes," Setne told the lass. "You may disregard whatever instructions you have previously received. I desire that you convey me immediately to the usher—there is an usher, I trust."
Now the girl was truly puzzled, but she had no thought of anything other than complying with Inhetep's command. "Oh yes, m'lord, there is most certainly an usher—Master Medwyn by name, m'lord. Do you wish to go through the grand salon? Or will you prefer a more discrete route?"
That made the Egyptian smile. This was a highly perceptive and intelligent servant. "By all means, lass," he replied, "let's use the more quiet way, for what I have to say to Master Medwyn is most confidential—a sort of special surprise for your great lord, as it were." The girl nodded and led Setne through several small servant's passages and into the foyer of the main hall. There were two tall doors, closed, from behind which came the sounds of the wassail— music, loud voices, laughter. Before these portals stood a liveried man whose sash and gold chain bespoke his position as an officer of the staff, to whit, the usher. Inhetep waved the lass away, stepping quickly to the man on duty at the doors before he could ask anything of her.
"Please be so good as to announce Magister Setne Inhetep to His Lordship the Gwyddorr and the other guests within, Master Medwyn," the wizard-priest said smoothly. His tone was firm and irresistible. The usher had no thought of anything other than immediate compliance. He bowed, opened the two doors, and stepped into the massive room beyond.
Thump, thump! sounded above the party as the fellow used his staff to draw attention to his proud performance of office. The noise dropped off as eyes turned towards the entrance. A guest at midnight was most unusual indeed. "The August Magister Setne Inhetep!" Master Medwyn cried, embellishing Setne's style as was the wont of such functionaries. He began a sweeping bow but stopped short as gasps rose from the assemblage of revelers in the salon.
"No need for all that," the Egyptian murmured in the general direction of the startled usher as Setne strode into the great hall and faced the two-score folk staring at him. "What?
Is a poor ur-kheri-heb of Thoth so important as to create an interruption in the festivities? Nay, nay, dear people! Please go back to your revelry, for I have come only to speak a word or two with your host; then, I fear, I will have to hurry off."
A babble arose from the guests. Someone shouted, "The very devil himself!" and a dozen guards leaped from their positions of attention around the chamber and rushed toward Inhetep, who stood unmoving. He folded his arms and smiled more broadly still into the confusion.
— 11 —
Two of the soldiers were ready to drive their broad-bladed spontoons at Inhetep's chest even as another pair were approaching fast to reinforce that attack. From somewhere above, someplace hidden by pillar and drapery and decorative work, a pair of arrows zipped down to pierce the Egyptian just as the spearpoints would. Their target was unmoving, a small crook held in one hand, the other crossed with a flail as if in imitation of some Pharaoh. Just as the steel tongues of spear and arrowhead were about to strike home, however, Setne's arms uncrossed. The spontoons were caught by the crook and swept aside as if they were straws, even as the many little tails of the sweeping flail brushed aside the speeding shafts as mere flies would be swept from their course by such an instrument. "Come, come, Aldriss! Haven't you instructed your guardsmen better than this? Surely they need know that such as they can do no harm to a real kheri-heb!"
Every guest in the hall was silent at those
words. The bard arose from his high-backed chair at the head of the banquet table. His aqua-blue and emerald-green velvet robe, all embroidered with silver-thread trim to betoken his station as the Great Bard of Lyonnesse, rippled and glittered as he moved. "You dare!" Aldriss roared. Yet his face was paler than normal, and there was a faint tremor in his voice.
"You mean to ask how I managed to pass through your enmeshing magicks, I think," the wizard-priest said as he walked slowly down to where the bard stood. Celebrants flinched and shied from the Egyptian's approach—some because they thought him a vile assassin and plotter against their kingdom, others for reasons less pure.
"STOP!" The command seemed to thunder through the hall with unnatural force and clarity. The bewildered soldiers froze in their tracks, and the revelers likewise ceased their attempts to get clear of the coming confrontation. The snow-clad figure of Tallesian stepped from behind a thick column and cried, "I believe I had better deal with the murderous Egyptian!" At that, guards and gentry alike unfroze and began fleeing frantically. The bard remained standing where he was, and for some reason the six musicians nearby likewise stayed put.
Inhetep, too, was motionless. He watched as Aldriss gave a small sign and the players began to perform, viele, harp, lute and the rest striking up a soft but moving air. From where he stood, Inhetep could see both of his antagonists. "This is a useless charade, druid," he said tonelessly as the fellow began to slide sideways, the first small motions of a conjuration evident in the movements of Tallesian's fingers and hands. "You, too, Aldriss the Gwyddorr. I have come for your prisoner. Free Rachelle now, and I will not be hard on you."
A radiance as bright as the white of the dru-id's gown appeared as a halo above Tallesian's head. It brightened into a silver intensity, then suddenly became ebon. The nebulous blotch then spat forth jagged bolts of electrical energy. Each was only as long as a man, no thicker than a spear shaft, but where their argent tips touched, stone blackened and broke, oak burst into blue-flamed incandescence. These flashing darts of deadly electricity flew from above Tallesian's head as fast as a man might snap his fingers. They rained upon the wizard-priest like a hailstorm. "Feel the fury of Dagda!" the druid cried, directing more and more of the lightning bolts upon the motionless Egyptian.
Setne was ablaze, only it was not Setne. Where the wizard-priest had stood was a tall bennu, the phoenix-like bird whose very essence was lightning. The creature's beak darted here and there as a great heron might spear fish. The bright bolts of energy were as fish to the bennu, and the bennu was Inhetep. Then it ceased devouring the lightnings and flapped its rainbow-bright pinions. The sudden gust of air drove Tallesian back, his snowy gown whipping wildly about his body, then the druid fell. Almost simultaneously, the long-billed head turned, and the bennu spat back the stuff it had devoured. One bolt shattered the shalms and laid low the man who had been playing them, another sent the viele into ruin along with its musician. Four more in such rapid succession that the eye could not follow, and no more orchestra played to the bard's behest. Then the bennu again became Magister Setne Inhetep. "Did you think that I was so dull as to ignore the heka you would evoke with your musical henchmen there?"
The demand fell on deaf ears, for Aldriss was seeking desperately to bring forth alone the magick he had hoped to work through his band of chanters, those journeymen nearly bards themselves. They had seemed naught but minstrels to the party-goers, but it was evident that the Egyptian had recognized them for what they were. Aldriss' tenor voice rose strong and sweet in a call for supernatural prowess even as he picked out accompanying chords on the little harp he had grabbed from his table. Suddenly the instrument felt cold and unnatural in his hands. Aldriss looked down and shrieked, for the harp had turned into a cobra, weaving and spreading its hood just above where he grasped it. The bard flung the reptile away and yelled, "May you rot in cold darkness, Egyptian!"
Setne easily avoided the flying cobra. As if to further demoralize the Kelltic spell-weaver, the snake turned into a musical instrument again as it sailed through the air, and smashed to flinders against a stone column. "I would have no urseus treated so," the magister said mockingly to the unbelieving Aldriss. "Now lead me to where you have her held captive." The deadly threat was heavy in his tone.
"Never!" the bard snarled in reply, and with that he sat roughly in the chair behind him. When he struck it, the tall seat toppled over backwards against a curtain, and Aldriss was lost in a swirl of drapery and the overturned chair.
A quick glance showed the wizard-priest that Tallesian was still unmoving on the floor. He must have struck his head severely, for he now lay unconscious, allowing Setne to devote his entire attention to the fleeing Aldriss. Naturally the cowardly man wouldn't run far—not until he felt safe to do so. That meant the bard would head straight to Rachelle to take her hostage. Inhetep ran to the table and bounded over it, long legs showing coppery in the process, flowing kilt and short cape streaming behind as if he flew. Wrenching aside the thick curtain, Setne saw an alcove with three doors in its walls. A glance upward revealed a trapdoor overhead, and beneath his feet was yet a fifth means of egress. A concealed exit could be found quickly, but the chance of guessing correctly was not so likely. Each false way would be riddled with traps to slay the unwelcome pursuer, and even the correct passage would be guarded by deadly mechanisms.
Setne knew that sorcerers preferred the depths while most others sought height as a means of security. To the right the passage must eventually lead to warrens amid the interior walls of the manor, while the left-hand door would take one to the outer wall and whatever secret corridors existed there. The one straight ahead could lead up, down, or to a hidden chamber. There was a smudge of heat evident to Setne's heka-enhanced eyesight on that last portal, so he shoved it open and ducked into the low space beyond. A slight creak warned him, and he pulled back just in time as a weighted timber dropped down halfway to the floor. A skull could be crushed, a spine smashed by the force of its fall. Scrambling on all fours to pass under it, the wizard-priest entered a small secret room some eight feet wide and a little deeper. "How clever of you," he said aloud upon seeing the place, for in it were five more exits—two flights of stairs down, two going up, and a door straight ahead. "The telltale of your passage makes the multiplicity of choices useless when one can see body heat," the hawk-faced man cried aloud as he bounded up the leftmost stairway.
When the sound of Setne's running feet faded, another noise could be heard. Muffled thuds and stifled cries drifted from a portion of the wall along the passage the wizard-priest had just fled. A panel slid sideways. Aldriss stepped out of the cell which the open panel revealed with his captive, bound and gagged. Rachelle struggled, trying her best to give cries of warning through the cloth. "You be silent, bitch!" the bard hissed, "Or else I'll slit your throat here and now!" Rachelle ceased her noise. Should Aldriss fulfill his threat, she knew that Inhetep would be so struck by the sight of her corpse that his enemy could smite him with heka, perhaps mortally, as shock slowed the Egyptian's reflexes. "Better," Aldriss said through clenched teeth. "Now move those pretty legs of yours quickly—run! I want „ us back in the salon where we'll set our ambush for your master." He gave her a shove, which nearly sent Rachelle sprawling on her face. The force of the bard's strong arm propelled her into the little passage, where she rebounded from the far corner and along the narrow corridor toward the salon as if she were a ball bouncing.
"Bravo!"
The cry made Aldriss start and jerk his head to the right. His worst fears were confirmed. The green eyes and sharp smile of the shaven-headed Egyptian shone from the top of the steps. "You!" the bard gasped.
"That's right, bard, me. Did you really think
you could fool me with this child's maze?" He was laughing, but there was menace, not mirth, in Inhetep's voice. "I let you think me off on a goose-chase, so you would release Rachelle and come into the open. Your early cooperation in separating yourself from her was an unexpected but most welcome blunder. I had thought you would be more careful, and I would have to risk myself in a more close quarters situation."
Aldriss allowed the man to rattle on as his fingers found an acorn he had sequestered in his garment. The nut was charged with preternatural energy. The bard hurled it as hard as he could, slamming it into the stairs at Inhetep's feet. Aldriss shouted as the acorn burst and a shower of blazing sparks and thick smoke instantly screened the priest-mage from his view. With the sulfurous cloud obscuring his movements, the man dived down the passage into which he had pushed Rachelle, rolling and regaining his feet in a smooth motion. Perhaps the missile's magickal explosion and choking fumes would do scant harm to the accursed Egyptian, but it gave Aldriss time to grab the amazon and use her body as a shield. His fellow conspirators could handle the wizard-priest once and for all.
But even as the last of the blazing tongues of flame were dying, Inhetep was in action. He didn't dare to send a counter-blast down the narrow passage after Aldriss, for Rachelle might still be in the corridor. Instead, Setne leaped down the steps and followed the fleeing Kellt. As soon as he entered the passage, the wizard-priest crouched so as to present as small a target as possible, traveling almost like an ape on all fours.
The bard was setting himself up to work great mischief on his pursuer, but he hadn't reckoned with Rachelle. When the girl saw Aldriss with his back to her, obviously readying to use some magick against Inhetep, she flung herself upon the man. She struck Aldriss behind the knees, and the man fell forward with a thud. At almost the same moment, Setne emerged from the passage into the salon.
"Nice work, my dear child!" he exclaimed as the girl struggled to rise from the tangle of the fallen bard's legs. "Here, I'll get you shed of those damned ropes," he murmured, pulling Rachelle upright. He used the knife from his broad girdle to cut the bonds from her wrists.
"Hmmmh, mmmth!" she said, wild-eyed and panting.
"Yes, of course," Setne said with a slight grin. "It was merely a matter of priorities. . . . He severed the heavy cloth strip holding the gag in place.
"Setne! I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up and get—" Rachelle cut off her words when she saw that the fallen bard had suddenly changed into a monstrous bear.
As the amazon looked frantically around for some weapon, Inhetep used his little wand to good effect. Aldriss had arisen, his bear-form a towering threat of claws and huge fangs about to sweep priest and warrior into its deadly hug. Setne was suddenly a thing of spines, a ball-like hedgehog with quills two feet long. The bear's paws swept out heedlessly. There came a snapping as of dry twigs and rattling of spines. The blow knocked Inhetep some distance away. At the same time, there was a roar from the bruin; the striking paws were now pierced, each looking like a pin cushion thrust through and through with the barbed spines. The injured, bloody bear paws beat the air as Aldriss-bruin vented his fury and pain. Then the form shimmered, and instead of a brown bear there was a pit viper whose body was as thick as a man's thigh and whose length was greater than two tall men.
"Very wise, bard," Inhetep cried. "The serpent has no extremities to remain pierced by quills. I give you credit for your cleverness." The wizard-priest had himself returned to human form, his garments torn and stained by a splotch of red where the claws had done damage. He seemed little harmed, though, and even as the giant viper coiled to strike, Setne was busy with his own magick. Perhaps the sudden transformation would have given Aldriss the edge he sought, but the bard reckoned without Rachelle again. The girl saw the serpent readying to strike, and this time she flung a chair at Aldriss.
The missile didn't harm the viper, but the impact caused the deadly strike to miss its target by a fair margin. "Thanks!" Inhetep called to Rachelle, and then the magister became a huge, thick-scaled lizard whose long jaws sported scores of small, needle-sharp teeth. It was just the sort of reptile made to dine on poisonous snakes the size of Aldriss the Great Bard of Lyonnesse.
Of course, that left little choice. As Aldriss shed his viper-form, the coils sprouted feathers. In another instant, a huge marsh hawk stood where the serpent had been. "Keeaah!" the raptor shrieked in triumph as its wings beat the air. Aldriss was obviously going to fly from the contest now, content with escape, victory forgotten.
As the hawk rose so did an equally huge eagle owl, for Inhetep too had altered form to counter the bard's tactic. The two fierce birds met in the air, and with a storm of flying feathers, fought and fell to the floor. As the two struck, they changed again, Aldriss and Inhetep throttling each other.
"Enough!" The word of command came from Rachelle's throat as she held a sword to the bard's neck. Aldriss stopped his struggle.
"Now I recall just why I went to so much trouble to rescue you," Inhetep remarked as he arose and straightened his garments. "Admirable work, girl!"
Aldriss lay unmoving, glaring up at Rachelle and the tall Egyptian with equal hatred. "Shall I finish this foul and treacherous kidnapper now?" The warrior woman put a little more pressure on the steel so that the blade's edge just barely cut Aldriss' skin.
"Great gods, no," Inhetep said with feigned shock, as if he thought Rachelle was actually about to sever the man's neck. "Master Aldriss will surely have a lot to say to us now, and I believe that his words will buy his life. Do spare it until we find out if my prediction is correct, Rachelle." The wizard-priest looked down mildly at the pale-faced bard. "You do have some things to tell me about, don't you, Gwyddorr?"
The girl held the brand hard against the bard's neck, but Aldriss was no coward. "You may rot in your foreign hell, Inhetep, before I say anything to you."
"Tch. I am shocked," Setne responded. "Yet I believe you will certainly admit that you are the one who kidnapped Rachelle, won't you?"
"She came with me of her own accord," the man snapped back. "I merely held her here after she had willingly come."
"He speaks but a half truth, Setne," the amazon said hotly. "He called on me that evening after the revel and said you had sent him to get me and bring me to where you waited."
"And you went like a lamb? Rachelle! Why didn't you heed the warning?!"
