Imperial Traitor (30 page)

Jabal frowned, and his acolyte wondered for a moment if he had misread his master. Calvyn would not have suggested such a demonstration to any other Grand Magician. To do so would have been to
invite a string of unpleasant penances. No magician liked to admit there were things that the other arcane disciplines made easier, but Jabal was more of a liberal than most. After a considerable
pause, Jabal nodded his permission.

‘Please, take a seat, Master. This will only take a moment,’ Calvyn said. ‘Before I begin, I feel I should explain what I’m doing, Devarusso. What you’ve just seen
was a magically-created illusion. A magician draws energy from the elements around him and harnesses that energy through the binding power of the runic language. In this way he can disrupt the
natural order of things. What you’ll see next is not quite the same, though I’d be surprised if you could see the difference. Sorcery works very differently from magic. It relies on the
strength of the sorcerer’s mind. The clarity with which he can picture images and the strength with which he can project them into the minds of others is the critical factor to being a
powerful practitioner.’

True to his word, within moments he had recreated the forest scene in every detail. He walked across the stage amongst the huge trees and turned to face his master and Devarusso.

‘There is another advantage to my producing the illusions,’ he said without so much as a hint of superiority in his tone. ‘I can add texture and substance to them. Look.’
Devarusso and Jabal both found their eyes widening with amazement as Calvyn leaned up against one of the trees. ‘I discovered during my time with Vallaine that my magical training gave my
illusions something that none of the other sorcerers appeared able to create – a sense of reality that was a step on from the visual. To do this takes a little more concentration, but is not
really any more draining than producing a ghost image. I didn’t let on to the other sorcerers that I could do this, as it would likely have been viewed with as much horror by them, as my use
of sorcery was by the masters in the Magicians’ Academy.’

Jabal was speechless, but Devarusso was quick to jump in with a question.

‘So you can take any backdrop I describe to you and convert the stage into something approaching the reality?’ he asked excitedly.

‘Actually it’s better than that, Calvyn replied. ‘You only have to picture the scene you require and I can take that scene from your mind and recreate it exactly as you picture
it. Go ahead. Think of a setting.’

Calvyn reached into Devarusso’s mind with his own and smiled as he saw the scene the actor was picturing. The actor was clearly attempting to picture something impossible to recreate on
stage. The image was the deck of a ship in the midst of a storm. Men were staggering across the heaving deck as waves crashed over the railing, sending plumes of water into the air and washing
knee-deep across the decking.

An instant later and the stage was the deck. Beyond the deck all the two viewers could see was the raging sea. Sailors ran, slid and climbed, fighting with the rigging as they struggled to
control the ship amid the monstrous waves. Shouted orders could barely be heard above the howl of the wind. Two barrels broke loose from their stowage point and were swept on a wave towards the
rail. One of the barrels crashed through the railing, taking a sailor over the side with it.

Through the drama, Calvyn stood in the centre of the heaving deck, unmoving amidst the chaos and seemingly unaffected by the pitching movement of the ship around him.

‘Wait a minute!’ Devarusso exclaimed. ‘You can create characters as well?’

‘Of course,’ Calvyn replied.

Devarusso began to laugh. To begin with it was a chuckle, but the chuckle developed quickly into a full-blown belly laugh. Calvyn dissolved the illusion and exchanged puzzled glances with Jabal.
His master shrugged.

‘You . . . can . . . create . . . characters . . . ha, ha, ha!’ Devarusso was beyond communication for some time. He sat holding his sides, doubled up to the point that his head was
almost on his lap and his dark curtain of wavy hair prevented any sight of his face. When he sat up and brushed his hair back with his fingers there were tears still rolling down his cheeks. He
shook his head, lost in mirth and repeated the same words over and over again whilst waggling a finger in Calvyn’s direction. When he finally recovered enough composure to speak, the two
magicians were keen to share in what was so funny about the revelation.

‘Don’t you see?’ Devarusso asked. ‘If you can create characters, then there’s no need for lengthy rehearsals. All I have to do is to sit and read the manuscript.
Calvyn can take the images from my mind as I picture them from the script and produce them on stage. One or two practices will probably do it. All our “actors” will have to do is
practise their curtain call bow, and Calvyn could probably recreate that, too, if he wanted to. No one will ever realise that they were never on stage at all. Shand’s teeth, Calvyn! You could
put me out of business overnight if you had a mind to, or make me rich in very quick time if you joined me. Why would anyone ever want to watch live actors again when they could view something as
spectacular as this?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jabal replied. ‘There’s a certain charm about watching live theatre. I shouldn’t worry too much. I don’t think you’ll find
many sorcerers wanting to take away your trade.’

‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Devarusso said with feeling. ‘Now, come on. We might as well go and give Femke and Kempten the good news. Femke’s plan to spill the final
fight scene off the stage and out into the corridors of the Palace was a good one, but fraught with many dangers. If the Imperial guards were quick and well organised, they might cut off the attack
party before they ever reached the cellars. Also, because by its very nature, the plan would have scattered the party out through multiple doors, there was always the chance that individuals might
not have managed to rejoin the main strike force.’

Jabal and Calvyn still looked on, bemused by Devarusso’s extravagant enthusiasm.

‘Don’t you see?’ the troupe leader continued. ‘Femke’s original plan has just become obsolete. If we utilise Calvyn’s ability to the full, then Femke can lead
her team on a secret strike from the dressing rooms, whilst the vast majority of the Palace is distracted by the play.’

‘There are others who think as I do, Brother Dragon,’ Fox purred. ‘The Guildmaster is no longer fit to lead us. We must act now if the Guild is to survive.
Kempten lives. If we’re to keep our identity in Shandar, then he cannot be allowed to gain the Mantle. The Guildmaster would have us blackmail him into renouncing his position. Since when has
the Guild resorted to such base tactics? Kempten should be removed from the picture cleanly and permanently. That’s what we’re here for. That’s what we do.’

