Lawrence Watt-Evans: Ithanalin's Restoration

There she stopped dead, evidently surprised by the presence of four guards. Kilisha almost walked into her. The others had left a little more space, and halted without crowding each other-but by the time Nuvielle's own guards entered, the antechamber was rather full. The room was not especially large.

The four guards, standing two on either side of an elaborately carved pair of doors, had been chatting idly; at the sight of the treasurer they snapped to attention and thumped the butts of their spears on the stone floor. Kilisha blinked at them, noticing that their uniforms were much cleaner and better-made than Kelder's, and that their spears and breastplates were wonderfully polished. Two of the four wore unfamiliar golden insignia on their right arms.

"Wulran is in?" Nuvielle asked.

"Yes, my lady," the guard nearest the right-hand side of the doors replied. He was one of the two with the insignia.

"I thought that at this hour he would be conducting business downstairs."

"The overlord found the discussions wearisome and decided to take a brief rest, my lady."

"Ah."

Kilisha thought that Nuvielle's tone managed to convey an amazing amount of information in that single meaningless word; it was clearly a tone of unsurprised resigned disapproval.

For a moment no one spoke; the eleven people in the room simply stood there, considering the situation. Then Nuvielle said, "I suppose I'll want to speak with him sooner or later in any case; could you tell him I'm here, please, and that I've brought guests?"

The guard bowed, but stayed where he was; it was the other insignia-bearing guard, to the left, who opened the door and stepped silently through.

The door closed, and the party waited.

Kilisha was uneasy, standing here surrounded by soldiers; even Kelder seemed slightly threatening now. She glanced at the others in her group, and saw Adagan studying the overlord's guards with evident interest while Opir looked acutely uncomfortable.

That was hardly surprising. She had told him that they were going to the Fortress to retrieve the couch; she hadn't said anything about meeting the overlord himself!

She hadn't expected it herself; she had assumed, as Nuvielle apparently had, that the overlord would be busy elsewhere, allowing them to slip into his apartments and take the couch without his knowledge.

His presence did complicate matters, but after all, it really was Ithanalin's couch, it wasn't as if she had come to steal something.

Nuvielle and the others would all testify that it was Ithanalin's couch. The overlord would surely have no objection to letting them take it back.

She might need to explain how it had come here, though. It wouldn't do to lie to the overlord, or even to seem to lie; she started to plan out what she would say, if he asked.

And she needed to remember to curtsy, as deeply as she could-or would it be better to bow? He was the overlord, ruler of the city and master of one-third of the Hegemony, heir and direct descendant of General Gor, who had turned the Western Command into the peacetime city of Ethshar of the Rocks; she wanted to be as deferential as possible.

She could feel herself starting to tremble at the thought of speaking to him, and she tried to prevent it. She reminded herself that Wulran III was just a man, even if he was the overlord. He was only twenty-six, not so very much older than herself. He deserved respect and deference, but there was nothing to be frightened of…

Well, except that he could order the soldiers to kill or imprison or torture her on his slightest whim.

But he wouldn't. He was said to be a generous and kind young man, and besides, even an overlord didn't dare anger the Wizards' Guild by abusing a wizard's apprentice without cause. The Guild had never yet killed an overlord, but they had reportedly come close more than once-most recently Azrad VI, in Ethshar of the Spices, was said to have been given a very direct threat over his treatment of the early warlocks a quarter century ago.

She took a deep breath and stood up straight. She started to put her hand on the hilt of her athame-she always found the feel of the knife reassuring-but then noticed one of the guards watching her closely and shifting his spear slightly, and she stopped before her fingers touched the leather.

She hoped she would be permitted to carry the weapon into the overlord's rooms; if she needed any magic to restrain the couch, she would need her athame.

Then the door opened and the guardsman reappeared. He bowed to Lady Nuvielle.

"My lady," he said, "the overlord consents to see you, but says he would prefer not to deal with a horde of strangers just now."

Nuvielle glanced at the others, then said, "Of course. I will be accompanied only by Kilisha, and the others will wait here."

The soldier bowed again, then turned, and he and his partner swung open the doors. Nuvielle strode in, Kilisha following with a gait far more timid; the two guards stepped in behind them, then closed the door, leaving Kilisha's three friends, Nuvielle's two guards, and the overlord's other two guards in the antechamber.

The two women found themselves in a large and elegant room; Kilisha could not tell whether the walls or floor here were stone, as they were all covered with draperies and carpets, but the high ceiling was painted wood, depicting clouds and birds and butterflies against a blue background. A few sculptures, mostly statues of young women, stood about; a gilded shrine gleamed in one corner. Assorted couches, tables, and chairs were arranged in three neat groupings. Kilisha took all this in quickly, but then her attention focused on one specific couch in the nearest group.

There it was, at last-the crimson velvet couch that had stood so long in Ithanalin's parlor. It blended surprisingly well with its surroundings.

And a handsome young man who she realized must be the overlord was sprawled on it, looking at her.

Kilisha managed to not burst out, "You're on my couch!" Instead she caught herself, remembered her manners, and curtsied deeply.

Beside her, Nuvielle said, "Hello, Wulran."

"Aunt Nuvielle," Wulran said, folding his hands on his chest. "What brings you here, and who is this young lady?"

Kilisha hastily curtsied again and said, "I am Kilisha the Wizard's Apprentice, my lord." She thought that sounded more suitable for the situation than "of Eastgate." When her head came back up from the ceremonial bob she took a good look at the overlord.

He was a tall, thin man, dark-haired and dark-eyed, his complexion rather pale; his face was narrow and his jaw pointed, the sharp angle exaggerated by a neatly trimmed triangular beard. He wore a loose beige tunic embroidered in three shades of brown, black suede breeches, and very practical-looking brown boots, one of which was hooked under an arm of the couch, as the seat was really rather short for a man of his height to lie on.

Under other circumstances she wouldn't have minded meeting such a man at all, but this man was the city's overlord. His clothes might not be especially fancy, and he wore no crown or medallion or other token of office, but still, he had the power of life and death over tens of thousands of people.

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, nodding politely. "I hope you'll forgive me for not rising, but my bowels are in knots and my head is throbbing. My advisers have been shouting at me all morning about this blasted usurper in the Sands, and I haven't been eating well for the past few days, and I'm afraid it's all catching up to me."

"Have you been sleeping well?" Nuvielle asked.

"No, I haven't been sleeping well," he snapped. "Aunt Kin-thera and Uncle Ederd and Ederd's father arc out at sea somewhere with this madwoman threatening to kill them all, and there's talk that I may be next after them, and dozens of people are already dead and Ederd's palace is full of thieves and beggars sleeping wrapped in the tapestries-how am I supposed to sleep?"