The girl looked puzzled, and so for that matter did Aldriss. "You warned her about me? How in—" He bit his query off short.
"That's right, Master Great Bard and murderous plotter, I did just that. But why did you ignore the caution, dear girl?"
"Well, I ... I didn't get the warning," Rachelle admitted.
"Of course you did," Inhetep countered. "I placed it in the note I left for you about my not going to the festivities at the castle. Down the left-hand margin, as clearly as anything, I told you B E W A R E A L D R etc'."
"Oh." The pretty mouth was hesitant. Before she had opportunity to explain that, in her haste and anger at the wizard-priest, she had failed to pay attention to his note, Aldriss spoke.
"You are a filthy Eastern dog, Inhetep!" the bard spat. "I said from the first that you would be trouble!"
"Really?" Setne said mockingly. "And just who was it you said that to?"
"No matter to you, burn-skin, and your doxy either, for that matter. You'll find out soon enough, and then it will be too late!"
"Doxy!" Rachelle cried with fire in her dark eyes. "And you, doing your utmost to get me into bed, putting your hands all over me when I was tied and helpless! You . . . you ... Now I'll show you what it's like to have unwanted attention when there's nothing to be done to prevent it." Her arm tensed, grip tightening on the sword.
"Easy, Rachelle," Inhetep cautioned. "Aldriss is going to explain just who he was warning about me—aren't you bard?" There was stoni-ness in the Egyptian's eyes as he spoke.
If the Kellt saw danger in those emerald-hard eyes, he was either very brave or very foolish— or both, for he ignored the look. "Both of you are now as good as dead," Aldriss spat. "Think you that the Master of Jackals would let two petty ones such as yourselves upset his plans? Never!" There was such conviction in Aldriss's voice that a chill went flashing up Rachelle's spine. Even Inhetep drew back a little. "You are doomed now!" the bard cried, one arm shooting suddenly up and pointing.
Perhaps it was the oldest trick in the book, but Rachelle grabbed Setne and the two of them went sprawling away from where Aldriss pointed. This allowed their prisoner to regain his feet and mount a new attack.
"Fallen foes abandon action," Aldriss sang even as he stood upright. "Helpless, hopeless, stifling sanction. Fearful, frozen, pitifully palsied; Laid low, the fallen foe!" The last couplet completed his quatrain and bore the ring of the bard's triumph as he voiced the strain of the cantrip. Its power was slow to come, but the initial singing had sufficient effect to give Aldriss the chance he needed. Suggestion was strong, and the dweomer he spun by his lyrical chanting weighed down the two and made their movements ponderous and uncertain.
With grim satisfaction, the bard went on with his magickal singing. Setne seemed to be getting sloth-like, the long fingers of one coppery hand gradually disappearing inside his short jacket. "I . . . reject . . . your . . . heka. . . ." Inhetep was saying slowly as he fought to break the weight of the casting, which was enfolding them in its magick. He had just managed to grasp the energizing form of his golden ankh and had the amulet partially withdrawn from his garment as the bard finished the second quatrain.
Rachelle too was trying to break the power of Aldriss' singing by sheer will force. In truth, the amazon was moving more quickly than the ur-kheri-heb, rolling slightly away from the bard and about to come erect. The sword she had picked up was still in her hand, and Rachelle's arm was drawing back as if to hurl the blade at Aldriss.
"Useless!" the man shouted in triumph as he drew forth a figurine. "I call upon—" But that's as far as Aldriss got. Two red beams were issuing from the statuette when a Kelltic symbol of power manifested itself in the air directly before the unsuspecting bard. The bright fire of the wheel met the bloody rays. The spoked torus blazed and grew to twice its potency even as the deadly beams rebounded and struck the bard full in the face. Aldriss uttered a horrified cry that turned into an awful, rising shriek of agony, then his head exploded, and the fire of the raging magickal sign roared out and consumed him utterly.
= 12 =
"Are you two all right?" It was Tallesian's voice.
"But I thought . . ." Rachelle began. Inhetep's touch caused the warrior girl's words to fade.
"We are well enough, thank you, but what did you do to Aldriss, druid?" The question had a sharp edge, and Setne's hawk nose seemed aimed at the man.
"Good—excellent! I feared the worst there for a second," Tallesian said with some heartiness and warmth. "I'd have acted far sooner, I assure you, Magister, save for doubt."
"Doubt?"
"Well, to be forthright, sir, I thought you a most dire enemy." He looked squarely at Inhetep. "When you came strutting into the festivities here, I was set to do my best to lay you by the heels. You knocked me down, stunned me in the process, too, I might add." Tallesian made a wry face and rubbed the back of his head, flinching a little from his own hand. "Quite a goose-egg there. Anyway, when I finally came round and managed to figure out what was going on, I saw you, and your amazon companion with a sword at Aldriss' throat. For a second or two, it was a near thing—going to use the last resort against you rather than that blackguard, who was supposed to be the Gwyddorr and my peer, you know."
Inhetep raised a hand, and the druid looked at him inquiringly. "I do appreciate your explanation, Lord Tallesian, but something you said . . ."
"What was that?"
"You referred to a 'last resort,' I believe. By that do you mean the sigil of energy you sent at the bard?"
"None other," the man confirmed, nodding vigorously. "Not at all sure what happened to it, though. It went all wrong at the end and—"
"Never mind. I thought it rather strange, too, for the thing went from one grade of power to another and seemed a nonesuch. Do you suppose it was an interaction with whatever Aldriss was trying to use against Rachelle and me?"
"Unquestionably," Tallesian concurred.
Rachelle couldn't understand why the druid had come round so suddenly to their side. "You were here celebrating with him, and you have evidently favored the ones who dared accuse my lord Inhetep of some crime—and after you yourself induced him to this island, too!"
"Come to the point, please, dear girl," the Magister urged.
"What made you blast your countryman and peer?" she demanded of Tallesian.
"Why, he was the one responsible for all this— he was the Master of Jackals!"
"Was he?" Rachelle demanded. "I never heard him admit to anything like that."
Tallesian seemed a little flustered. "He most certainly was about to try to kill you both, and he as much as admitted that he was the mastermind behind all this terrible business when he said he wouldn't allow the pair of you to foil his plot!"
"He asked if we thought the Master of Jackals would allow Rachelle and me to interfere in the plan he was part of," Setne said forcefully, picking up from where his companion had left off. "He neither admitted to being the mastermind— boastfulness was something Aldriss was known for, too, I think—nor claimed he had spun the web. But he did mention warning others."
"Others? Did he now . . ." the druid said reflectively. "Wish I'd have overheard that bit better. No help for it now; the blighter has gone beyond even your questioning, Magister Inhetep. If you ask me, though, I'd say that with his death we've heard the last of the Master of Jackals!"
The tall Egyptian gazed at the ash-strewn place where the energy of the magickal wheel of force had devoured Aldriss. "You are likely to be correct about that, druid, although I think I will try to learn what I can anyway."
"By all means, Magister, by all means. While you and your assistant are checking on that, I believe I should settle things here," Tallesian said, walking back toward the hall. "Bound to be a frightful commotion after all this row. Important folk to reassure, guests to placate, rumors to squelch, and all manner of things to set straight."
"Such as Magister Inhetep's guiltlessness?" Rachelle called after the druid.
"That, too," he called back, and then he was off to find the staff and guests who had taken refuge when the battle began.
"You think that Aldriss was actually the Master Jackal?" Rachelle asked when Tallesian was gone.
"Hmmm . . ." the wizard-priest responded vaguely, without turning to look at her. He was stooped over the place where Aldriss had stood, palms outward, fingers spread as if to catch vibrations. His green eyes were fixed in an odd stare. "As I suspected."
"Suspected? You suspected Aldriss of being the Master of Jackals?!"
Inhetep turned then and looked at the lovely face framed in its disheveled mop of dark curls. "I can't recall you ever looking more beautiful, Rachelle," he said with a smile. "I trust you weren't despairing of rescue."
"Oh, Setne, I'm sorry!" She stepped up and hugged the smiling Egyptian with sufficient force to drive the wind from him. "There!
That's to let you know how grateful I am. And no, silly old shave-pate priest, I never once thought you'd fail me."
"I never did, of course."
"I didn't accuse you of failing, let alone—"
"Never thought Aldriss was the leader of the pack of jackals, I mean," Inhetep interrupted. "Too bad he was so totally destroyed, obliterated by some raging flux of entitative origin so as to make it impossible to gain anything here."
"That sounds very like the circumstances of the murders we were trying to solve, Setne."
"Yes, Rachelle, my dear amazon warrior, yes it does." He was about to say more, but just then a number of servants began to straggle back into the salon, the more important ones immediately beginning to fuss and direct the lesser staff in the clearing, cleaning, and tidying. "Never mind now. Let's go and find the druid and see what he has in mind."
Rachelle shook her head. "You do as you wish, great wonder of the ages," she said acidly. "Perhaps you haven't noticed it, but I'm barely clothed, and it's chilly in this draughty old pile. And I'm tired and hungry, too!" Rachelle turned and began walking away. "I'm going to find some suitable attire, and then I'm going to sit in the most comfortable chair I can find and eat as much food as those lazy servitors have left lying about and will bring to me."
Setne had to laugh. He hadn't noticed that she was clad only in very skimpy undergarments. Partially because of the pressure of the situation just past, partially due to having seen her often in the nude, Inhetep had been guilty of a gross error. Worse still, he hadn't inquired if she were in need of food and rest, assuming her to be the iron amazonian guard, forever ready for anything. "Again, my dear Rachelle, I find you all too correct. I believe you're now safe enough here, even half-dressed, as long as you flourish that sword a little should any varlets come too close." He chuckled again. Rachelle made a face at him, a familiar and reassuring act to Setne, and stalked off. Setne thought one of the female guests at the villa would soon have yet more to complain of regarding her visit to Aldriss's retreat when she discovered her clothing missing. He was about to go in search of the archdruid when Tallesian came back into the salon.
"There you are, Inhetep. Manage to learn anything?"
"Did you see Lady Rachelle?" Inhetep asked offhandedly.
"Well, yes, of course. She passed me in the main hall just a minute or so ago. Heading for the staircase and muttering something about a gown, I believe."
"Fine. After what's happened, I don't want her getting into trouble again," the wizard-priest said, as if explaining.
Tallesian's face drew into a long expression.
"Understandable, Magister. I queried you about another matter, though."
"Did you?"
"The bard . . ."
Inhetep had a bland easiness in his voice as he responded. "Ah, that's what you meant when you asked if I'd found out anything. Not much, I fear, good druid. So little, in fact, that all I can do is make a note of it and hope that something discovered later will fit—this whole business is very much like those interlocking-piece puzzles the purveyors of amusements are touting these days!"
"Yet you did get a clue?"
"I said so, yes. No sense in talking about that now. What's your own view of things, Lord Tallesian?"
The druid shook his head. "Like you, Magister Inhetep, I have too little knowledge at this point in time to hazard a guess—save to reaffirm my conviction that you two are absolutely blameless, and that Aldriss was up to his neck in treasonous killings and extortions."
"So what is our next step?"
"That is quite easy. A barge will be calling for us here in a few hours. It will carry us downstream to Camelough for our evening appointment with the Behon and his Royal Highness. I think that in the meantime I'll retire to my bedchamber and get a little rest."
"There is a capital idea!" Inhetep said with a yawn. "Now that you mention it, I must admit I'm near exhaustion from the night's work. Would you be so kind as to find some officer of the house to prepare a bed for me and another for my assistant?"
Tallesian agreed readily. "Of course, sir. Perhaps we should actually delay the return to Camelough a bit under these conditions, eh?"
"As you wish, Lord Tallesian. After all, you are the royal official and we are but guests."
"Guests? Well, now, seeing that the chief culprit in the matter has been found and destroyed, perhaps honored guests might be better used to describe your position," the druid said jovially. "If you will excuse me now, I shall see about locating the proper servants for you and Lady Rachelle."
After some four hours of sleep—certainly not sufficient but enough to take the dull weight of exhaustion from his shoulders—a soft-footed valet awakened Inhetep. "His Venerable Lordship the Archdruid has asked for your presence below," the nondescript fellow murmured. He drew back the heavy draperies to allow morning sunlight into the bedroom on the second floor of the castellated mansion. "The Lady Rachelle?" Setne inquired sleepily. The servant told him that a maid-in-waiting was preparing her bath at the moment, so Inhetep lay back and luxuriated on the down mattress for a bit longer. The valet fussed about, drew a vast cauldron-like tub of steaming water, then departed, adding, "A meal will be served in a few minutes, m'lord."
After some stretching and grumbling, Setne arose and stalked stark naked to the alcove which contained the lavatory, glad that the Westerners had recently adopted indoor plumbing—at least the aristocratic ones. After shaving head and beard, Inhetep tested the water in the huge tub and found it had sufficiently cooled. He like neither hot nor cold baths. This was the temperature of his own pool in Egypt on a warm day, a bit below body temperature. A quick immersion, lathering and shaving the rest of his body, and he was ready for the day. Wrapped in an enormous towel, Inhetep found his clothing and emptied its many little pockets and hidden places. Then he used a cantrip to clean and freshen the cloth. "Magick has its uses," he murmured with a smile as he observed the effect. Even laundresses and valets using similar little dweomers tended to ruin fine apparel with soap, water, scrubbing, and pressing; and recently developed fluids for cleaning were possibly worse when it came to dyes and metallic embroidery so necessary for special apparel. Inhetep seldom trusted his own apprentices with the care of his better garments, and this particular costume was one of his finest.
"Are you still preening, peacock?" Rachelle's voice gave Setne a start. The girl laughed.
"Humph. Very humorous, I'm sure," the man grumbled. "Have you no manners? A lady must knock before entering a gentleman's chamber." He continued to admire his handiwork even as he scolded her. "In fact, I believe that here a lady shouldn't even enter a—"
"You look like a stork caught in someone's laundry." Rachelle exclaimed. "Storks shouldn't preen. Hurry along, slow one. And as you well know, I am no lady but your guard, so I needn't knock at all. As to being a gentleman, I believe it wisest to refrain from further discussion of that topic____"
"Bah! You impugn my noble birth? Well, never mind such foolishness," he said quickly when he saw the glitter in her eye. "You seem most invigorated by your short sleep, Rachelle. Youth is a most wonderful benison in such regard." Then, without so much as another glance in her direction, Setne stalked to where he had dropped his underclothing, uttered another minor casting to restore it to pristine condition, and proceeded to dress himself. "Have you managed to learn anything from the staff?"
Rachelle shook her head. "No. The lot of them are very close-mouthed this morning. Someone has certainly instructed them to keep silent."
"Perhaps they were instructed," Setne commented, "or perhaps they are merely subdued after the events of last night. After all, their master has not only been slain but also held as the chief culprit in matters of treason, murder, and extortion. While they haven't the real details, you can stake your life on the fact that the staff and servants have a better handle on matters than seems possible. Certainly the officers of Aldriss' household are well schooled in being silent, but the help are gossiping among themselves now as quickly as their tongues can manage."
The warrior girl paused. "But I thought you were suspicious as to . . . well, you know!"
"That was wise," Inhetep said as Rachelle bit off her words and instead used vague generalities. Whether through spy-hole or via magick, whatever the two of them said here might be overheard, and not until the time was ripe should what they actually knew be revealed. "I think my uneasiness about this case has been unfounded. It was seemingly a little too easy and pat, the business with the bard," Setne told her with a slight droop of an eyelid. "But everything points directly to Aldriss, and if the investigation actually uncovers his co-conspirators and their network of petty clerics and thugs, then I'd say that the problem of the Master of Jackals has been laid to rest."
"Oh," Rachelle said softly. "I stand corrected, lord. I will no longer seek other suspects."
The ur-kheri-heb shook his bald-shaven head. "Don't be so quick, dear cohort! I said if all of the rest of this treasonous lot are found and brought to justice. If there is the slightest hint of any cover-up, then we'll be certain that the mastermind behind the murder and plotting still lives!"
"Speaking of living," the girl said earnestly, "I shan't be able to much longer unless we have something to eat. I'm absolutely starved after my imprisonment here—the devil of a bard seemed disinclined to feed me!"
