He offered a thin smile as he turned away, dismissing her. Ancient Ones! The lesser the skill, the greater the arrogance.
The bedchamber was even more crowded than the outer room, as all the Demidrek’s staff and assistants were gathered round his bed. A number had to shuffle aside to allow Tayschrenn to approach. On the opposite side stood the Invigilator, his bronzed, sweaty face floating in the murk like an oval mask.
One of the aides bent down to whisper in the Demidrek’s ear. It had been more than a month since Tayschrenn had last seen Ithell, and he was shocked by the man’s decline. He lay buried under the rich bedding. His arms resembled bones wrapped in parchment – the veins distended, a deep blue, near to black. The man’s head seemed already a fleshless skull, the cheeks withered and sunken, the eyes bruised dark pits.
One emaciated arm rose and beckoned Tayschrenn closer. Obediently, he leaned over the bed, though the churning stink of rotting flesh was a near physical barrier. ‘Tay,’ the Demidrek’s voice came as the barest of sour breaths, ‘this is Invigilator Tallow. He has been sent to oversee the transition.’ Tayschrenn inclined his head to the Invigilator. ‘You will offer him every assistance.’
Tayschrenn nodded. ‘Of course. But there will be no need. D’rek has more work for you, I am sure.’
Ithell’s lips pulled back in a wry smile that resembled a death’s rictus. He patted Tayschrenn’s arm, his hand a bundle of hot dry bones. The arm fell and an exhalation rippled the ancient’s chest, revealing the effort that just that small gesture took.
Tayschrenn straightened from what he was certain was a deathbed. The Invigilator, Tallow, gestured to the open door and he nodded in response. The two eased their way through the crush of gathered brothers and sisters come to pray for the Demidrek’s soul.
In the main room Tayschrenn was quite amused to see the Darujhistani seeress, Batevari, pull away from the Invigilator as if the man carried some plague. Tallow ignored the woman; he gestured Tayschrenn forward. The priest dipped his head in assent and preceded him out into the hall.
For a time the two walked side by side down the darkened stone tunnel, hands clasped at their backs. Once they had some measure of privacy, the Invigilator cleared his throat.
‘It is an honour to meet you, young Tayschrenn. Tales of your prowess and early accomplishments have reached even unto the synod.’
‘The honour is all mine, Invigilator.’
‘Ithill himself plucked you from the streets, I understand. Yes?’
‘Indeed.’
‘You grew up in the temple compound, then. A very strange upbringing for a child. I heard that your mastery of Telas exceeded the cult’s teachers before you were ten. Is this so?’
‘I have been self-directed in my studies for some time now.’
‘You have, I understand, served as Ithill’s secretary. Relieving him of the burden of administrative duties.’
‘Indeed.’
‘The committee of transition may call upon you, then.’
‘I would serve however I may.’
Tallow stopped. ‘Of the many qualified to take over the mantle of Demidrek,’ he asked, ‘to whom do you think the position ought to go?’
Tayschrenn shrugged. ‘It is not for me to choose.’
The Invigilator stepped closer and Tayschrenn found himself pressed up against the cold damp wall. He was suddenly aware of how intimidating a physical presence the heavy-set, frowning man projected. ‘Of course not. However … if you had to?’
‘It would not be proper for me to name anyone.’
The man snorted. ‘Because your name is among the candidates.’ The man’s thick fleshy lips drew down even further. ‘Do not think me a fool, young Tayschrenn. You may have squirmed and politicked your way into the confidence of a doddering old man, but you carry no such favour with me. If I detect any evidence of efforts to influence or intimidate the committee I will not hesitate to act. Do I make myself clear?’
At that moment Tayschrenn held in his head the image of Koarsden howling in laughter at the idea of his ever conniving with or ‘politicking’ anyone. Yet all that was swept aside when he glimpsed once more in this man’s theurgic aura something strange. A tinge he’d not witnessed in any other’s – almost a discoloured moiling of power. So faint was it, and buried so deep within the core of the man’s projecting energies, that he half imagined he’d mistaken it.
Forgetting everything, even their discussion, he frowned, quite puzzled, and searched for it once again.
Tallow’s own gaze narrowed then and he pushed Tayschrenn away, adjusting his robes. He snapped, ‘I will tolerate no interference,’ and stalked away up the tunnel.
Tayschrenn watched him go; from this distance could not detect anything odd. Perhaps he had imagined it. In any case, it was clear that the Invigilator did not want him interfering in the process of transition – though what form the other man imagined his interference might take he had no idea.
*
Dassem kicked the burning wrack from the doorway of the mausoleum, ducking, as he did so, the heaved cow manure, rocks, and burning brands. The besieging crowd shouted curses, waved fists, spat and damned him.
It was halfway through yet another night of attacks. He kept his face impassive as he nudged a flaming torch from the tossed broken wood. At least, he reflected, oil was expensive and rare. Otherwise he could find himself in a conflagration.
A louder note entered the shouted cursing – one of fear and surprise – and Dassem squinted through the smoke, ducking more rocks. He was certain it was no adherent of Hood, as he’d forbidden any street battles.
A huge dark silhouette reared above the crowd and people ran, shouting in sudden panic. As Dassem watched, the giant figure of Koroll, a city mage, swung his tall staff sideways, cutting a great swath through the crowd.
‘Disperse!’ the newcomer bellowed. ‘By order of the Protectress!’
The ring of protesters scattered in all directions and quite quickly the Thelomen giant was alone among the wreckage and abandoned crackling torches. Alone but for a smaller version who came stepping over the guttering brands and kicking through the broken crates and rubbish. Ho.
There was something about this particular mage that disturbed Dassem more than any other. Hood, he sensed, did not approve of this one. Ho shook his head, his arms crossed. ‘You’re causing a disturbance, swordsman.’
‘I am but a peaceful worshipper.’
‘Your presence is a lightning rod for rage. Nothing generates fear and panic like a plague – and you’re seen as its very author!’
‘It is everywhere, you know that.’
Ho was shaking his head. ‘Yes, yes. But tell that to someone who’s just lost a loved one.’
Dassem rested a hand on the grip of his sword. ‘Is this an eviction notice?’
‘It is a summons. Shalmanat wishes to see you.’
He glanced back to the mausoleum. ‘I cannot leave the temple unguarded.’