Lamp Medusa + Players of Hell, page 12
Konarr laughed out loud at that, in spite of himself. “No wizard would talk like that!” he said, chuckling. “You speak too honestly for that; their works are always full of deep policy and indirection, hidden like a Dark Lord with no moons at midnight.”
“Oh, there is indirection, captain. You saw and heard good Shagon of Shassa enlist our young friend who says he is from Periareth.”
That made Konarr take a closer look at Zantain. “You noticed too, eh? You are far traveled for an old—well, never mind. At any rate, Tassoran may be a master thief, but he knows little of Periareth.”
“Hariri the Stupid, indeed, good captain,” said Zantain, smiling. “You took your life in your hands insulting Lord Hariri to one who called himself a landsman of that king.”
Konarr shot a glance at Zantain. “That he did not launch himself at me with his bare hands only proved my suspicions correct. Wearing scarlet and black when the Periari believe scarlet, as the color of blood itself, is the vilest of ill omens…”
He shook his head as he looked at Zantain, and now they grinned together, recognizing each in the other, now, a man whose thoughts ran along similar paths.
“I will listen further to you,” said Konarr at last, with still a little reluctance left in him. The chance he might yet be tricked into some foolish wizardly plot dooming him to some hideous death lurked as a wordless suspicion deep inside him.
“Good,” said Zantain. “The plan is simple, as I said. First, we must follow Shagon and Tassoran to Zetri and inside the gates, or rather you must; I must follow after in some few days. You must learn where they lodge and take care of certain other matters I will detail at greater length later. You will note whom they speak to, you must follow their routes through the city, you must know everything they do, no matter what they do or where they go, till I arrive.”
Konarr began to protest, but Zantain went on.
“I cannot go Vith you at this moment because I cannot maintain my strength as myself, yet. Living as a weak old man has left me weak indeed. Further, I must arrange matters here so that no suspicious inquirers after any of us in these affairs will find aught to help them…You will have to disguise yourself to some extent, and you will work some magic, with my aid. But no deep magic till I arrive in Zetri and we meet to consider these events further.”
“How are we to meet,” protested Konarr, “if we know not where they lodge and hence cannot pick a lodging for ourselves before we arrive? You will not know where I am, and I cannot certainly meet you at a given spot at a given time, for I may be hot at their trail and unable to break away for you. You understand,” Konarr said, suddenly dropping that line of argument, “I pick only one of several problems that seem unlikely easily to be solved. And then too, what is the final result to be?”
Zantain nodded.
“You will do, yes, do very well indeed, Captain. I will satisfy you on all these matters before you start As for meeting, have you never seen nor heard of these?”
Zantain reached into a tiny wooden cupboard, recessed in the wall of the room, which popped open when he passed his hand in front of it.
From within the cupboard, he drew two tiny dull pieces of what appeared to be metal. They lay side by side and almost touched each other as they lay in his hand.
Konarr stared. “Firewasps!” he exclaimed. “I have not seen the like in ten years! Master Zantain, you are eager indeed that we make prompt and proper rendezvous in the Queen City. Are you sure you will be prepared, and strong enough, in time?”
“I must,” said Zantain, with a quiet smile. “Now to some of the problems you and I may encounter, and their various proper solutions…
INTERLUDE: From The Scroll of Firanzu
. . . Now I, Firanzu, must tell you of a legend that is old in Tarmisorn, and some of the truth and the error of it And even I, once scribe to the Lady, know not all the truth of the legend, which is mightily common amongst tradespeople of Zetri and the nomads of the land both; and other such folk of like degree have much credence in such tales likewise. Twist the scroll and see, my masters…
Now the legend says that the first Tza, in the years after she came into the land of Tarmisorn and made Zetri the Queen City of that land, that she builded herself a great palace in Zetri city, which the like had not been seen in the thousands of unknown years there had been a settlement here. And this palace was all of white marble without stain —for this was almost full two thousand years ago, when the ancient quarries at Phalamond yet yielded goodly unstained stone.
And the Lady Tza bounded the palace with Streams and a great lake wherein were set every kind of finned and squirming monster of the Ocean, as, the thousand-armed gaphalon from the waters of the Sea of Cheg, by the lands of Ank and Oan where men first landed in the New Lands millennia before, in the days when that which happened to Pazatar and to Armassic, happened. And in another section of the lake swam the virionne that swallows the man and the shark alike as one mouthful for his sharp-fanged jaws; and there were in another section the deadly fishes called the kannaq, whom no man has seen slaying its prey, but from whom, prey is never known to escape.
And the legend says that the spires of her palace arose a thousand times the height of a man into the sky, and were much hidden in clouds. And furthermore there was a great central spire, that was builded as great around at the base as two of Tza’s lesser palaces in other cities of her realm of Tar-misorn, as Pashki’oth and ah’Kluz in the north, and shadowed Malkhi itself. And the heights of this tower were never free of clouds, toward the uttermost extremity, save at the very moment of sunrise, and of sunset.
Then the legend holds that Tza did then by fearsome magicks travel to the topmost tip of her great white tower, from her star-bright throne within the Great Palace. And from the high peak and platform of that tower, they do say she hurled a shattering thunderbolt unnaturally at the very sun itself; which others do say she did as part of an immense schema of deepest magick to encapture the powers of the sky and sun for herself.