With that the two went down to a smallish room which was a little distant from the kitchens, guided there by the nervous-looking major domo. "The Venerable Archdruid awaits your pleasure in the Oak Dining Salon," he murmured as he directed them to the place. Tallesian was there. Having finished his own repast some time before, the druid sat and sipped a dark brew from a cup, awaiting the Egyptian and his companion.
"Will you have food?"
"But of course," the magister responded, helping himself to a small, golden-crusted loaf and a pot of butter nearby. "Some of that coffee you drink, too, good druid, for I miss sorely that amenity here in the West."
"It is rare in Avillonia," Tallesian admitted. "If the Phonecians were less greedy in their profit-taking, perhaps the stuff would be more popular."
Inhetep and the druid began discussing trade and the costs of imports as Rachelle set to with the serious intent of eating everything available.
One day, perhaps, her appetite might catch up with her, but not as long as her physical activity and metabolism remained high. She ate twice what the wizard-priest consumed even when Setne was hungry, but Rachelle's form showed not a trace of excess weight. She ignored Inhet-ep's glare as she ate another plate of crisp bacon and scrambled ducks' eggs seasoned with bits of fresh herbs and a sprinkling of some local cheese. Finished at last, she sat back and smiled at her mentor. "That was a very nice little breakfast," she said sweetly.
"More a noon feast," Inhetep countered with a sarcastic tone. "Is the boat ready, Lord Tallesian?"
"The barge? But of course, and now we should be on our way. Lord Inhetep, Lady Rachelle, shall we depart?"
"Magister will suffice, sir," Setne said as he rose and headed for the door.
— 13 —
The journey back down the Newid took but a short time. There must have been a considerable rain upriver, for today the current was brown and strong. It carried them swiftly to Lake Lhi-annan, and to Camelough on the western shore of the lake. The barge docked at a rather out of the way location, not at the royal piers near the citadel's massive Lakegate entrance, and a closed coach waited at the steps leading up from the landing place. A swarm of armed footmen saw all three into the carriage. Although they wore no insignia, it was easy to see that they were soldiers—the royal guardsmen, undoubtedly. Setne observed that they were escorted most cleverly. A half-dozen horsemen who might be nothing more remarkable than out-of-work mercenaries going for a ride about the city went well ahead of the coach, while only a handful of horsed attendants accompanied the conveyance, two before, two to the rear. The Egyptian looked at Tallesian. "How many agents are stationed along our route?" he asked so softly that none save the three passengers could hear.
The druid raised an eyebrow and made a wry face. "No keeping anything from you, Magister Inhetep. It's a bit more than a mile to the citadel from here, and we have placed a hundred of our best men along the route—just to be certain, you know. It is most likely that Aldriss was the one commanding the pack of jackals, but . .."
"Most judicious, my lord," Inhetep said. "Far better to be a trifle overprotective than to find oneself again out-foxed."
Five minutes later they rumbled under a stone arch and along a deep passage through the wall surrounding the palace complex. They entered a small and absolutely private courtyard reserved for the royal household and those special visitors who were not to be seen coming to the citadel. Steps were rapidly set in place beside the carriage, footmen opened the doors, and the three descended. A silent officer of the guard bowed to the druid, then to the two foreigners. Tallesian recognized the fellow with a curt nod in return, then said to Inhetep and Rachelle, "Please follow Captain McFlood. I must go to make my report personally, but I'll rejoin you two in a very short time."
Rachelle was clad in finery filched from the villa. Although she looked the part of a beautiful woman consort of an aristocrat, Setne knew that somewhere beneath her velvet and lace the amazon was armed with all manner of weapons. Rachelle was most distrustful of the Lyonnesse after their accusations against him. That was excellent, for the girl would be extra alert in all respects, and that was most needed now. "Here," the soldier informed them as they stepped into a secluded lounge. "Please allow me to get whatever you need for comfort."
"This is quite sufficient, Captain McFlood," Inhetep told the guardsman. "If we require anything during the course of our wait, I shall summon a servant."
"The bell pull is here, Magister Inhetep," the soldier said. Then he left the two alone, departing with a stiff, half bow.
"Stuffy martinet," Rachelle snapped. The guard officer hadn't so much as glanced at her. That was most unusual, for Rachelle was used to being stared at by soldiers, especially when she was dressed as she was.
"He was impressed, never fear," Setne said drily. "He was radiating it profusely, along with worry about his position if he so much as made a single mistake. Orders from above command especial attention and utmost respect for both of us.
"So they are trying to make amends now," Rachelle said with satisfaction. "After the shameful way they treated you, Setne, that is the very least these barbaric Westerners can do!"
Further discourse on that subject was cut short by the arrival of the Behon and Crown Prince Llewyn.
"Again, as when we first met, Magister, Lady, please do not stand on formalities. This time, however, you may use my proper form of name and title when addressing me—Crown Prince Llewyn or Royal Highness," he said seriously. "In any event, our Chief Druid will join us in a moment, and then we can put this whole nasty business to rest once and for all."
Of course both Rachelle and Setne had risen when the heir apparent to the throne of Lyon-nesse entered, and when he had finished speaking both sat quietly. "Thank you, Royal Highness," the girl said carefully. Inhetep cleared his throat and shifted a little, then spoke.
"It is evident from our reception, Crown prince Llewyn, that you have removed official suspicion from the two of us." His gesture brought Rachelle into the statement to make the point clear. "Likewise, I assume that you agree with Lord Tallesian's assessment of the situation. Blame is squarely placed upon the dead bard, Lord Aldriss."
"He was a shame to the grand title of Great Bard!" The Behon had come into the room silently as Inhetep spoke. "Of course His Royal Highness now fully comprehends the situation, for Tallesian made the facts absolutely plain to us."
If the man's serving as a mouthpiece for him bothered Prince Llewyn, he didn't so indicate; in fact, he displayed not the least annoyance. Instead, he nodded affirmatively as the ovate spoke. Then he nodded to the Egyptian. "You have put it succinctly, Magister Inhetep. Some few loose ends need to be tied fast, and then we will reward you and see that you are safely away to whatever place you deem a desirable port of call."
"I say, Inhetep," the Behon said, beaming. "What a wonderful life you lead. What with the beautiful Lady Rachelle to serve as companion and exotic places to visit, I'll wager you'll be glad indeed to bid farewell to this little island of ours." He punctuated the statement with a sigh. "Would that I were able to be so free of care and duty of statecraft!"
"Here, now, Lord Justiciar! Lyonnesse needs your counsel and dweomercraeft at all times," admonished the prince. "Be not sighing for such adventures as our two worthy crime-solvers are wont to pursue."
Before the wizard-priest could respond to any of that interplay, Lord Tallesian entered the salon. "My Royal Prince, Lord Behon, Lady Rachelle, Magister Inhetep, I have excellent news!"
"So soon?" Setne murmured. Nobody seemed to notice.
"Tell us," Prince Llewyn commanded loudly.
"It is as you thought, Crown Prince. Although the stripling bards who served Aldriss have eluded the agents sent after them, a whole nest of vipers has been found and captured!"
"Now that's splendid news indeed!" the Behon enthused.
"What do you mean?" Rachelle asked. "Your words fail to convey anything of substance."
The man flushed a little but managed to flash a wan smile in her general direction. "At the urging of our wise and perspicacious crown prince," the archdruid said, "the police authorities went out and began rounding up suspects and cult members as soon as my communication reached here—early this morning. Already some three-score villains have been clapped into irons, and there are a dozen or more babbling their confessions even as we speak!" He looked at Prince Llewyn, then at the Behon, and finally glanced from Inhetep to the amazon warrior. "Now do I make myself clear, lady?"
"A little more, sir," Rachelle replied with serious tone. "Yet I still have many questions. May I have leave to ask them?"
"Certainly!" the crown prince snapped. "His Venerability Lord Tallesian will be honored to answer with full details," he said, staring meaningfully at the druid.
"Your Ladyship . . . ?" Tallesian ventured.
"Have you ascertained who the so-called Master of Jackals was?"
"Not with absolute certainty we haven't—not yet. We do have some conviction as to it being the bard, however, and this is surely going to come out as questioning of other conspirators continues. It is worth noting that we have received neither retribution nor threat of assassination since Aldriss' death."
"You think the Master Jackal would strike in retribution for the loss of one of his—or her— lieutenants?" Setne queried.
"But of course. That's quite in the nature of an assassin such as this fellow is—was, I should say. Think of all he did previously—failure to pay extortion was sufficient cause for foulest murder!"
Rachelle again took over questioning the druid. "What manner of men have the police managed to find? And just how are they connected to the false cult of Set, Anubis, and to the Master Jackal?"
"I have a list of some of the miscreants," the Behon volunteered. "If I have permission, Royal Highness . . ." The prince nodded quickly, and the mage ran down the list of notes on a little scroll of paper: "A defrocked druid, these next five are simple felons of one sort or another, here's a thief of some considerable infamy, here's a dissident spellbinder I met once as an apprentice to the Fellows—don't recall which magus he was serving, and now there are noted two Albish priests and a man we think a spy for that government too . . . interesting . . ." He looked up for a moment as if reflecting, then recalled where he was. "I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I'll continue. The common run-of-the-mill criminals I've passed over, but even so there are another score of names to check here."
Setne inclined his head and spoke. "That is impressive work in so few hours, Lord Justiciar. Was this roundup planned beforehand?"
"Somewhat," the prince interjected. "I saw to it that the cult was infiltrated by our own agents, naturally, as soon as the first threat to the Crown was manifested."
"Thank you, Prince Llewyn," Inhetep murmured, and before the royal scion could correct Setne as to how to address him, the Egyptian urged the Behon on. "Who else on that list is notable?"
"There are a few more dweomercraefters and other strong practitioners, and an assassin as well, but most notable, dear Magister, are three members of this very household—that is, men in royal service."
"Their positions?" the wizard-priest snapped.
"Pander, the second valet, and the chief clerk of the royal steward—all sufficiently high in position and trust so as to be able to wreak mischief had we not managed to connect them to the plot!"
Setne seemed impressed, but he also made it apparent he had a reservation. "Such a wide and complicated web. I am rather surprised that there are none of your nobles involved. . . ."
That made Prince Llewyn sit bolt upright. "Why do you say that?!"
"A simple matter of deduction, Highness," the green-eyed priest of Thoth supplied mildly. He sat back, relaxed, even as the royal scion of Lyonnesse remained tense. "You see, the Master of Jackals was after more than a few million in gold, great as such gain might be to most of us here. The demands for replacing the established pantheon of Avillonia with the pseudo-Egyptian ones, and giving over your mighty Wheel of the Tuatha de Danann, point to no less than an attempt of rebellion."
"Rebellion?" The prince seemed shocked.
"Just so. Think you it unlikely that the folk of this kingdom would stand still for the imposition of foreign gods and a rabble of outlaws in government? Impossible! Murder if you don't comply and civil war at the hint of acceptance. And, my dear Crown Prince, whomever led the law-abiding folk of Lyonnesse against those who supported the Master of Jackals, or even bowed to that one's demands, would be a hero and more. I suggested some involvement of aristocratics and nobility, for what better opportunity to gain the throne of this land than with that?"
"Damn, Inhetep!" blurted Tallesian. "You might have something there!"
"Yes," the Behon said in a serious tone, "I believe he does. Have I your leave to—" He was looking at the crown prince as he spoke, and he left his sentence unfinished.
The prince had a somber expression as he nodded. "I understand, Lord Justiciar. You have my leave to depart. Tell the inquisitors that I would have knowledge of any noble name even hinted at by their prisoners. Tell them that I am most anxious for speedy news. Then return."
The man bowed and took leave immediately. While the Behon was absent, the remaining four sat and said little. After a few minutes thus, the prince signaled to Tallesian, and the druid stood up and hurried to Llewyn's chair at the table's head. "My liege?" The crown prince whispered something, then added in normal voice, "And have servants bring us a course of refreshment, too." Tallesian hurried off to do whatever the prince had ordered. Rachelle looked inquiringly at Setne, but he seemed distracted and did not respond in any fashion.
"Your Royal Highness."
"What is it, Magister?"
"Have you considered the possibility, however slight it might be, I will hasten to add, that one or both of the men now absent from us might be involved in the plotting and murder?"
Llewyn opened his mouth quickly as if to speak, then shut it with an audible click of teeth, and his ruddy complexion seemed slightly more flushed for a moment. He stared hard at the Egyptian for several seconds, then dropped his gaze from the unwavering eyes of the shaven-headed priest. "Very well, I shall tell you, but it must never pass beyond the walls of this chamber. Do you both agree to that? Swear on honor and life?"
Both Rachelle and the ur-kheri-heb nodded, and the nobleman seemed satisfied by that small affirmation. "I am destined to sit on the throne one day, and as the future king of Lyonnesse, I am trained to trust no one entirely and to investigate any and every small suspicion. When the blackmail first began, I had my own secret agents delve into the activities of all three—the Behon, Tallesian the Archdruid of our Realm, and, yes, the Gwyddorr as well."
He paused and thumped a fist on the rosewood table to emphasize what he said. "The two former vassals were found absolutely upright and above reproach in all respects, but there was some slight question as to Aldriss—mainly a matter of his morals. I ignored the report. That is a hard lesson, Magister Inhetep. It is one I shall never forget!"
"By the Black Bull of Apis," the wizard-priest murmured as he shook his head in sympathy. "I don't envy your position now, Prince Llewyn, but the cares of crowned heads are ever thus, I suppose."
A very odd expression crossed the royal prince's face as he digested what Setne said. There seemed to be an irony in the Egyptian's words, and a tone of voice which wasn't quite right. There was a sharp rap at the door. Prince Llewyn bade the one without to enter, and a line of servitors filed in with all manner of food and drink. These were placed on the table at the prince's order, and then the servers departed. "Help yourselves to whatever you like," Llewyn said, but he still eyed Inhetep oddly as he toyed idly with a plate of fruits and sweetmeats which had been set before him. As if on cue, both the Justiciar and Lord Tallesian returned before the three had had more than a mouthful to eat or drink. "Well?" demanded the prince, pushing aside the refreshments before him.
"I have a list of several nobles, Royal Highness," the Behon said, as if he were reciting some lesson in a classroom. "Two are mentioned here who are thegns." At this juncture the man swallowed and gave dramatic pause. "These nobles pretended to be friends and counsellors of your own Royal Father."
Prince Llewyn waved to silence the shocked gasps from Tallesian. "How many?" he demanded of the chief judge. "You have men ready, Archdruid?" he asked.
"Aye, Prince Llewyn, I do," the druid murmured.
"In addition to the two thegns, Highness," the Behon said as soon as his compatriot had ceased speaking, "there are a baron, two lairds, and an assortment of bannerets, vavasors, and landed knights."
"I'll stake my reputation on the fact they possess unusual riches and seemingly have utmost loyalty to the Crown," Inhetep said loudly, looking with fixed stare at the reader. That made the Behon uneasy.
"How did you know that?"
"Treachery is most often apparent and predictable," the ur-kheri-heb announced to the room, giving especial attention to the Kellts. "Treason even more so, it would appear," he added. Then looking only at the prince, Setne asked, "And you, Crown Prince, I think you have anticipated something of this nature too, haven't you? Lord Tallesian, your trusted cleric, has a force of agents now ready to hunt down these offenders, right?"
"Exactly, sagacious priest and magus. It seems you anticipate all I do here. Your Pharaoh is not well-served by your wanderings, Magister. You should be in your native Egypt to assist and counsel your king!"
Inhetep smiled. "Thank you, but I wouldn't miss this sort of adventure for the vice-royalty of all imperial lands ever ruled by a Pharaoh," he responded. "So you have the whole affair wrapped up in a neat and tidy package after all. The dead Gwyddorr, Aldriss, was none other than the Master of Jackals, all of his minions are safely shut fast in dungeon cells, the treasonous nobles will be brought to justice—and the extortion money?"
"Unrecovered save for a drib and drab, but a cheap enough price, all in all," the royal prince commented.