Shalidar’s satisfied smile beneath the shadow of his deep hood was almost a reflection of the toothy grin of the dragon image woven into the tapestry on the opposite wall. Fox was doing
his dirty work for him, without so much as the subtlest of prompting. It was almost too good to be true.

He shifted his weight in his chair and extended his right leg fully before crossing it over his left. The wound in his thigh bothered him more if he did not stretch the muscles regularly. Fox
lounged suggestively in the only other chair in his living chamber. A split in the lower part of her robes fell open, revealing the flesh of her leg to just above the knee. Shalidar pointedly
turned his focus away. He knew Fox’s reputation. No matter how attractive she might be under those robes, Shalidar knew better than to be tempted. Fox had the heart of a cold-blooded killer.
Despite his instinct for survival and talent at dealing death to others, he was under no illusion. To share more than a platonic relationship with such a woman would be to invite trouble.

‘So what do you suggest, Brother Fox? Are we to kill the Guildmaster as well? That’s a drastic measure. We’re already down on numbers. He’s a most accomplished assassin.
Don’t make the mistake of underestimating him because of his age. His reactions might not be what they were, but he’s no fool.’

‘I never said he was a fool, Brother. I know his mind is sharp, but despite his abilities he’s led the Guild into this crisis. There are several of us who don’t believe he can
lead us out again. The Guildmaster cannot retire, so we’ll have to retire him.’

‘Two kills with one arrow,’ he thought, his grin broadening even further. ‘What’s more, it was not I who loosed it.’

‘So who do you hope will be the next Guildmaster? Are you looking to take the position? Or is there someone else you think might make a strong leader for the present
circumstances?’

Fox’s change in posture answered his question before she opened her mouth. Shalidar read her pose as easily as he would read words from a slate. She got to her feet, moved across to one of
Shalidar’s two bookcases and started running her elegant fingers gently back and forth across the spines.

‘I would stand if it went to a ballot,’ she admitted, ‘but in that event it will be up to the members to decide who can best lead us during these dark times.’

It was clear that she felt she had a good chance. He had to admit she possessed many attributes of a strong leader. She was confident, clever and subtle. She manipulated others with ease, and
used her feminine wiles to full advantage. It was not hard to see her winning a considerable number of votes if it were to come to a ballot. The problem facing her, though, was that Guildmasters
were rarely selected in such a fashion.

Under normal circumstances a Guildmaster would pre-select his successor. No one, including the Guildmaster’s choice, would know whom he had chosen. His decision would be brought to the
members by one of the Guildmaster’s personal servants in a sealed scroll. The servant would bring the scroll to the central chamber, break the seal, and present it to the assassin whose icon
was named inside. Only if the chosen assassin refused the position would the leadership go to a vote.

The leadership of the Guild meant nothing to Shalidar. There had been a time not long ago when he would have challenged if the opportunity had arisen, but now he had ultimate power in Shandar
teetering tantalisingly towards his grasp. Guild politics seemed almost petty by comparison.

‘Well, I hope you get your opportunity to challenge for the leadership, Brother. I’ll not stand in your way if you seek to brush the old man aside. He and I have never seen eye to
eye.’

‘Thank you, Brother Dragon. I appreciate your support.’ Shantella stepped towards the door, allowing her fingertips to run gently down the back of one of the larger silver dragon
ornaments on the top of the bookcase as she moved away. Her strutting gait emphasised the irony of her title as a ‘Brother’. There were few women who used the power of their femininity
with such confidence. ‘There’s one more Brother whom I trust enough to approach. With his support added, I’ll be ready to move. I’ll speak with you again in a couple of
days.’

She disappeared out through the door, leaving just the faintest hint of exotic perfume in her wake. Shalidar massaged his thigh gently around the area of crossbow bolt wound. The surface damage
was healing nicely now. Tremarle’s ointment had worked wonders in a very short time, but he was still finding it impossible to walk without a limp.

‘A couple of days – perfect,’ he thought. ‘Long enough to finalise my plans to snatch power, but not long enough to allow the Guildmaster time to interfere. It will take
time for a new Guildmaster to find his, or her, feet, and by the time the new leader realises what I’m doing, it’ll be too late.’

Shalidar had seen well-laid plans fall apart before. As such he knew instinctively where the weak points in his latest scheme were. ‘Tremarle may waver when he discovers that Kempten is
not dead,’ he mused. ‘I must make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish. The Guildmaster should be distracted – whatever Fox does will not be half-hearted. I’d better
get up to the Palace and see that Tremarle keeps his mind set on being Emperor. Perhaps I can convince him that the coronation should be a private affair – just Tremarle, a few senior Lords
and the High Cleric. There would be no reason to delay. We could have it done almost immediately. With those formalities complete I can get back to my unfinished business with Femke and Wolf
Spider. . .’

‘I thought I’d better drop by and apologise, Rikala. The number of costumes required has substantially reduced. With these complete, we only need –’
Femke paused as she mentally ran through the cast and what clothing she had ready for whom. ‘– three more: the dark cloak for the King and two sets of courtier’s clothes. One in
Jabal’s size and another for Devarusso should cover it. What’s the earliest you could have them ready for?’

A small rack of completed garments dominated the tiny living area. The living room clearly doubled as her workroom, as there was an open cabinet with all manner of cloth, boxes of pins, needles,
thimbles, buttons and no end of other dressmaking paraphernalia neatly stacked inside. The stout little woman was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen of her tiny town
house. Her hands were on her hips and her face was characteristically stern.