"Oh, but please, Guildmaster!" the young man burst out, startling her. "Lar doesn't mean anyone any harm; it's all a misunderstanding! The Lumethans wouldn't try to kill him if they knew the truth!"

Ithinia turned and stared at him. "Oh? And why don't they know the truth, then?"

"Because they won't believe it," Lar said; Ithinia thought he was deliberately not looking at the young man as he spoke. "We told them we mean them no harm. We told them the Empire will not expand. They don't believe us."

"I really don't care whether they have reason to assassinate him or not," Lord Ildirin interjected. "I won't have them doing it here, in my city!"

"Ah," Ithinia said, amused. "Your city. Does your nephew know it's yours?"

"May we come in and discuss this, or are you going to refuse us outright, here and now, and cause me great personal annoyance?"

"Fine. Come in, then," she said, stepping aside and gesturing toward her little-used parlor.

Four of the six men trailed in – Ildirin first, then Lar, then the young man whose name she had not yet heard, and finally one of the three guardsmen. The other two soldiers took up posts on either side of the door, facing out toward the street.

Ithinia waited until the others had entered, then looked at the two remaining. "You don't need to stay there," she said.

"Lord Ildirin's orders, Guildmaster," one of them replied.

"Look up," she said, pointing. "I have gargoyles watching over me; what do you think you can do that they cannot?"

"Nothing, Guildmaster, but I have my orders."

Ithinia shook her head. "Foolishness," she said. "This is all foolishness." She closed the door and followed her guests into the parlor.

All the men but the young one had all taken seats; Ithinia indicated a chair for him, as well, but remained standing herself.

"Now," she said, "let me make sure I have this right. You want me to turn this Vondishman to stone to protect him from Fendel's Assassin. You've spoken with the killer?"

The men exchanged glances; the young man, who was now perched on the edge of a chair, said, "That's right. Ahan gave it honey drops, and it answered questions."

"Honey drops?" She blinked. "Interesting; I thought it required the pure substance. Honey drops contain other things, do they not? Or are they merely cooked-down honey?"

The men exchanged glances. "I… I don't know, Guildmaster," the young one said.

Ithinia nodded. She should have expected that; most people didn't pay attention to ingredients the way wizards did. "And it said…?"

"It said it was going to wring Lar's neck while he slept, but that if he was dead, it wouldn't bother."

"And you think it will see petrifaction as death."

The young man suddenly looked very uncertain. "Isn't it?"

"I think we would all agree that Bazil's Petrifaction is fatal, but Fendel's is reversible, which is generally not considered a characteristic of death."

The look of dismay on the faces of both the young man and the Vondish ambassador was almost comical.

"That doesn't mean your scheme won't work," she quickly reassured them. "The assassin will undoubtedly have its own standards – isn't that right?" She addressed this last to empty air.

Nothing answered. Lar looked around the room warily.

"It said it wouldn't answer any more questions without more honey," the young man volunteered after a few seconds of awkward silence. "I've already promised to give it more by noon tomorrow. I swore."

Ithinia turned to consider him more carefully. "It agreed to that?"

"Yes," the man said. "You wouldn't happen to have any honey I could give it, would you?"

"You should send one of those soldiers you have wasting their time outside my door to fetch some, I would say."

"Oh. I thought that… well, isn't it used in some spells?"

"What's your name, young man?"

"Emmis of Shiphaven, Guildmaster."

"Well, Emmis, I do indeed have honey in my possession, but why should I give it to you?"

Emmis glanced at Lord Ildirin, then turned back to Ithinia. "To save time?"

"Your time, not mine. I am not interested in giving you the idea that you can make yourself at home here, or impose on me at your convenience. You will have to find your own honey elsewhere."

Before anyone could reply Ithinia thought she heard a faint growl. She remembered suddenly that the conjured assassin was almost certainly in the room, listening; it apparently didn't like being told it had to wait for its treat.

But it was constrained by the enchantment, she knew; it couldn't act of its own choice outside very narrow limits. Until it had carried out its assigned task it couldn't deliberately harm anyone else unless they got directly in the way of its attack on its intended target, and once its task was performed it would be banished back to whatever other realm it had come from – or perhaps to nonexistence; no one had ever bothered to determine whether the thing had any independent reality outside Fendel's spell.

For a moment she considered getting out a jar of honey and asking the assassin a few questions of her own, but this was clearly not the time or place.

"So, my lord," she said, turning to Ildirin, "you want me to petrify this man, and see whether that's enough to protect him from Fendel's Assassin. And you said you had other concerns?"

"Yes. I want his would-be killers found and apprehended. I want to know why they think it's acceptable to murder people here in Ethshar. I'm sure you have magic capable of that."

"I'm sure I do. What I am not sure of is why you expect me to use it in your behalf. You know the Guild does not meddle in politics."

"I know the Guild only meddles in politics when it suits you to do so," Ildirin retorted. "I remember well how the Guild meddled in my brother's handling of the Council of Warlocks some twenty-odd years ago. I came to you, rather than going to the Wizards' Quarter, in part because you were closer, and in part because I know you are an exceptionally powerful wizard and could almost certainly do everything I ask, but most of all, because this is political, and I suspect you have the authority to act where lesser wizards would not, and can meddle without worrying about being punished by your superiors in the Guild."

"If you think I have no superiors, you're sadly mistaken," Ithinia retorted. "However, I am indeed granted considerable discretion. Explain to me, then, why it is in the Guild's interest to keep this Vondishman alive."

"As a start, to maintain the overlord's goodwill," Ildirin said. "Remember that this assassin was sent by a wizard, so one of your Guild members is already meddling in politics, presumably for pay. You would merely be countering that meddling. We are not asking you to guard the ambassador from mere human assassins, but only from one provided by one of your fellow magicians."

"You could buy a protective spell in the Wizards' Quarter. You wouldn't need to tell anyone why."

"And is there a protective spell that works against Fendel's Assassin?"

Ithinia smiled wryly. "I prefer not to answer that; the Guild sometimes finds Fendel's Assassin useful."

"Well, then! There's your benefit to the Guild – do you think we couldn't coax an answer out of another wizard if we offered enough money?"

Ithinia's smile broadened. "I remember now why I like you, my lord. Very well, I'll petrify your friend, for an appropriate fee, and when the assassin is gone I will restore him to life. Anything beyond that will wait; I'll have time to think while I perform the spell, and you'll have time to marshal your arguments."

"Thank you, Guildmaster," Ildirin said, nodding in lieu of a bow.

"You are welcome to wait here," she said. "I assume you all know better than to go anywhere in a wizard's home uninvited, but this room and the entry hall will be safe enough. If you prefer to leave my home, feel free, but be certain you have returned no more than two and a half hours from now – if the Vondishman is not here, the spell will be wasted. I'll make sure the door allows you back in."