"That's so, for those who are found guilty forfeit all—" Tallesian started to say, biting off his words when Prince Llewyn gave him a withering look of reprimand.
"Nothing left to do, then, but report the whole nasty affair to His Majesty, King Glydel," Setne said with finality.
"What? What did you say?!" The royal prince of Lyonnesse, first son of the king, was near purple with anger. "If you so much as breathe a word of any of this I'll have your headl"
"I see," Inhetep responded calmly, laying his hand on Rachelle's, for the girl was about to draw a weapon from her garments. No one could safely threaten Inhetep's life in her presence.
"My Royal Prince simply means that this sort of thing must be kept from our monarch. The king is no longer young, and Prince Llewyn fears for his health. If he found out this dark treachery, why it would break the good king's heart." The Behon was conciliatory.
"The Crown Prince will see to the scourging of the traitors," Tallesian added stoutly. "I am his instrument in that regard."
"You and the Behon there, and Prince Llewyn are instruments of perdition," Magister Setne Inhetep said harshly. "The king must be told, for his heir and trusted advisors are the ones who plot treason and murder—have committed those crimes, too. I am here to tell you that I know the whole truth, my lords, and to tell you that you will be brought to justice!"
"I had planned for this contingency, too," Llewyn snarled. Inhetep's chair suddenly dropped through the floor. Rachelle's fell with it. "You, Egyptian dog, will now serve to be the greatest of the offenders, the Master of Jackals himself. Too bad that neither the magick of the Behon or prayers of our Archdruid will ever be able to discover your true motives." The two men laughed as their prince closed the yawning trapdoors. They had assisted in the preparations, so both knew neither magick nor physical prowess would enable the two victims to escape the certain death awaiting them below.
—— 14 —
"So much, Myffed, for the dupe you planned for."
The Behon bowed at his prince's scornful words. "Even the greatest magicks can not always accurately predict human irrationalities, my Royal Lord," he said humbly. "Yet now we have what we desired anyway."
Crown Prince Llewyn sneered at the gray-locked ovate. "Only because I had the foresight to prepare for this contingency, Behon. Let us hope for the sake of my coming rule, and your continued position, that your judgments will be better in the future."
The chief cleric of Lyonnesse was uneasy at the exchange, especially since he had supported and assisted in the development of Behon Myffed's plan to use the now-dead Egyptian as their tool in the affair. "Wise Prince," he said in his most unctuous tone, "I congratulate you, as does the Behon, in having determined beforehand the likely reactions of Magister Inhetep. I know I speak for Lord Myffed, as well as myself, when I state that is the reason why the two of us are your willing and obedient vassals. Under your guidance, Lyonnesse will assume her rightful place in Avillonia's affairs and all of Eropa's, too."
"Don't flatter me," Prince Llewyn said, but there was no force in the command, and he smiled. Flattery or not, he thought to himself, what the druid said was no more than truth. Did that then obviate the intent and change the matter? He decided to forget about it as quite unimportant. "What about your men, Tallesian. Is all in readiness?"
"All of the nobles you would strike down, Royal Highness, are enprise," the druid assured him. "Forged documents and false evidence have been planted so as to be discovered when the time comes, and the agents who are there to make the 'discoveries' are fools who are totally unaware of what has been so carefully staged."
Llewyn stared a long moment, looking at Lord Tallesian as if he were a strange insect under glass. "Good," he finally said, but his tone was such that the two men who served the heir to the kingdom knew that any mistake would be unforgiven and fatal. "And you, Behon?"
"The roundup of the leaders of the cult of Set and all the faithful we could lay our hands on is complete, my Lord Prince," the sage related with assurance. "In this regard, the interference of the meddling Egyptian served us well. Agents are now abroad with rumors of what occurred in Glaistig Pool—how Lord Aldriss was slain by some foreigner, and that the bard was probably leagued with the fellow somehow. A case of thieves and traitorous ursurpers falling out. . . ."
"Go on," the royal heir to the throne said irritably.
"At the moment you command it, Your Majesty, there will be a new tale for all to hear. The murderous priest and wizard, the shave-pate foreigner and none other, has struck again. Not satisfied with slaying the Gwyddorr of Lyonnesse, the filthy Egyptian jackal has assassinated Good King Glydel!"
A broad smile lit the fair face of the prince, causing its ruddy patches to glow apple-red with pleasure. "Fortunately, the Crown Prince was on hand to lay low the vile regicide," he said with conviction. "The killer and his whore died as swiftly as his valiant father did under their murderous hands!"
"A murderous plot unveiled for all the kingdom to see, Highness—Majesty!" Tallesian corrected hastily. "The foreign killer could never have managed his heinous crime save for the aid of the vilest of traitors among the nobles of the kingdom itself! They too will be brought to swift justice—before they can utter a word in public."
"Then those who would suspect this matter, who have the means to find the truth of it, will be dead," Prince Llewyn said, "and all of their lands and wealth will become property of the Crown."
The Behon nodded and put on his most solemn and judicious face. "It is my ruling that all titles, properties, and possessions of these villainous rebels now and forever be forfeit to the Crown," he intoned. "The commoners will hear only vague rumors of the affair, just sufficient to prime them for what is to come. The gentry and nobility will be furnished with ample proof of the perfidity of the executed and those outside our realm."
"I will assuredly retain all of the estates as royal demesnes," he told the two men, "but when I rule as emperor, you will have whole counties to call your own!"
"Serving you is ample reward," the Behon said with a certain haste, as he looked at Lord Tallesian with a warning message carried in his glance. The prince had last told them that the lands and titles of the two thegns singled out for death—the two great nobles most loyal to King Glydel, of course, his closest friends and wisest advisors—would be granted to them, with Aldriss gaining the properties and wealth of a great baron and another lesser peer. Last promised, that is, until this moment. Trust not princes, Myffed thought. Yet he had no other course now. He would have to be most cautious in handling it, but the druid would possibly serve as a useful henchman should the time ever come to . . . change one royal dynasty of Lyonnesse for another, one sprung from the power of heka, assuredly. "Lord Tallesian and I will be content with whatever is granted by you, Sire."
"Absolutely, absolutely!" The archdruid had caught the drift of things. "I am your man, Great Lord. To see you ruling this land is what my heart longs for."
"Well, we had better get on with things then," the prince said with firmness. "Are you two certain that all is in motion?"
"All know that it was your men who began the arrests of the offending cultists, my prince," the Behon responded. "Agitators now circulate among the lower class in all districts of the city to whip the folk into a frenzy against all concerned with the foreign gods. The lowest will be ready to tear them to shreds when they get word of the death of their king at the hands of the leader of the false cult."
"The rest is also as you command," Tallesian responded in turn. "Gentry and nobles alike will turn to you as savior of the realm, Majesty."
Llewyn preened under the title but admonished, "Be not so free with that title—yet! Soon enough I will bear it rightfully, but until the time comes, none must hear you speak to me thus, priest. You remember that as well, justiciar," he added, turning to the Behon. "Now go and fetch Sir Murdough, for he is captain of the guard this day, and he needs to be alerted."
The Ovate went off as if he were a page. In truth, Myffed trusted none other than himself in the matter. The knight was not far distant in the citadel, and the Behon soon located him sitting at ease in the office reserved for the commander of the King's Guards. Sir Murdough jumped to attention as soon as the justiciar entered the room. "Is it ... ?" The Behon nodded. "Have your lieutenant assume command now, and come with me." The knight went to a side door and opened it. He spoke a few words with the soldier who was in the room there, then closed the door and bowed stiffly to the high justice of Lyonnesse. "Lieutenant Kerrier will be ready when it is time, lord. He will see that all unreliable men are out of the way, one way or another, so that only the loyal will be on duty."
"How long before he's done that?"
"I helped him with the plan, Lord Behon. At worst it will take but half an hour, at best no more than one-quarter of that time by the clock."
"Come on, then, Sir Murdough. His Royal Highness will have a few words with you personally."
"You are not aware of what is going to occur," the prince said flatly to the guardsman when Sir Murdough stood rigidly before him.
"No, Your Royal Highness. I know only that you will soon be king."
"That is because my father is unfit to rule,"
Llewyn said with a snarl. "He treats our neighbors as if they were equals, demands no concessions or tribute, and has made the great kingdom of Lyonnesse but a mewling kitten instead of the roaring master of the Five Crowns. Know you which is the eldest and greatest of the five kingdoms of Avillonia?"
"None but Lyonnesse, Royal Prince," the captain responded. "That is not but truth."
"You are correct, and when I wear the crown, the other four kinglets will bow to us once again. My doddering sire takes council with fools, but one of those men, the Egyptian called Magister Setne Inhetep, will soon turn on King Glydel and strike him down. When that occurs, you will be there—understood?"
"Yes, Royal Highness."
"Godsdamn you, man, if you fail in any of this! Listen carefully. The Egyptian will flee the council chamber, escape unscathed, but he will take a wrong turn in his flight." Prince Llewyn paused and looked at the knight.
"I will be in hot pursuit with a half-dozen of my best men, Crown Prince," he said.
The heir to the throne smiled thinly. "That is correct. The foreign assassin will find himself trapped in a cul-de-sac, the Royal Library—you know the chamber?"
"Well enough, although I am not given to book-ishness, my Lord Prince."
"Never mind, fellow," Lord Tallesian told the knight. "You must answer with a simple yes or no only, else we'll be at this all day!"
"Keep your own speeches brief, druid," the Behon said, for he had seen the expression on Prince Llewyn's face as Tallesian spoke.
"Enough! I am speaking," Llewyn snapped. "Sir Murdough, when you and your men enter the library of the king, you will find the bald-headed killer standing confused and uncertain. You will take that opportunity to cut him down, and you and your men will hack him to pieces! Is that clear?"
"Yes, Royal Highness."
"Not one or two thrusts, but pieces!' The guard officer nodded, not daring to speak to the prince, who was bright red with inner fury. Llewyn took a deep, gasping breath, calmed himself, and went on. "Then you will rush back to the chamber where the king lies dead. You will shout that the murderer has been found and executed. While our Archdruid, Lord Tallesian, attends to the corpse of the slain king, doing his best to restore the poor monarch to vitality, Lord Myffed will accompany you back to where the body of the Egyptian dog who assassinated my father lies in pieces. I too will be with you on that return. We will bring the head of the offender back with us, and that will be the end of the matter."
Sir Murdough nodded again. "The king . . . ?"
"Beyond any help, even the best of my mag-ickal restoratives, of course," the chief cleric supplied. "But with the Behon's assistance, we will discover the reason for the slaying of King Glydel. You see, Inhetep was actually the Master of Jackals, and when the king accused him of that, the Egyptian coward panicked and struck him down. By that act he hoped to escape justice, but thanks to you, Marshal Murdough, that part of his vile plan failed."
Prince Llewyn smiled at the heavy-browed knight. "That is so, for the marshal you will be after this day's work. In fact, serve me well, and I will also award you the honor of a baronacy. Many noble peers of Our Realm will surely question you closely about all that occurred, and you must not betray the slightest portion of the truth of the matter. The office of chief soldier of the realm I will confer immediately upon you, a commission for your valiant slaying of the assassin. Thereafter, as you do your duty aright will come the elevation to the peerage as mine own baron, Murdough."
"I am ready now and will remain steadfast, Royal Prince," the man said, with that conviction a lust for position and power confers on those who live for such achievement.
"Back to your station, then, and attend the king when Lord Tallesian directs you to. Most of all, do not forget that the assassin, Magister Inhetep, is to receive no wound nor any real hindrance in his escape—until you bring him to bay in the library, and you must do your bloody work well then!"
The druid showed Sir Murdough out and saw that the knight went back as instructed; then the chief cleric of Lyonnesse returned to the place where prince and justiciar awaited. "All is now ready," he said with a hint of fear in his voice.
"Go on to your own part, then my stout Arch-druid," the prince said, feigning kindness and trust. "At the striking of the sixth hour, go to the king in his council chamber and whisper your message. He will dismiss the others, of course. Then you will depart to send the 'magister' to his audience with my father."
Tallesian bowed low, his face pale but set in determined lines. When he was gone, the Behon looked at Prince Llewyn. "He is a reed."
"I have put some iron into the core of the reed, but even that metal will soon enough corrode."
"What of the girl?" Myffed asked, not wishing to pursue the subject of Lord Tallesian further at the moment. The druid was too ambitious for his own good. Had he not tried to displace him in the prince's favor, then Myffed might have done his utmost to see that Llewyn remained satisfied with Tallesian's service. As it was, the Behon worked to undermine the chief cleric, and in a few months or a year, there would be a new first priest of the realm where Tallesian had formerly stood—one who owed everything to the justiciar.
"Her? The Shamish doxy is to be kept drugged. In a few days she is to be sent north."
Myffed shuddered. "To Lo—" He cut himself off, as if his involuntary reaction would permit no further words. Then he managed, "I see . . ." with a weak and horrified voice.
Llewyn actually laughed when he saw the ovate's reaction. "She's nothing, a cheap enough price to pay for the aid we've been given and will receive!" The royal prince was telling only a part truth. Rachelle was meaningless to him, of course. Pretty women by the thousands would soon be available to him—not that he lacked for mistresses and conquests as crown prince. The price of his ascension to the throne was as high as could be imagined, only Llewyn had told no one of what it was. The great relic of Lyonnesse, the Wheel of the Tuatha de Danann, which was the source of kingly power, would also go north with the captive amazon companion of the dead Egyptian when the time came—soon now, soon! There would be parity in Avillonia, though, and once he managed to gain suzerainty over the other kingdoms, he would use the combined might of the islands to regain the lost artifact— and more! In that the magus, Myffed, would be indispensable. After new power was available, perhaps lesser practitioners would suffice. Heka-benders were always a problem to the Crown, so necessary and yet so dangerous. That would sort itself out in due course. "Go now and prepare the Egyptian for his part. Place him in the secret passage from the library to the cellars, so that when I come from my work he will be ready to confront the guards. When you have finished that task, attend me here, for it will be nigh onto time then."
The Behon murmured assent and departed hastily. Bah! Tallesian and the justiciar both were growing faint-hearted as the hour neared. Not he! Llewyn was firm, knowing that it was the only course possible. Long had he yearned for the throne, but his father was but fifty and still vigorous. The dotard would probably live to a hundred years of age, just to spite Llewyn. How old was Myffed? Well beyond the century mark, certainly. Leave it to Glydel and the ovate to use some magickal energy to live forever! Then, too, it was no secret that his father liked Llewyn but little, preferring his younger brother, Uthar, and even the snot-nosed child, Rhys. That forced him to walk a tightrope to avoid being disinherited and replaced as heir to the crown of Lyonnesse. Much had Llewyn foregone and borne because of his father—and his two brothers. There would be a terrible accident soon after King Glydel was buried and King Llewyn reigned. "King . . . King Llewyn!" The Atheling prince said it aloud, savoring its sound. He touched the ring he wore on his left hand's little finger. It was the token of his pact. On impulse he took hold of it, ready to pull it free and cast it from him. "No, not yet . . ." Llewyn whispered.
An ancient waterclock on an ornate stand in the corner of the chamber dripped time away. The prince stared at it in fascination. Where was that doddering fool, Myffed? But a handful of minutes only had passed since the Behon had departed. Time seeped slowly, slowly. Llewyn willed the water to run as a mountain freshet, to pour out and thus speed the coming moment. The droplets seemed to hang suspended in space for eternity before completing their fall. He filled his heart with hatred and lust and envy and desire, the desire to own all, command all. Thus the crown prince stilled his own doubts and strengthened his resolve. He thought of the other kingdoms, too, of an imperial Lyonnesse.