And every day she did this, morning, evening, but this endeavor continued only through the length of the first year of the Great Palace.
For on the first day after the first year was passed, since the final stone was set in the pathway through her gardens from tower to palace, in the first hour of that day, after she had cast the lightning bolt at the risen sun, there came a great greying darkness over the sky, all quietly, and the earth itself was felt to shudder, and the live hint of rain tensed the air.
But all was most unseeming quiet; and it was said that Tza herself in her greater throne room of ivory and onyx and gemmed metals, and seated at audience on her star-bright throne, did suffer great fear, which all about her could sense as easily as they could the growing darkness outside.
And those who stood at audience with the Lady Tza that morning could not help themselves, but ran outside to the great courtyard and garden of the palace, wherein were everyone of the kinds of stones inlaid, both gentle and precious, and every kind of tree and plant did grow there save deadly herbs and vines.
And the sky grew black as a great prison, with no glimmer or chink of light in the sky, and this continued for one hour, and all the people of the city of Zetri, and of the whole land of Tarmisorn, did gather outside their homes, in Malkhi as in Kulsheth, and gazed in fear at terror above them.
Then after an hour there came a break in the clouds, and all the people of the land did gasp in awe, for it was but a tiny gap in the very peak of the heavens; yet from it poured a dazzling light, greater than any man had ever seen before or, it is said, has since.
And this light made its way downward in a thin blinding beam toward the Great Palace of Tza in her proud Queen City. And for a moment it touched the great white central tower, which stood in the beam and reflected it far and wide with its gleaming marble walls—and then the darkness was gone, at once, and the beam of light was no more.
But out of the clear sky now came the most awesome portent of all, tells the legend, which says that, from the sun itself, now halfway to its zenith—came a black bolt of lightning.
It struck all in a moment at the great tower, and the people of the land were blinded for a time, whether they were watching or not.
And when sight at last came back, the tower still stood; and all the people in the land were still unhurt, even to Tza herself; and Tza, they say, was mortally silent when she looked toward her proud tower of magic.
For it had turned to the blackness of that awefull midday night that no man ever forgot who had seen it; and that tower still stands, black as crime, and Tza never challenged the magic of the sun from that day on, though the tower still stands wrapt in clouds save at sunrise and sundown, catching as always the first and last rays of the sun; but Tza was evil as night, they whisper in versions that come from many leagues away, and found many other polluted powers of magic to enslave the land of Tarmisorn, taxing endlessly for her delights of black gossamer.
And I, Firanzu, do live now in a distant land from Tarmisorn, to tell my tales, and I tell, of this one, that I saw Zetri and lived the greatest part of my life there, and I saw there spires not much taller than in other likely cities—save for the Ebon Tower in the center of the Queen’s Quarter, and even that spans not much more than twice the height of the tallest of the other towers.
The sun shines on the Ebon Tower freely, for clouds, when 108 they come, must come so close to ground to hide the Ebon Tower that it would be a great fog in the whole city.
Yet the legend saith otherwise, and I am loathe to doubt a legend.
CHAPTER THREE: Thief Time in the Grand Marketplace
Tassoran strode through the narrow streets of the Thieves’ Quarter of Zetri, toward the vast central marketplace of the city.
Much as similar congeries in other large cities Tassoran had visited in his brief life, this felons’ warren seemed almost unpopulated, especially during the day. The bronze cleats on the bottom of his leathern boots clacked lonely echoes in the silent streets.
An occasional quiet burst of laughter from a window here, a whiff of oddly pleasant smoke from another, an occasional silent figure who would usually dart along another street rather than face another…sane sober folk from the other quarters of the city seldom liked to visit such places, even for the quietly dangerous excitement. The endless silent strangeness of it strained civilized nerves more than a few pegs past unbearable tension…which left thieves to themselves, and to the hunters.
But Tassoran had lived in such surroundings since he was seven years old; their eeriness to him was a tonic of normality.
He was eager to reach the central marketplace, by reputation the largest in the New Lands. For two days Shagon had been making incantations over him, and filling him with nauseating potions, medicaments, and vilely stupefying narcotics. This morning he had been weak from it, but insisted that, even though he knew the plan now, and trusted it, it was needful that he go about the city and study the nature of things. What he first wanted was fresh air, and next, to get away from Shagon.
Shagon had been irritated, but Tassoran had insisted. And since it was, after all, a fact that Tassoran did prefer to scout in this fashion, Shagon gave in with an ill grace,
A distant dim hubbub and steady clamor became noticeable; he was almost to the marketplace, and feeling better than he had since they had arrived at their lodgings in Zetri —when Shagon had immediately begun him on a series of pasty stinking messes of weeds and other things Shagon would not name, as he stirred them in and made him eat…
There was a distant skirling, and a piping of horns in a merry light tune—players for a few coins in the marketplace!
He smiled, fell in step with the distant melody, and attempted to counterpoint it with his own whistling, filled with delight.
Only a thief, in very truth, could have the time to take his leisure at a time when all else who lived must needs be up and working!