On the surface it seemed a fair enough bargain. Lyonnesse to gain overlordship of Hyber-nia, the crown of Albion to be placed over that of Caledonia, and Cymru divided between the two greater kingdoms to be ruled as Camelough and Londun decreed. Fair on the surface, but the conniving monarch on the Albish throne would always seek an edge. His realm bordered on Cymru, and his army could easily invade the whole of that land. Then would the balance be gone, and King Dennis virtual ruler of all
Avillonia. Llewyn had pretended to be blind to that possibility, but ever since the conclusion of the pact, he had dwelled on the matter. Possibility had become certainty. Then he had realized how to forestall the matter and turn it to his advantage. The new-crowned monarch of Hybernia would be left co-equal to Llewyn, and the wild warrior bands of that island kingdom sent to ravage the lands of Caledonia. Lyonnesse would in the meantime have all of its forces to deploy in Cymru, so that kingdom would be totally his. When Albion and Hybernia were through fighting in the Caledonian lands, weak and exhausted, then would the Lion Banner move to take them. Albion first, then occupation of Caledonia in order to cause the Hybernian devastation to cease. Isolated, the green isle of Hybernia would then fall like a ripe and juicy pear. Five points and five jewels in the crown, his crown, and like none ever adorning any monarch of Lyonnesse before him.
What of the one who had been so useful in orchestrating this complex scheme? That made Llewyn pause a moment in his gloating thoughts of imperial splendor. The might of Avillonia was the answer. United, the greatest state of the West, much of the rest of Eropa would certainly hasten to make alliance with him—and the price of alliance would be high. Not too high, just enough to make his empire unassailable, and perhaps then would be the time to bring war to Skandia and beyond. Otherwise, assassins were worthy of consideration. How many hundreds could he send? Enough to do the job! Either way, the Behon would be useful, even Tallesian . . . perhaps.
"Prince Llewyn?"
He started, for he had not heard Myffed's entrance while in his reverie. Llewyn raised an eyebrow in inquiry. "Well?"
"I have done all you instructed, Highness, and it is now time for the final step."
"Get to it then, man! What are you waiting for?" The magus was beginning his ritual, a casting of change. Should Myffed choose, the prince would be at his mercy, much as any man might be beneath the razor of his personal valet. The Lord Behon was a good vassal, though, Prince Llewyn thought to reassure himself. The magick would be as he had commanded. Then he felt an odd tingling and pains in his body. "What have you done?" he demanded, half pleading, half angry.
"See for yourself, my Lord Prince," Myffed told him.
Prince Llewyn stared into the mirror which stood beside his chair. A hairless face, head bald, eyes green as spring leaves, confronted him there. He stood up in shock, and the perspective was wrong. He was looking down on the room from a place almost a foot higher than it should have been.
"Magister Setne Inhetep now stands ready to speak with King Glydel," the Behon said smoothly. "Here are your Egyptian garments."
= 15 —=
The two men went by hidden route to an out-of-the-way anteroom. Llewyn felt strange, dispossessed. He was sure it was due in part to the magickal alteration of his size and appearance, but he couldn't keep from wondering what part his own fear and anxiety played. He shook his head to clear it. "Are you feeling all right?" the Behon said with near-hysteria in his voice. "Of course I am!" the prince snarled in a strangely alien voice. "Get this charade moving," he muttered to the worried ovate.
The Behon went to an inner door and opened it wide. "This way, Magister Inhetep. His Majesty King Glydel will see you in his council chamber now," and with those words Myffed turned to a pair of guardsmen. "Escort Magister Inhetep to the king. Bring him back here when he is finished, then find me, for I am to personally take this man out of the citadel when his audience is completed." The senior of the two soldiers saluted, and both men fell into place awaiting their charge.
Llewyn stepped out into the broad corridor. He looked at the guards, but neither man seemed interested in him. To their eyes, Llewyn was nothing more than the bald foreigner. "Which way?" he asked one of the guards. His voice was that of the Egyptian, with a trace of accent, too.
"You just foller' us, Worthy Magister," the man said, and he and his comrade marched off, just to either hand and a little ahead of Crown Prince Llewyn in his masquerade as Inhetep. They went for some distance, for the room was removed from the central part of the palace building. But the tall doors of polished walnut, thick valves carved with the armorial bearings of the king of Lyonnesse, came into view almost too soon. "In 'ere's where you'll be agoin', Sir Magistrate. Them fellas'll announce you, an' there'll be 'is Royal Majesty." He was a trifle condescending, treating the supposed foreigner as he would a stupid child of noble rank.
Llewyn swallowed hard. He was now quite nervous indeed, but that was fine, too. Inhetep might be that way, and as far as his father was concerned, the Egyptian would be jittery. "Then announce me, lout!" The guards would be left with the worst possible impression of the wizard-priest. "Are all the soldiers of Lyonnesse garrulous old women? Or you an exception?" And he laughed softly as the man flushed and his face hardened. With absolute precision, the two guardsmen came to attention before the sentries on duty, stated their mission and charge, and stood rigid. One of the other pair cracked the door, and a subaltern's head appeared immediately. Hushed words were exchanged, and then the guards before the doors of the council room swung open the portal. The interior guard officer announced Llewyn thus:
"Magister Setne Inhetep of Egypt comes before His Stellar Majesty of Lyonnesse, Glydel, craving audience!"
Llewyn bowed as he had seen Inhetep do, standing just inside the chamber by the double doors, as the guard officer peered intently toward the throne-like chair occupied by the king. Llewyn-in-Magister Inhetep form stood thus for what seemed hours, but it was merely a matter of minutes. King Glydel had been discussing something with emissaries from other governments.
The prince couldn't be certain, for he had never seen the three men closeted with his father, but they were certainly from Avillonia, and one was unquestionably a Hybernian. The others might be Cymric of Caledonian origin—not Al-bish. Odd, Llewyn thought, but not of any consequence now. The king was speaking too softly for him to overhear from this distance, but it was evident that his father was dismissing the three, for the men arose, bowed, and after backing the mandatory three steps away from the monarch, turned and strode toward Llewyn-Inhetep.
They passed without so much as a sidelong glance at him. Excellent. The dweomer was perfect in its transformative effect, and Llewyn was now fully confident that he could face his father without fear of recognition. "Please approach His Majesty now," the officer whispered. The prince went forward in his best imitation of the Egyptian's long-legged stride. The sounds from behind indicated that the subaltern was again taking his attentive station just before the doors, too distant to overhear the words spoken at the table, near enough to spring into action. Not quite, Llewyn thought to himself with a broad inner smile of triumph. I can strike and be done easily before either fool can move! There was an arras to the right of the king's throne. Behind it were two doors. One led to the library, the other gave onto a hallway leading to the private apartments of the royal family. The prince knew this well, but the red-skinned assassin, a stranger from the land ruled by Pharaoh, could not, so it would be an even chance he would take the first door, the one leading to the library. Then he would be trapped in a cul-de-sac by that choice, and slain thereafter due to the error. Who would think of the secret passage? Certainly not the Egyptian, for the vile killer had turned at bay and died—would die soon now. First he must do his work. . . .
A voice like his conscience spoke in Llewyn's mind. "Do you really wish to slay your father?" The prince stilled the thought. Yes! he shouted back to himself as he neared the seated figure. "Can you slay your own sire? He has been generous, understanding, good to you. . . ." Llewyn-Inhetep paused and bowed to King Glydel, and as he did so his thoughts raced. I am ready to kill him, I am able. He felt the cold hardness of the hidden knife at his side, a sharp-edged blade laden with the most potent of venoms. And I will not falter in this, for he is not fit to rule, he has loved me not, and I hate him!
"Please be seated, Magister Inhetep," his father said in even tones. The king was turned slightly away from his visitor, so that Llewyn clearly saw his profile. Straight nose, heavy eyebrows bushed out to match the long moustache and jutting beard. The king was just completing his reading of some document or another, for even as he spoke Glydel folded the parchment rectangle in half and thrust it into his robe, placing it just over his heart.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," the false Setne Inhetep responded. Llewyn thought that the document would soon be cut through and washed clean by the blood of his father. A victim? To all others, yes. To the prince, only a stupid brute about to be slaughtered as an unwanted dog.
"I have heard of your presence here in my Kingdom, and there are rumors of some dark business involving my son, Atheling Prince Llewyn. You will tell me all that you know," his father said, turning to stare directly into his eyes.
Llewyn fought for control of himself. He felt sweat beading on his forehead, and his limbs were shaken by tremblings. How fortunate he was here now, ready to strike, for the king was onto the game! "I had come to speak of other matters," Llewyn-Inhetep said slowly, fighting still to regain composure. "I . . ."
"You will obey the command of a king, sir," his father said sternly. "This is a command."
"Of course, Royal Majesty," the false Inhetep said, inclining his head so as to shield his eyes from King Glydel's all-too-penetrating stare. Impersonation or not, the eyes could give the game away. The prince thought fast, mind racing. He would begin to relate the whole business, voice low, and as the dark truths came out his father would draw closer in order to clearly hear all of this terrible conspiracy, and so as to be sure none other did likewise, the king would order his foreign informant to speak even more softly. "How much detail do you desire? For there is much, and the whole awful business will be lengthy in recounting fully, your Stellar Majesty."
"I am prepared to spend as long as needed, Sir Egyptian, if what you say is accurate and meaningful," the king said as he straightened his spine.
That was no good at all. Llewyn thought quickly—and acted cleverly. "King Glydel, there is treason in your realm," he said boldly, voice ringing. "The Crown Prince is implicated!"
"What? What is that you say?!" His father straightened even more, eyes blazing. Then he seemed to realize that the guards could hear the exchange, for he slumped a little, leaning toward the false Inhetep. "You had better have incontrovertible evidence of such charges," he snarled softly.
Llewyn knew that treason and royal misbehavior shamed the whole kingdom, but especially its ruler. "I would not speak were it otherwise," he assured the hard-faced monarch. This would be enjoyable work, for his father would suffer with the knowledge of the whole business before Llewyn put him out of his misery with one fell stroke of the poisoned blade he had ready. "Your eldest son heads up a network of nobles, court officials, soldiers, and others less important. He has stolen from your treasury, subverted your men, and plots your death."
King Glydel paled. Then he fell back in his chair, staring with disbelief at the man he thought an Egyptian ur-kheri-heb, a wizard-priest of the ibis-headed god, Thoth. "Impossible ..." he muttered, shaking his graying head of dark gold hair. "Yet . . ." he murmured on, "yet Llewyn has always been . . . weak, weak and selfish, and full of hubris, too! You might speak true."
"Weak?" Llewyn felt rage surging through his veins once again. The old bastard dared to call him weak! Now his true feelings were surfacing, and the prince was filled with relish as he thought of the deed he was soon to perform. How joyful and fulfilling to plunge the steel into the hated breast! "He is not weak but strong!" Llewyn contradicted the king's words, not caring of consequences. A dead man's ire was nothing at all. "To devise and execute a successful murder demands strength far above the normal— heroic strength and resolve."
"Successful? I am still alive and ruling this kingdom," Glydel spat back.
"But for me here now speaking," Llewyn said with absolute veracity, "you would be dead. The royal prince is prepared to do the fell deed from selflessness, too, for he is determined to rule Lyonnesse and bring her to greater glory than ever known! Is that selfish? Nay! The sacrifice of personal pursuits, devotion of all energy to the glory of the kingdom bespeaks the greatest of spirits."
"Does it now, Egyptian? . . ."
"Yes. And who could say that pride in the accomplishment of such a scheme, the years of dreaming, the months of planning in fear of discovery and execution, and the final fulfillment of the whole betokens overweaning pride? Crown Prince Llewyn is filled with the grand and glorious sense of accomplishment, not hubris. It is the pride of nation, kingship, and what will be wrought by an imperial Lyonnesse."
"Then my son is a fool," King Glydel sneered. "He builds mist castles and dwells in the realm of the demented, for no such things as you speak of have or will come to pass."
"Were Crown Prince Llewyn here now before you, king, he would be prepared to say you were a fool and addlepated."
"But he is not!"
"Come near to me, so that I may tell you where the prince is even now," Llewyn whispered softly.
"Eh, what's that you say?" King Glydel asked, bending towards the impersonator.
Llewyn-Inhetep grasped the hilt of the envenomed knife inside his garment as he and his father leaned toward one another. "Your own son, your firstborn but least-loved, the one you have so often belittled, despised, and denigrated, Crown Prince Llewyn himself, is most near to you now," he hissed, staring into the king's blue-gray eyes. The blade came free, and he seized his father by the folds of his robe.
"Wha—" was all the man was able to get out before Llewyn drove the bright steel into his chest. The force of that blow sent the poison in the hilt jetting through the narrow tube in the weapon's spine and into the body of the Lyon-nessian monarch. There were strangled sounds from the king's throat as the venom coursed through his body, and Llewyn relished those noises. Then King Glydel's head wobbled and fell forward. The prince released his hold on the royal robe, and his father's head thumped loudly on the table. King Glydel was dead. Long live the king, King Llewyn!
This final interplay had taken only seconds. Llewyn hoped that his father had realized who had slain him thus before he died. "May your spirit wail in the deepest nether-realms!" he shouted, springing up and upsetting the chair in which he had been seated.
"GUARDS! MURDER! TO ... THE ... KII-ING!" The shouting of the subaltern of guards there in the chamber with Llewyn-Inhetep came as if from a slow, basso voice, so stunned were the prince's senses. The whole room seemed to whirl as he turned his head sharply to see the man calling for the armed soldiers just outside. "Plenty of time," flashed across his mind, but to be safe, Llewyn began edging towards the arras as he watched. The guardsman tugged upon the door nearest to him, so panicked that he forgot that it opened outwards. Just the thing to make the young fool seem as if he were assisting the assassin, for he was suddenly jerked off his feet and asprawl. Four of the men outside, two guards on each door, had yanked the heavy wood panel open. Sir Murdough was there as he should be. Llewyn began moving more rapidly now, even though his soon-to-be-slayers seemed to be responding in ultra-slow motion; the prince knew that it was only a few seconds' time since he had murdered his own father in cold blood. In truth, the guards were seeming to speed up as the rush of adrenaline began to trickle away from Llewyn's body. The captain actually trod upon the prone subaltern in his feigned eagerness to come to the king's aid. Seeing that, Llewyn turned away from the scene and made for the arras with all speed.
Cries and shouts full of alarm and hatred filled the chamber behind him as the prince disappeared behind the arras. He heard the thunking sound of quarrels impacting on the thick cloth. Murdough had been wise in having the arbalesters ready and then blocking their arm for the time needed by Prince Llewyn to get safely behind the hanging. He jerked open the door to the private library, slammed it, and shot home the heavy brass bolt. It would keep the guardsmen out just long enough. Dodging the long reading table in his path, Llewyn made for one long section of inset bookshelves. For the past month he had studied the room so frequently that he could have run through it in the pitch dark, though soft, golden witchlight now illuminated it perfectly. The shelves masked the secret passage to the private subterranean cavern belonging solely to the king. Of course, most of the royal family and its trusted counselors knew about it. No matter.
"Open, damn you!" Llewyn hissed, as he triggered the catch with one hand and shoved with the other. The heavy unit swung inwards soundlessly. He nearly leaped back at that moment, for there stood Inhetep! It was as if he were looking in a mirror, save that the Egyptian's face was blank, eyes staring vacantly into space. "Well met, Magister," the prince said with mock sincerity and warmth. "I jape," he added, "though my heart is truly glad at the sight of you, ungainly and copper-skinned as you—we are! You see, my dear fellow," Llewyn continued as he entered the little passageway at the top of the stone stairs leading down, "you are now to play the part of a prince—or is it playing the part of a prince playing the part of a wizard-priest? Now .. ."
There were heavy blows raining upon the locked door. Swords and glaives would soon have it a splintered ruin, and the guards would come pouring through seeking vengeance upon the one who had murdered their sovereign. "Now, Setne Inhetep, go out and play your role in this masque." The witticism made Llewyn laugh. It would be a brief dance, while he escaped to regain his own form. He had been masked by magick to perfectly resemble the bald foreigner, and soon no one would ever be able to unmask the ruse. Inhetep was a mere automaton, standing still until led, moving woodenly when so guided. Llewyn hastened the Egyptian along so that he faced the assailed door. The tip of a sword showed that it was about to be sundered. "Out you go," he grunted, shoving the obedient form just far enough into the library so that Llewyn could close the secret panel behind the drugged man. It closed with a reassuring click. The prince stood in darkness.
It was easy for Llewyn to get to the stairway nonetheless. Three long strides, then a cautious probing with his left foot. "Ah," he breathed aloud. Once he felt the hard stone edge of the flight, he went swiftly down the steps. Ten stairs, turn left, eight more, turn left again, and the last ten stone steps to the hidden rooms below the palace. He groped along the right-hand wall and found the little leather bag he had placed there. Inside was a crystal bearing a spell of witchlight: a soft, pink radiance further reduced by the cylinder containing the stone, so that only a small ray of the reddish illumination went forth. The light enabled Prince Llewyn to pass through the several rooms and halls he needed to traverse so as to get to another secret stairway, the one leading to his own suite.
"Behon!" he cried as soon as he had dashed up the long flight and passed through the door concealed in the side wall of a storage closet.
"I am here my king," the mage responded. "Hurry, for I must remove the dweomers which give you the Egyptian's form. They are crying alarm nearby even now!"
"Stop yammering and do it!"
Myffed began muttering hastily, making passes with his hands as he spoke, and then tapped the prince three times with his forefinger, once on the head, once again on the head, and then on the chest. "The dweomer is broken," he said.
"I feel no different," Llewyn said, but then he was struck by a wave of dizzying energy, and blackness closed his vision. It passed swiftly, perhaps four or five heartbeats, and Llewyn felt perfectly normal. "Is it now done?"
"You are your true self," the Behon said with conviction.
Just then there was a heavy hammering on the door to the outer hall. Duml Dum! DUMM! Weapon metal being beaten on wood regardless of dents ruining the precious panels of exotic timbers. "Prince Llewyn! Are you there?! Come quickly—your father, the king! He has been attacked!"
"Open yon portal, dear Myffed, and let in those noisy guards so they can observe Atheling and Ovate in this far corner of the palace, see our shock at the news they bear, our worry and our grief. Hurry, man!" The regicide actually laughed with joy as he spoke, and he had to work very hard to compose himself as the justiciar jumped to the door and opened it.
"What's that you said? My father, my king, harmed? If this is so, heads will roll!"
The guardsmen blinked and pulled back, but their officer had to relate the news. "I fear it is very bad, Your Highness—Lord Justiciar. Lord
Tallesian has sent us here to bring you instantly to the council chamber, for he thinks that King Glydel has been struck dead!"
Faces set in grimmest looks, both prince and magus went off with all haste after the two soldiers and their leader. Now was the time of conclusions. They must complete the charade before celebrating their complete success!
— 16 —
Six guards came to attention outside the fatal chamber. The subaltern from the private audience chamber was there, commanding the security force. "Your Royal Highness!" he cried, snapping to a salute before Prince Llewyn.
The atheling merely waved the man aside, walking on with even strides. Two soldiers jerked open the doors with unseeming haste, for if they didn't their crown prince, soon king, would have walked into them. "What has happened?" Llewyn demanded with a shout. There were guards everywhere, and a knot of people were clustered by the table where he had sat as Setne Inhetep but a few minutes before. Not ten minutes before, he thought with secret malign pride. It was all going just as he had anticipated and planned.
The archdruid was kneeling by a still form. "It is your father, Prince," Lord Tallesian cried. "I am doing my best to—"
"See that you succeed!" Llewyn rejoined with a hard voice, a voice filled with concern, anger, and regal tone. "You there, Captain! Who did this?"
Sir Murdough was standing with four other guardsmen atop a tangle that had been the arras. Behind the five men Llewyn could see the splintered door, but the library itself was obscured from sight. "A foreigner, Your Royal Highness," the captain said without blinking an eye. "The Egyptian who was known as Magister Setne Inhetep." The prince came closer. "Was, you say?" Murdough nodded curtly. "Aye, Lord Prince. Was. We cut the assassin down. Here. See these blades still red with the foul blood of the man who dared to strike the king of Lyonnesse!"
Very good, almost as if he were not acting. Prince Llewyn turned to the chief cleric once again, forming his face into an agonized expression. "Tallesian—how bad is my father's wound?"
"It is . . . I ... The stroke went to King Glydel's heart, Highness. Worse, the blade which pierced it was laden with poison."
"Magick, then! Use your powers to command heka, Archdruid, and mend the flesh, make harmless the toxin. He must live!"
"Of course, Prince Llewyn, of course. I do all in my power, but I fear that the Egyptian used some foreign dweomer to make triply sure of his foul deed."
"What do you mean?"
"None of my healings, negations, purifyings, or restorative castings have yet worked, though I have now laid nearly six upon my Sovereign's poor body."
Hiding his inner joy, Llewyn hung his head and squeezed a pair of tears from his eyes. It was a trick he had used as a child, and that he could still produce such moisture by dint of will stood him in good stead now. Lifting his face so that all could see the streaks, Llewyn called to Myffed: "Come, Behon, follow me. I would see the corpse of the vile /Egyptian. I want you to ply your art to see if it cannot be forced to reveal the secret of the magick it used to lay low the king—my dear sire." The Ovate almost scuttled in his anxiety to comply and appear befuddled. Perhaps Myffed was near hysteria. Llewyn repressed an urge to slap the old man into sensibility, then turned and started toward the library. He was almost inside the room and could see the splatters of gore when a voice called.
"My Royal Prince!" It was Lord Tallesian. He looked worried, and his eyes shifted slightly as they contacted those of the prince. "I beg you to come here with me and attend your royal sire a moment."
What was the fool doing? This wasn't according to their careful plan at all. Something had gone wrong! Impossible. The stupid druid had forgotten something or blundered somehow. He would have to see what the idiot needed. "Come along with me, then, Behon."
"No, dear Prince. This is a matter which only you can be privy to," Lord Tallesian cried, raising one hand as if to fend off the advancing high justice of the kingdom, and looking at Prince Llewyn with a warning message in his eyes.
The archdruid held up Llewyn's father's head with his other hand. The atheling stared. King Glydel's skin was pale and suffused with a bluish tinge bespeaking the poison which had doubly smitten him down to his well-deserved grave. This was impossible, this idiotic behavior from the bungling druid. How could he have ever placed so much trust in Tallesian? The dolt was about to do something absolutely incriminating. He'd have to intervene, do anything the fool asked now. "I understand, Venerable Archdruid," he responded as calmly as he could. The tremor in his voice would surely be taken for that of grief and dismay. He looked at Myffed. The magus was standing frozen and wild-eyed, for he too realized that Tallesian might unravel and somehow destroy their whole scheme. Llewyn couldn't leave him standing there in the middle of the room, alone and exposed. "Lord Justiciar, please go before me into the library and carry out what magickal inquisitions you can upon the murderer's dead body. I will join you in due time."
"Thank you, Prince Llewyn," the Behon breathed with an explosiveness indicating how much tension had built up within his chest waiting for the prince to show him some escape.
-Llewyn watched the Ovate enter the library, then turned and took five paces so as to stand beside the kneeling cleric. "What is this, Lord Tallesian?" He spoke calmly enough, but there was a dangerous undertone directed squarely at the druid. Llewyn hoped the sound would put some mettle into the fool.
"Please, Prince, I must needs ask you kneel here beside me for a moment."
"Are you ... ?" Llewyn allowed the rest to go unsaid. Kneeling as requested, he then spoke again. "Are you telling me the worst?" Those words should serve well. They would strengthen Tallesian and supply to the others that which they would assume was the remainder of the question he had swallowed.
It was as if he could see himself from a distance, as if he were an actor on a brightly illuminated stage. He had been perfect when following the scripted parts of this deadly drama. Here, now, with naught but extemporaneous speech and improvised roles, Llewyn was rising to even greater heights.
He took his father's still, ghastly head in his gentle hands. "Move aside, Lord Archdruid, so that I may cradle the poor cheeks with mine own hands as you tell me your rede." Tears now streamed down Prince Llewyn's cheeks, as he seated himself upon the floor and pressed his dead father's head against his thigh. He shuddered, but a sob made it seem as if the motion was but the wracking of his body from grief. Llewyn looked at Glydel's chest, the place where he had sunk deep the steely blade. Bright red blood oozed from the wound!
"The corpse doth bleed again!" Tallesian hissed in the prince's ear. "Your presence will unmask our crime, for all here know that should the murderer touch the corpse of his victim, the wounds will again gush gore!"
"Quiet, fool!" Llewyn hissed back. "It is you who will betray us—you alone! The corpse of Glydel bleeds only because I have lifted it and stuff from inside now drains out. What is the matter with you? Say those words which we have rehearsed—or make up what you must— but be calm. We have gotten cleanly away with the deed, save that you must now play out your last little part."
The greatest ecclesiastic of the realm gaped at Llewyn. There was a strange look about him, but the words from the prince seemed to steady Tallesian somewhat. "Then you are prepared for me to say the final bit?" Llewyn nodded. "So I must tell you that news which is the worst you might hear, Prince Royal?"
"Yes, fool, yes! What is the matter with you?" the prince hissed in a vehement whisper. Then aloud, so that those nearby could hear: "I appreciate your prayers and advice, Archdruid, but what of my father?"
"Look upon his face, Prince Llewyn," Lord Tallesian said in tone equally clear and ringing. "Look." He paused, forcing the prince to turn slowly so as to play out the scene fully. Then, as Llewyn turned to stare at the dead face, Tallesian went on: "King Glydel is . . . ALIVE AND WELL!"
Delusion. A nightmare from which he would awaken in a moment, finding himself in the king's bedchamber, and the time some hours after the day of the fell murder he had done. Alive? Well? Never could that be, nor could those words have come from the druid's lips. Llewyn turned to gaze at the dead face of his father. Glydel's eyes opened in an unbearable gaze of coldness and death. "NOOOOO!" He shrieked in hysteria, leaping to his feet, heedless of what happened to the blue-hued corpse and with no thought to those who stood watching. "You are DEAD!" the prince shouted accusingly, pointing at the corpse which now sat upright, eyes still fixed upon the one who had assassinated him. "I thrust the knife into your filthy breast with my own hand, thrust through that heart which never cared for me! Such poison went into that wound, Father-whom I-Hate, that a dozen bulls and more would be slain thus. 1 killed you and you are deadl"
"I live," the blue lips said flatly, and King Glydel arose.
"Myffed! To me! You must use your magick to slay—slay all here who would undo us!" Llewyn screamed, then turned to face the druid. "Tallesian! You will suffer death for your part in this. Don't stand there like a post—strike with your own heka or you are lost as I will be!"
The chief druid of the realm stood unmoving, gazing with the same look in his eyes as had Prince Llewyn's father. It was a mixture of contempt, revulsion, and disgust. Tallesian had the hard and unpitying look of an executioner. "It is time you knew, Llewyn. Lord Tallesian lies bound in the dungeons beneath this fortress."
"You are gone over the edge! Crazed! You are Tallesian!"
"No more than you were Inhetep," the man rejoined. "You see, dear prince, I am Magister Setne Inhetep, the man you impersonated." "BEHONNN!"
The young subaltern's head appeared from behind the ruined arras. "I must report to you, Prince Llewyn, that the Lord Behon, Myffed, has been slain resisting arrest but a minute ago. He is beyond your voice's command now, sir."
Llewyn stumbled back a step, collapsing weakly into one of the padded chairs in the chamber. "I am hallucinating," the prince muttered. "None of this is happening .. ."
"But it is," his father's voice came to him.
Cold, laden with impending doom, the words were like cold water to him.
"Your flesh—blue and dead . . ."
His father spoke again. "Woad and some creams used by ladies to beautify themselves. Magister Inhetep's own assistant, Lady Rachelle did the work. "You are testimony to her skill—murderer, traitor, and coward!"
Llewyn attempted to stand. Perhaps he could make a dash for it, escape in the warren of hidden passages. His legs were too weak to hold him. The prince looked at Tallesian, still doubtful. Where the archdruid had stood the tall Egyptian was now standing. He had not lied. "How?" It was all the prince could stammer.
"Ere I came to you and your two cohorts, prince, I had sussed out your plottings and knew all. I went so far as to alert the rulers of Cymru, Hybernia, and even high Caledonia."
"Why do that?" Llewyn asked, for it seemed to have no bearing on matters.
"Those worthy kings understood. Their agents went immediately to your own father, alerting King Glydel of the treachery and villainy."
"I am ashamed to say that I called those good and noble emissaries foul names and believed them not. Not until Magister Inhetep showed me proof positive. Then we prepared this bit of play-acting to counter your own charade. Do you know that I went through all this because I thought you incapable of patricide? To the last
I expected you to flinch, confess, beg forgiveness. Had you done so, I would have spared your life and sent you into exile with all the comforts any man could want for the rest of your life."
"All I could want? Never! I want all Lyonnesse! I will rule all Avillonia!"
"No." That simple, flat denial from the wiz-ard-priest was a blow across the face to the prince.
Llewyn stared at his accusers, his tormentors. "Proof, you say? What proof was there for Inhetep to display which would convince a loving father of his son's deceit?"
"Golden coins, Llewyn. Magister Inhetep brought me a pair of griananas which he had gained in one of the supposed temples of Set."
"That's no proof!"
"He asked me then to examine my treasury, to see if one thousand of the same golden coins weren't missing, the theft carefully hidden by false bookkeeping."
The king paused, wiped at his drawn face with a hand. "To prove him false I did as he asked, investigated, and proved him right instead. You were tried and condemned then for theft, treason, and worse. Yet I would have forgiven . . ."
Llewyn spat. "Be damned with your miserable forgiveness! I'd take none of it. All I've ever wanted from you was your life and crown."
Glydel turned away from the raving prince.
"You will soon enough have no head to wear the noble mark of kingship," Inhetep said. He was not gloating, nor was he baiting a fallen foe. The Egyptian simply found this parent-slayer so hateful that he had to speak out.
"Damn you, too, dirt-skinned dog!" Llewyn shrieked. "How did you keep my blade from striking down the filthy tyrant?"
"It was simple enough," Setne told the man. "A talisman can take almost any form, and I prepared one especially for your father. You saw it, I'm sure. It was a sheet of parchment which made him proof from injury by blade, and even death from the most virulent toxin conveyed thereby."
"You could never have guessed I would strike with a poisoned knife as I did!" Llewyn denied.
"You think knife or dagger unusual tools for a regicide? They are old, Caesar himself was struck down thus. I had no guesswork to do, however, prince. The servant sent by Lord Tallesian to fetch the venom was easy enough to get the truth from."
"The fool druid was to get the stuff himself!"
"Perhaps. He ignored your orders for once, though, Llewyn. I suspected some poison would be employed in slaying the king, so agents went round to all those dealing in such substances. One admitted selling a special venom to a man in the employ of Lord Tallesian. Magick can be used for many purposes, and I used much to garner the form of your deed. Sir Murdough recalls it not, for he was under a geas, but he revealed most of it."
The pale face of Prince Llewyn was a mask of hatred. "That fool soldier knew not half!"
"You forget I am a cleric as well as a mage," the Egyptian told Llewyn. "I used the former to overpower the mind of your chief druid, and the latter to spin such dweomers as to find the whole web you had set out. Then and there we might have brought you to heel, but your father loved you too much, thought you would repent before striking, just as he said. Thus, we all had to act out our parts in this pretend murder. Thanks to the power of the talisman I wrought so carefully for him, you would not have succeeded had you plied a greatsword laden with the poisons from a score of death adders."
"But you were dropped into the prison pit! The fall, the paralyzing gas, the drugs which the druid used . . ."
Inhetep shook his head. "I expected the fall, and as Rachelle and I plummeted, a charm secreted on my person was invoked, and the lady and I fell to the hard stones with hardly a bump. As for the gas, your father's stout retainers had already cleared away the numbing stuff, replacing it with harmless vapors of similar color so had you looked you would have noted nothing amiss. When the druid applied his mind-blanking herbs to the two of us, he did so without knowing that he saw but phantoms. As Tallesian suspected no dweomers, he sought for none and understandably failed to notice the illusion cast to make the whole seem real. We watched, as did your own father, as the archdruid performed his vile duties."