Round one comer, and the tune was louder; round the next, and there was the central marketplace of Zetri itself, spread out before him in a multi-sensed tapestry of sounds and smells and colors, a shout of pure existence that suffused the young thief with a moment of pure joy.
Three musicians stood by the tented store of a spice dealer — a white-skinned lad of ten beating happily on a gnar-skin drum, a youth of fourteen with glistening coal-black skin who pumped wheezing skirls from a gross bag of winds he pumped from his own lungs, and a fellow about Tassoran’s own age playing the dancing tune itself on a strange gnarled metal horn.
About them stood a half-dozen wanderers to Zetri from distant lands. As the players came to an end in their music, grinning and sweating, the visitors tossed coins to them according to their pleasure.
Tassoran reached in his pouch and scattered a fistful of coins at the feet of the musicians, who fell to their knees scrabbling for the coins with shouts of laughter.
“Ai—ai—ai! Most noble one,” said the youngest, pausing in his frantic scramble, “thanks to you from Habu and Cha-mon and Vallasz Venai, good sir, most humble thanks!” And he dove back into the clouds of dust that rose.
“If I meet you again, and you play as well,” shouted Tassoran over the little group’s laughter, “look for like gratitude!”
And he turned and strode onto the Thieves’ Wideway, the major pathway in this sector through the tents and more permanent constructions, strode past the tented stores of the great central marketplace of Zetri, and laughed aloud when behind him, raggedly now, the music began again!
Coming as he had from the Thieves’ Quarter, he found himself in the least impressive section of the marketplace. The clumps of people who dared the notoriety of the neighborhood seemed pallid and depressing to Tassoran, especially since it was well known to all that the most disreputable purchases could here be made with great ease, albeit much money.
This was not much to Tassoran’s taste as destination, as he was still young and without deep interest in civilized perversions, sexual, emotional, physical—least of all in escapist potions. He’d had enough of that from Shagon’s magical constructions to hold him till his hair turned grey. He had pride in his work, and remained content with wine or ale with a meal, and enough to fill his pipe a few times afterward, then talk with some friends, or a night’s work, and a free wench from serving quarters somewhere—that was enough for a rich full life!
So he walked through the westernmost portion of the market seldom pausing, though he felt no need to hurry.
Once he paused to test a number of throwing-daggers, set up in racks for customer convenience. Several seemed to his liking, but finally he brought out his own, hefted it, and sent its point straight into the dab of tar that was the target on the thick plank between two tents.
Shaking his head at the knife dealer, who had no tongue but spoke rapidly with his fingers in the manner of the Xib’on tribesman, he went on his way.
The sun was an hour past zenith when Tassoran approached a large number of tents, from each of which emanated the enticing aroma of good food.
Racks of spitted, roasted fowl on every side jutted out into the pathways between the rows of tents. He had drifted away from the major pattern of wideways through the market for just this purpose.
On open grilles fresh chops were thrown for eager wanderers through the market mazes. Beside each three or four tents were other larger tents protecting rows of benches, where one could pause to eat one’s purchases without paying to sit down.
Casks of clear water stood at hand also within such tents, free and subsidized by the nearby merchants.
Occasionally too there were larger, semipermanent structures, long-established taverns, well-known and expensive, though tents were the predominant structure throughout the part of the market he had seen so far.
For millennia the nomads and wandering tradesmen had come here to this spot, near the river Zasho, before the town that then was Zetri had become great with the advent of the first Lady Tza. They would set up their wares at whatever likely spot they might obtain, and remain until they had sold all of whatever they had;
Then they would strike their tents and move back to their wandering life, or over to the next trade market where they could profit from further barterings.
And when Zetri became a great town, and trade transformed its face and size and gave it a kind of majesty, still the nomads and the wandering traders returned.
Once all the square was grassy emptiness beyond the old walls; then came the nomad traders and made camp there.
Eventually the market place came into being as such, shortly before the advent of the Lady, and the walls were rebuilt to surround the trading area, now irregularly paved over. This was the sign of a major change in the market, for now many nomads ceased their wanderings for greater and greater lengths of time, desiring to trade from a fixed spot to which they began to lay genuine claim to. By laws of Zetri at that time, paving open land generally confirmed tenancy.
Then came the first Lady Tza, first of the eight, who wrapt the great mountain Chain that had loomed beyond the new walls and marketplace, wrapt the great mountain in -strange and evil spells, till it vanished forever from the New Lands; and on that spot the Lady built her palaces and towers of the Queen’s Quarter.
Tassoran knew enough of this magic-haunted history to realize that he was still on the outskirts of the older marketplace proper, for as one neared the center of the market, the structures—held in family and clan hands unchanged for countless years—the structures became more and more permanent.
Tassoran stopped in front of a tent from which tantalizing aromas rolled out in an almost tangible cloud.
“Exotic morsels from Far Kazemi and the keepland marches, fair sir,” said a tall stout woman dressed in a mixture of outland garbs, colorful but meaningless.
“Is your price reasonable for a good thick cut of roast groundpig?” Tassoran asked cheerfully. He really didn’t care how much it cost, today.