"So there was never a chance?"
"That is so," Inhetep answered.
"No," King Glydel corrected the wizard-priest, "there was a chance." He looked at his son, and his eyes were misted. "You could have done other than you did."
Llewyn hung his head, saying nothing more. Inhetep had to tell the defeated man the final portion. "I took Tallesian's place after he thought he had administered his drugs to Rachelle and me. The king gave me permission to do so only then. The form that you thought was me was a construct I fashioned with magickal energy, mine own heka, using naught alive or ever living, save blood from a slaughtered pig, so that when the automaton was hacked by the guards it would appear to die properly in a welter of ruddy gore. There you have it all, Prince."
"All. Yes, I will have it all! Somehow I'll escape and get revenge on you all! I'll get aid— yes, that's it! I can call for aid from the north!"
"Silence!" Inhetep shouted the command, and the prince obeyed. He could not do otherwise, for Setne had laden his word with magickal power, which silenced the man. Turning to King
Glydel, Inhetep said, "You must not allow your son to speak as he was about to, for who can say what might occur if he did so."
"I understand, Egyptian wizard-priest," the monarch replied coldly. His anguish was turning against all now. "Guards! Chain this criminal, for before you all I disown him as my son, deny his royal blood. He is a common criminal, and you will treat him as such."
"Majesty ..." Setne prompted. "He must not speak!"
"Gag the criminal," the king said in a grating voice. "Put him in a special cell below, one reserved for confinement of those capable of using dweomers—just as is the case of our former chief druid, Tallesian."
The soldiers hastened to obey. Llewyn was dragged out, and then the bodies of the Behon and Sir Murdough followed. King Glydel stared at the procession a moment, then looked at Inhetep. "I should thank you, Magister, for your work, for saving my life, but I cannot find it in my heart at this time. Goodbye," he said, and without anything further, the ruler of Lyonnesse left the chamber.
—— 17 ——
The council room was now deserted save for Inhetep and the young subaltern of guards. The Egyptian was seated in a chair, staring sightlessly into space. Anyone who knew Magister Inhetep would have realized he was both reviewing in his mind what had occurred and at the same time feeling discontent. For almost half an hour he sat thus, and the young guardsman remained quiet, waiting. Inhetep seemed unaware that the officer was there, despite the fact that he began to shift from foot to foot restlessly, then actually paced here and there. Finally, the guardsman came near to the wizard-priest where he sat and cogitated.
"Setne?" the officer said with surprising familiarity.
Inhetep started, glanced at the subaltern, then shook himself, rising. "Ah, yes. Sorry to be so dilatory, my dear. I had forgotten . . ."
"That's all right, Setne, I understand," the guardsman said, laying his hand on the tall
Egyptian's arm in a caressing gesture. "You have been through much these past weeks—but then, so have I," he added with a vigorous tone. "Can you manage to direct your attention to me
now?
"Your wish is my command," the man said, and without further discussion, Inhetep placed both of his long-fingered hands on the subaltern's shoulders and spoke four words. Rachelle's form replaced that of the guardsman. "Is that what you desired?"
"No," the amazon said with mock disappointment. "I had hoped you'd place a charm on the subaltern's person so that I'd be irresistible to the ladies-in-waiting here," she told Inhetep with a serious face. The wizard-priest seemed to be unaffected by her words, and Rachelle's expression changed from one of playfulness to concern. "Aren't you feeling well?"
"I'm in exceptionally fine health, and my body functions properly," he replied.
"No, silly old shave-pate. I mean, is your heart heavy? Your mind troubled?"
The green eyes turned to look into the almost black ones of his friend and confidante. Inhetep realized then, more than ever before, how much he truly cared about Rachelle, and she for him. Perhaps that was why he felt for her as he did. "I am troubled, dear little protectress, even though there is little or no cause for feeling thus. Something remains which is not right. There is a cloud of a malign sort which still prevails here in Camelough, perhaps pervading all Lyonnesse. I just don't know."
"Come along," Rachelle ordered, taking the tall Egyptian by the arm and leading him from the chamber. "You need something to eat and drink, a rest—my care, too. In a bit you'll be feeling splendid elation. After all, you have done a magnificent job here!"
He pondered the case as they traveled the brief distance to their quarters. He had broken open the whole treasonous plot, and the worms involved had shriveled away in the bright light of discovery. Not only was this kingdom and its monarch saved, but three others, states and sovereigns alike, as well. The ruler of Albion was implicated. He would be dethroned soon, of course. His cousin, Richard, would in short order rule the kingdom of Albion, the fourth monarch of that name to wear its crown. Furthermore, his efforts had both allowed the Five Crowns of Avillon to retain their objects of power and prevented the most evil enemy on Yarth from gaining these artifacts. That was certainly worthwhile. But the Egyptian still felt depressed, even after recounting all that in his mind.
After having herbal tea, biscuits, then some wine and fruit, Rachelle saw that Setne was still quite glum, so she resolved to brighten his spirits in a way no man could resist, let alone the cere-
bral wizard-priest. He was stretched out, half-reclining, on one of the several couches in the sitting room which divided their separate bedchambers. Without being asked, Rachelle brought a little tray of additional refreshments and placed it near the Egyptian, then tossed a cushion on the floor beside his divan and sat down with crossed legs. "Setne, dear, can you please explain a few things about the Master of Jackals affair to me?"
"Explain? I'm quite uncertain what needs explanation," he responded slowly and without real interest.
"Oh, you know! I'm just not very good at solving problems—not like you are, anyway. I don't understand how you knew all you knew. Tell me how you caught on to Aldriss so quickly."
Although he strongly suspected she was manipulating him, Inhetep had to cease his brooding and give the warrior girl the information for which she asked. Pride of accomplishment and a desire to instruct his protegee demanded it. "More by chance than any inkling of the truth," he told her almost ruefully. "You know I have a penchant for learning new things—"
"More an unquenchable thirst after knowledge, you rogue." She smiled up at Setne. "You display an insatiable appetite for all things pertaining to heka, dweomers, and the arcane."
"Be that as it may—and I'll neither affirm that assessment, girl, nor deny it—it was due to my curiosity that I caught on to the bard."
Rachelle knew he needed just a little more priming. "That's fine for you to say, and I know how your mind goes from one little curious bit to whole new realms of information, but I still don't know what you did, or what Aldriss did to reveal his duplicity to you."
Inhetep settled back in the soft cushion of the couch, fingers toying idly with the rim of the wine glass beside him. "You'll recall, dear Rachelle, that while you were busily accepting the compliments and unseemly attentions of the bard, I was attending to the magicks he employed."
"I recall your making notes and observing most closely," she agreed. Rachelle thought Setne's assessment of her reception of the bard's harmless flirting grossly overstated, but she was wise enough to allow that matter to pass.
"Exactly. That is what put me onto the right path, but later. Who could have guessed that three men traveling hundreds of miles to request my assistance in a matter of life and death could be the actual villains?"
"Never I," Rachelle said earnestly. "But you did—sooner than I, for you cautioned me about Aldriss in your note."
"The one you missed reading aright—but no matter. Outstanding was the initial choice of victims."
"How so? Svergie was the state, as I recall,"
Rachelle added as she puzzled over the matter. "It is a kingdom with sufficient wealth, rather cold and isolated, but . .
"But nothing! It is home to the Eldest Spae-wife, the chief Wisewoman, and that is key."
"How so?"
"They are a counter to witchcraeft, of course. Then the description of what had occurred in other places, Ys particularly, the inability to determine what sort of casting was employed to slay, the irretrievability of the victims, gave me concern. The first cause for that is evident."
She tugged at his sleeve. "No, it isn't."
He looked down at her dark ringlets, seeing that she was attentive and truly puzzled. "Yes, you do know, only you aren't thinking hard enough," Setne admonished. "Such circumstances point toward the involvement of great practitioners—ones at least more than human. In this case the blame was directed at Set, of course, and collaterally at Anubis. That was the first and grossest error in judgment the plotters showed. Had they determined to use someone else as their dupe, one not steeped in the pantheology of Egypt, then the inclusion of Anubis would not have rung so false a note. After all, his association with death and the Duat tend to mislead the uninformed." Inhetep was warming to this recounting now, and he paused a moment to sip some of the light red wine and nibble a grape or two. "The second possibility with respect to the clueless murders lay in some unknown form of magick and a whole organization of criminals determined to use their abilities to evil ends. So, because a good detective never discounts the possibility of anyone with motive and opportunity being guilty, no matter where suspicion points, and regardless of seeming irrationalities, I kept the three Kellts as suspects in the back of my mind."
"It did seem a little odd that they knew where we were and came all that distance to find you," Rachelle noted.
"Hmmm, yes," Inhetep responded. He hadn't actually reasoned that way, because it was, to him, not all that strange that one of his talent would be sought out thus. There was a lesson in that, and the wizard-priest made a mental note not to be so smug in the future. "Anyway, my sharp-witted amazon, it began to come together after Crown Prince Llewyn displayed the statuette and told us all of the facts—what he desired us to believe as the whole truth, I should say. I had opportunity to study the dweomers used in the enspelling of the figurine, and I found strange similarities between them and the magick used by Aldriss when he hastened our voyage. Then I thought to compare what I knew about bardic powers with the practice of troubadours, skalds, and the rhyme-singers of Kalevala. There was the strand to follow! Still, it was a
mere thread, so when I left you that warning it was vague."
Rachelle got up and brought the flagon to where they sat. "More wine, Setne?"
"Perhaps a few drops more, if you please," he replied without actually paying attention. "You see, the possibility of Set's involvement still remained. He too is 'of the North,' of course. When you were kidnapped, I took time to search out information in the underworld."
"You entered the Duat?!"
"Don't be shocked. It isn't so dangerous a thing as most would have you believe," Inhetep said with evident pride in his power in that regard. "What mattered wasn't the going but the reception which awaited me."
"Don't tell me that the terrible ass-headed one confronted you there!"
"I shall not, for quite the contrary occurred. The deities of the shadowy realms were incommunicado, as it were. Only wolf-headed Apuat was there to greet me and speak of what was occurring. In truth, even that one was of little assistance, though he would have had it otherwise. The lords of the Duat were constrained. Set could not accomplish such a feat, so some other involvement had to be considered. It was then clear that there was a vast and powerful organization of men, heka-binders, those in positions of rulership, and all manner of others involved in a fantastic and complex plot to disrupt the whole of Europa."
Rachelle was now fascinated, for this was something she hadn't known about at all, something very evil and world-shaking in all probability. "Prince Llewyn was behind all that?"
Inhetep shook his bald head vigorously. "No. In fact, his inability to mastermind even the lesser web which was shown in the extortions and killings threw me off the scent for some days. No great entities were involved, for the lords who govern Avillonia, for instance, have no power to muzzle our own deities. Over and above the network of men—even powerful practitioners such as Behon Myffed and the druid, Tallesian, princes and kings—was some figure of supernatural power and force, one able to constrain gods."
"Who is so mighty as that?"
"None, at least in ability to force the matter. Yet there is one who with threat, trickery, and a certain reliance on the laws of Yarth could machinate things so as to arrive at the situation we faced. Wait! Don't ask about that one now, please." The wizard-priest had anticipated Rachelle's demand, and he wanted to complete the whole matter from start to finish and give the warrior girl a complete picture. "By thinking thus, I found that the skill of the bard was greater than others of his ilk because Aldriss had
woven another form of musical dweomercraefting into the bardic art.
"It became apparent that with that power, the man was able to serve as the instrument of combining magicks into a single casting form. Between the magus, the high druid Tallesian, and the spellsinging of Aldriss, there was more than sufficient power to bring about the strange and unreadable magicks which struck down any who dared to defy the demands of the so-called Master of Jackals. Yet the three hadn't been in Ys at the time the cold-hearted master demonurge was destroyed, let alone in all of those other, more distant places. Those facts merely confirmed my suspicion that someone of far greater ability was serving to channel the power of those three to work the mischief that one desired. The three were dupes. Prince Llewyn was a puppet as well, and so too the Albish king. The Master Jackal is a long way from here and by no means unmasked—save for me and you."
"But, Setne, I don't—"
Inhetep shushed her. "Have patience. In just a bit, you'll be informed. You would have me tell this whole thing in a jumble!"
Rachelle smiled wistfully. "Forgive me, my lord ur-kheri-heb-tepi. I am but a simple girl unused to the intellectual exercise, just as you seem quite unable to manage many of the pursuits I follow in the course of making sure I am able to save your worthless, copper-hued hide from—"
"I stand corrected, Rachelle," Inhetep interjected hastily as she warmed to her task. "The jumble comes from me, for I have so many facets to reveal, so many facts to set out for your examination." She snorted a little but allowed the Egyptian to continue. "Let's see, where was I? Ah, I recall. Knowing that there was a puppet master, I sought for the strings of the puppets. The demon's words in Ys pointed the way. Then I reasoned that money was used to buy many, but the coin came from the extortions. The Master of Jackals had no interest at all in the wealth gained by threat and murder, save to buy servants, to suborn and subvert. A thistlecrown from Caledonia in the coffers of the false cult's temple in Camelough led me to investigate all of the nations of Avillonia. The coins were moved from one kingdom to another so as to avoid suspicions—or throw them on another of the realms. I was received well in Cymru, Hybernia, and Caledonia. The plotters there were of high station and much power, but not so great as Crown Prince Llewyn in Lyonnesse or the king of Albion. I already knew of that one's involvement when I was nearly taken there. Had they found me, they'd have killed me for sure!
"But why involve me, us, in the first place? Some deity other than Set might have been used as a god of straw, so to speak. It was evident that there was never any intent that the foolish cult do anything more than draw attention and bring down blame and wrath upon the rabble serving it when the true crimes were committed. This affair became like an onion. Each time I pulled, a layer came off, but another lay beneath. Magickal 'fumes' aplenty poured forth to dim my eyesight, to carry the analogy a step further."
Inhetep fell silent, thought a moment, then drew out several items of his magickal materia. "We must now work with amulets, castings, and hekau to make sure that we have no unwanted eavesdroppers. Please assist me, Rachelle." The girl was knowledgeable enough in the work, and she complied quickly with the wizard-priest's instructions.
"You have set a triple circle, Setne. You are very serious about this matter, aren't you?"
"Most definitely, my dear child. The odious heart of this whole vile plot is one who is so wicked and powerful as to pose dire threat to us even at a great distance."
"Will you tell me?!"
"Louhi, the Crone of Pohjola, is the so-called Master of Jackals! Leave it to that evil Mistress of Witchcraefters to use such a pun, for indeed that is what it was. In her contempt for those she used, she regarded them as slinking jackals— and she the master of the whole pack she enlisted. Louhi thus chose the appellation and devised the ploy of Set, a deity she has no little admiration for, and Anubis, whom Louhi despises. It was thus gratifying to her to besmirch the jackal-headed one's name and repute in many ways. It was then no accident that the three noble lords of Lyonnesse sought me out. The crone had commanded it. I found that from my probing of Tallesian."
Rachelle came up on the sofa to sit beside him, for the girl was much concerned by what Inhetep had just revealed to her. "Why would the
monstrous witch of the North want to harm
„ > >
you?
"Harm? Eliminate in most foul fashion is more apt, Rachelle. I was to serve as the butt of all hatred, vengeance, and die horribly as the 'Master of Jackals' after all had occurred as the plotters wished. They would gain power, a throne in Llewyn's case, and subject kingdoms. Louhi would wrest the great objects of power from the five kingdoms of Avillonia, thus becoming even more formidable in her evil strength. But as to why I was singled out, I must say now, my dear, that I can only hazard a guess. I think that somehow I have interfered with the crone's schemes in the past. In addition, it just might be that I am becoming too strong an agent for right and justice to suit the vile witch. In any case, Louhi devised not a little of her whole scheme so as to bring me down and send me to the underworld."
"And by foiling her you have increased her enmity!"
"Most assuredly, Rachelle, most assuredly. Yet I would have it no other way."
Rachelle now had the whole of the picture, and she felt both happy and fearful. "You got onto the right track also because of the secrecy of the ones involved, I know. I was suspicious about the prince and his henchmen keeping facts from the king. That didn't ring true at all. When they let it slip out that no other monarch save King Dennis of Albion was aware of the matter of the demands of the Jackalmaster, I was confused, however, for that made me suspect that he was the one masterminding the whole business."
"Astute, amazon, very astute. The demands for the objects of power made it unlikely that one of the rulers of the Five Crowns would be found at the center of things, for such a one would never get the willing cooperation of the other sovereigns—or would-be monarchs. No, the relics would have to be passing beyond the grasp of each kingdom for such mutual skullduggery to occur.'
"I see. One small thing still troubles me, Setne. What about Aldriss? Why did the Behon so readily slay his fellow conspirator?"
Inhetep shrugged. "Only to save his own skin and that of Prince Llewyn. It was a snap decision, but a correct one. I was about to lay the bard by the heels, as it is said. Aldriss knew too much, and there would have been no stopping me from prying it from his mind. Myffed wasn't powerful enough to slay me, certainly not with you there to assist in defense and attack. He had only one choice, and that was to blast the bard using the force granted to him by the crone. It then became a patchwork which the conspirators thought would cover their nakedness. To fob off Aldriss as the sole mastermind of the matter was sheer lunacy. That had a certain appeal. To use that to lure me into their toils, to have both you and I, Rachelle, at their disposal, would serve perfectly. After all, I was to be sacrificed eventually, and with Aldriss' name to toss into the pot, the stew might be more appetizing when I was cooked in the mess."
"What do you suppose they intended for me?"
Setne shook his head slowly. "We'll have to find that out, won't we, before the criminals are brought to final justice."
That brought Rachelle's thoughts round to the prince. "And Llewyn—was he planning all along to have the Behon use a magickal guise to make him appear as you and slay his father, King Glydel, with his own hand?"
"He is a foul villain, isn't he!" There was no question in Inhetep's words. "Yes, the deranged mind of the crown prince thought that fitting— a form of retributive justice. Llewyn was weak, selfish, and lusted for power. Somehow he blamed his sire for that, thought that he would wipe the stains of his own character away when he took
Glydel's life with his own hand. Perhaps the king failed to love his son as he might have, I don't know. Could you feel affection and heartfelt love for one such as Llewyn?
"He certainly had no love for anyone save himself in his heart. In truth, I think he hated himself more than those he used, even his father. By assassination and treachery he thought to rule Lyonnesse, conquer the other realms of Avillon, and perhaps even envisioned himself as master of all Eropa one day. Thankfully, he never got to his first objective."
"We speak as if the crown prince were already dead," Rachelle reminded the Egyptian.
Setne shrugged again. "It is but a matter of a little time now.'
"I suppose you are right again, all-wise and hairless sage," she intoned solemnly. Then Rachelle laughed. Their mood was growing dark and heavy again, and Rachelle would have none of it. She and Setne should be rejoicing in their success. "Now how about you serving me for a change? I have an empty wine goblet and am quite famished. Bring me gallons to drink and mounds of viands, slave!"
"Famished as always, you mean, and I am not your slave—you are officially mine!"
"Only because I have never filed those papers," she responded. "Bring me my desired refreshments, please, or else I shan't speak another word to you today."
"Most unlikely," Inhetep muttered, but he arose and began pouring wine and selecting various morsels from the platters on the buffet. "Here, eat and drink until you burst. When you're finished, if ever, you may accompany me to the dungeons."
Rachelle had to wait a moment to clear her mouth of food before inquiring, "Such a lovely place you will show me. Why do we go to the dungeons?"
"Because we must find out what they planned to do with you. That's what has been bothering me since the prince was taken and this whole matter seemingly put to rest. In all of it, they seemed to have no use for you, so why not have you with me to be conveniently killed as a coas-sassin? To keep you sequestered in some cell would be to invite embarrassing inquiries. Never is Inhetep seen without his amazon guard and associate, Rachelle."
"Oh . . . you do make sense there, Setne. Do the men of Lyonnesse keep harems?"
"Don't be silly," he snapped. Then the wizard-priest saw her face and realized he was being goaded. He grumbled, then washed away those sounds with a big swallow of the wine. "Most amusing, I'm sure. No noble of this realm sought to prison you in his seraglio, but someone, somewhere, certainly had some purpose for you, Rachelle. Laugh at my concerns if you will, but it is a matter of some moment to me."
"Oh, Setne, I wasn't really laughing at you, how could I laugh at the man I—"
The rest of her words were interrupted by a rapping at the door. It was a messenger from King Glydel. Their presences were requested immediately.
"You may feel some comfort, Royal Majesty, in the fact that the ancient crone who rules the northernmost realm was the instigator of it all," Magister Setne Inhetep concluded. King Glydel had asked both Rachelle and the Egyptian magister for all they knew regarding the matter of the Master of Jackals. First the girl, and then the priest and wizard, found themselves doing exactly what they had done but a brief time before, discussing each detail of the case. Inhetep added those last words in closing as an offering to the monarch's peace of mind. No man, commoner or king, could pass off lightly a son's treachery, hatred, and will to murder.
"Only a weak and useless vessel would be so moved by the mother of witches as to act as Llewyn did. So whether from his own inner rottenness or from some pox caught from another, he is full of iniquity and deserving of execution."
"Aye, Majesty. I cannot but agree there," Setne murmured. "When ... ?"
"In but hours. I will have him excised from Lyonnesse and all Yarth! It is customary to hold a trial before all peers of the realm in a matter such as this, but regicide and all the rest exempt me from the formality. It so happens that three of the chief thegns of the kingdom are here in the citadel, and there are a dozen lesser nobles come to Camelough for one purpose or another. I called them to judge upon the scant facts and evidence—scant save for what I, their king, experienced and testified to. There was a unanimous judgement. Death by beheading—too good for the man, but he is, when all is said and done, a member of this royal house."
"Your position is not enviable, Majesty, though you be king of the great realm of Lyonnesse," Rachelle said to him. "I am at a loss for any words of comfort."
"Say none, Lady Rachelle. I am king and need none, not even from one so lovely and talented as you. I have words for both of you, however. It is to my shame that I behaved so vulgarly when this whole nasty business was settled. I now ask pardon from both of you."
"But of course," Setne and Rachelle said almost in unison, and added individual assurances that they were neither offended nor was apology necessary.
"One million spurs, in gold, is awaiting you at whatever great banking house you name. That should suffice for your time, expense, and the discomfiture you both suffered in one form or another. To make doubly certain of the latter, however, I asked the peers assembled in judgment to agree to honors for you both. I could grant mine own, of course, but these are from the King and Peers Assemblage. You are both given honorary citizenship of Lyonnesse as nobles. Your Pharaoh might not wish to have his folk vassals to another monarch, so the honors are of a knightly sort and require no swearing. Lady Rachelle and Sir Inhetep, I give you these badges in recognition of service to Lyonnesse above and beyond the customary. Now both of you may be properly addressed as Knights of the Blue Moon—a rare occurrence, but one bringing brightness to the night. It is the order reserved for very special persons."
They thanked him sincerely, Inhetep adding, "Please, your Stellar Majesty, I have one small request. It pertains to the payment, for I need not the gold. I ask that you use a tithe to endow here in Camelough a small shrine to Thoth, he whose wisdom guided me in this matter. As for the rest, I ask that you distribute it in such fashion as you deem best so as to assist your own people—those deserving poor who want education and have not the means of gaining it."
"Granted," Glydel said, with a small nod acknowledging the Egyptian's character. The king was about to depart when he recalled something.
"I almost forgot to mention two other things.
You may stay in this land, or not, as it suits you. When you choose to depart, however, this writ of mine will grant you passage to any port of call for which a Lyonnesse vessel is bound, as honored guests of the king of Lyonnesse, naturally. The other matter is one which you alone can decide. Is there any boon I can grant to either of you?
Rachelle shook her pretty curls, but the tall ur-kheri-heb of Thoth did have a request. "Your Majesty, may I have permission to question Tallesian? Then may I speak—carefully, mind you—with Prince Llewyn?"
"No!" Glydel nearly roared the refusal. Emotion played across his worn countenance, but then he said in softer tone, "Wait . . . What matter do you wish to discuss with him?" The man was torn between duty and desire.
Inhetep looked at King Glydel. "It is of no import save to Rachelle and me. You see, there is nothing to indicate what the conspirators planned to do with her—neither any hint of murder or durance, simply nothing."
"That's strange, Magister, for this very hour my—the convicted felon mentioned that as I questioned him."
"You questioned him? You mean that you allowed him to speak?"
"Certes!" Glydel was offended by the temerity of the Egyptian in questioning his royal personage thus. "It is the right of a king to do that, and the right of a member of royalty, fallen or not, to have last words of speech to his king and the peers."
"What said he of me?" Rachelle queried hesitantly.
"Something to the effect that he thought it a pity he hadn't had you packed off to the north somewhere, for you were payment or something. It was confused, and I believe that his mind has broken."
Setne gave his companion a meaningful look, then said to the ruler of Lyonnesse, "He referred to the north, as in the northernmost realm, the dark land of Pohjola—Louhi's domain, Majesty."
"I see," Glydel said, not really in the least interested, obviously so distracted by his son's treachery and impending fate that he made no connection to the trouble and the hag-of-hags, Louhi. "Now I must ask that you excuse me, for I have affairs to attend."
"King Glydel, I fear to arouse your ire, but I must request that I speak with Llewyn now."
"Are you mad? I go now to oversee his execution!"
"That I know, but I must at least have the opportunity to see him for but a minute, to speak with the prince before justice is done."
With ill-grace, the king acceded to Inhetep's request, so both the Egyptian and Rachelle went to the deep place where the offender was held, escorted by men-at-arms, an entourage of nobles,
and the monarch himself. Upon finally coming to the place, after passing countless barred doors and guards, the dungeon's gaoler greeted all formally, called for the turnkey to open for "King and Retinue," and the whole procession crowded into the narrow passage which fronted the four special cells for prisoners of most powerful sort, those with considerable powers of heka or likely to have confederates with such powers.
King Glydel opened a small hatch in the thick cell door and peered inside. "Here, Magister Inhetep. He sits now in a daze upon the bench. Is the sight alone sufficient? Or would you speak with him also?"
"I will hold brief converse with him, by your leave, Majesty."
"Be brief," he said sternly, then called, "Llewyn, this is your king. A man would have speech with you. Do you consent?" No response was forthcoming, and after several moments of silence, King Glydel turned away from the window and toward the wizard-priest. "Sir Inhetep, the prince makes no assent, so I must deny your request."
Setne looked determined. "If I may not speak with him, please allow me to view him closely."
"You may look through the grate on the window, but you may not enter the cell, for the door is proofed against all dweomers and the cell's integrity against interference and commerce from other planes and spheres is maintained by its closure."
"I am conversant with all such matter, Majesty. It shall be as you say." The tall /Egyptian went to the door and stooped a little to peer into the cubicle to see the captive therin. "Llewyn?" The prisoner made no response.
"I have come to give you priestly comfort," Inhetep said so that all could hear. "This ankh has much of divine nature in it—see its form?" and as he spoke, Setne held up the object he named. "It is yours," he then said, and before anyone could react, the wizard-priest had flipped the golden amulet through the iron grill-work and into the cell.
"What do you think you're doing!?" King Glydel demanded wrathfully.
"Serving as a bearer of ill tidings, I fear," Inhetep said with a grim-faced expression as he turned to the king and his nobles there assembled. "There is no prisoner in that cell!"
They all rushed to the door, looking in, calling for the turnkey to open it. After the dismay and disorder faded, the Egyptian explained what had happened. "When the prince was freed of his gag, the encompassing magick was broken. He was left ungagged thereafter, so when whomever had done that left the cell, Prince Llewyn called upon his evil mistress, the Crone of Poh-jola. Evidently, she isn't ready to discard her tool, nor finished with me."
"Eh? What do you mean by that, Egyptian?" King Glydel demanded.
"Look for yourself," Inhetep replied with an equally sharp tone.
"At what? What do you mean, wizard?"
Setne held up the ankh he had recovered after the cell was opened. The bright gold was slowly darkening and becoming corroded. "Observe the loop," he instructed. There, instead of the ovoid of an ankh was the profile of a long-nosed, scrag-gly haired female, a witch, the Crone herself.
A month passed before Rachelle mentioned the matter again. They had left Lyonnesse almost immediately after the discovery of Prince Llewyn's escape. The king was happy to see them gone, for they reminded him of the sorry affair. After crossing the channel and traveling overland through Francia, including a visit to Paris, of course, and thereafter crossing Aries, the two again took ship, eventually landing in Egypt. Setne had to return home, ostensibly to find a new ankh, but also for other reasons. Rachelle knew that the wizard-priest was worried about the threat implied by Louhi's features stamped out of the amulet's metal, and the corruption of the supposedly incorruptible gold. Only after they had been home for several days, and Inhetep had begun his work on a new ankh, one to be imbued with more energy and might
than the formerly held device, did his companion dare to mention what had occurred.
"What would they have done to me in Po-hola?" she inquired as they sat outside on a pleasant evening, with the first stars making little motes of silver upon the pond nearby.
"That's Pohjola," he corrected, sounding the three syllables carefully for her, "Poe-yoe-lah."
"Never mind how you say it. I want to know what they wanted me there for!"
Inhetep looked at her and grinned. "They planned to turn you into sugarcake, just as the wicked witch of the wood did to all those children!"
"Setne!"
"I have no idea. Louhi is a devious bag, and the purposes she has to further her schemes are dark and vile. Whatever it was, she certainly planned nothing good for you."
"Does she have children?"
"I have heard tell she has a beautiful daughter."
"No sons?"
"You think that a possible son of hers was smitten by tales of your beauty and prowess so as to desire you for his own?"
"Well, it is possible, perhaps ..."
"More likely that the daughter of the witch is a vampiress who must drink the blood of beautiful virgins in order to remain young and beautiful herself."
"Then she would not want me!"
"No, you are too ugly," Setne said firmly. Rachelle threw her chilled fruit juice at him, but he ducked. She pouted. "Oh, come on, girl! I can only speculate. Neither of us can know, not with Prince Llewyn escaped."
"What of him? He's of no use to the crone, is he?"
"Possibly. Don't underestimate that one, Rachelle. Louhi bent much energy to carry the prince away so. He might have been a pawn, but his planning and work were masterful in their criminal genius. I'd wager we'll hear of Prince Llewyn again in due course."
She nodded, for that sounded reasonable. "You don't think she'll send him after us?"
"No, although if he can Llewyn will seek revenge, for he is bitter and deranged. Louhi will have other uses for that one. Who can guess? She somehow taught Aldriss to meld the bardic enspellment techniques with those of the northern chanters, to use all manner of true names and to sing so as to blend the Law of Sympathy with those of Similarity and Contagion. What she can mold the prince into is unknowable to us now, but you can be assured he will be a willing pupil and a deft one, save for his instability."
"Now we have a truly formidable foe, Setne. You have always told me that in your detection of crime you sought the real challenge of a worthy and fell opponent. You've gained that antagonist, I think."
The Egyptian made a cross face at her. "You make another of your little jokes, and I am properly amused. Now, let an old man sit and enjoy the evening in peace."
"Setne, come and sit by me. You're not an old man at all, and you shouldn't ignore a pretty girl."
"Bah! Go and fetch me some of that tonic you're always trying to pour into everything I drink. I am feeling logy and irritable."
She sat up, showing a long leg and a lot of thigh above it. "I feel positively full of energy. I'm so glad to be alive and here in our own home again that I think I'll stay up all night."
Setne grunted and looked bored, but he watched Rachelle out of the corner of his eye.
"I am ready for more adventure, though, my dear old ur-kheri-heb! Where will we go next do you suppose?"
"To bed, woman," Inhetep said with firmness, "definitely to bed!"
"Well, I suppose if we must, we must," Rachelle said with a giggle. "Let me show you the way."
The case of the Anubis Murders was thus closed at last.