"I take it," he said, "that news of poor Druxus's assassination triggered a disturbance in the city."

"The orcs dealt with it."

He smiled. "I wonder if the mob was celebrating the welcome demise of a hated tyrant or expressing its horror at the foul murder of a beloved leader. Perhaps the commoners don't know themselves. Perhaps they simply enjoy throwing rocks and will seize on any excuse."

She shifted her flared skirt to avoid snagging it on a shrub. "I wondered if you were even aware of Druxus's murder. I assumed that if you were, you would have come immediately."

"Is that a hint of reproach I hear in your dulcet voice? I came as soon as it was practical. Believe it or not, matters of consequence sometimes do arise beyond the confines of the capital, and I trusted you to manage here, as you evidently have."

"I managed to keep order. It may take both of us to get to the bottom of Druxus Rhym's murder."

It galled her to admit it. She was proud of the network of spies and covert agents she operated on the lich's and her own behalf, but the affairs of the zulkirs were a difficult and perilous business for any lesser being to investigate.

"What have you learned so far?"

"Precious little. Not long after midnight on the morning of the fifth, someone or something managed to enter Druxus Rhym's apartments undetected. The intruder killed him and his bodyguards with blasts of fire."

"That's certainly enough to suggest a hypothesis. Druxus was well protected against both mundane and mystical threats. It would likely take a master wizard to slip into his bedchamber, a master who then employed evocation magic to accomplish his purpose. Surely the evidence points to Aznar Thrul or one of his particular proteges, acting at his behest."

Perhaps it did. Though relations among the zulkirs were mutable and complex, the council could be viewed as split into two factions, with Mythrellan, zulkir of Illusion, standing aloof from either, and tharchions like Dmitra either tacitly casting their lots with one mage-lord or another or striving assiduously to avoid taking sides. Szass Tam headed up one faction, Druxus Rhym had been his ally, and Aznar Thrul, zulkir of Evocation and tharchion of Priador, was the lich's bitterest rival among the opposition. Thus, it made sense that Aznar might murder Druxus. By so doing, he'd weaken Szass Tam's party and strengthen his own.

Still, it seemed to Dmitra that perhaps because he and Aznar so loathed one another, the usually judicious Szass Tam was jumping to conclusions. "One needn't specialize in evocation to conjure fire," she said. "Many wizards can do it."

"True," said the necromancer. "Still, I'm convinced my conjecture is the most plausible explanation."

"I suppose, and if we can prove it, perhaps we can rid ourselves of Thrul. Even his closest allies might forsake him rather than risk being implicated in his crime."

"The problem is, you won't be able to prove it. Aznar is too able an adept."

"Don't be so sure. With all respect, I don't care if he is a zulkir, with scores of potent spells at his command. Everyone makes mistakes. If he wrote anything down or let slip a careless word where a servant could overhear-"

Szass Tam shook his head. "I know the wretch and I can assure you, he didn't. He's too wily. If there's proof to be had, only magic will uncover it, and Yaphyll's the best person to attend to that." The woman to whom he referred was zulkir of Divination, and with Druxus Rhym slain, his staunchest remaining ally on the council. "I need you to focus your energies on another matter."

"Which is?"

"I've decided Samas Kul should be the new zulkir of Transmutation."

"May I ask why? He's a competent mage, but his order has others more learned."

"And I daresay we can trust them to advance the art of transmutation even if they aren't in charge. What's important is that the new zulkir side with us, and Samas will. Our faction is responsible for the new mercantile policy, and he's grown rich as Waukeen heading up the Guild of Foreign Trade. If we make him a zulkir, he'll have even more reason to support us."

"The election of a new zulkir is an internal matter for the order in question. It won't look well if folk realize we're trying to influence the outcome."

"Which is why the business requires your deft and subtle touch. Samas has the gold to buy support wherever it can be purchased. You and your minions will dig for information we can use to persuade electors not susceptible for bribery, and in general, do whatever you can to shape opinion among the transmuters. Make Samas seem a demigod and his opponents worms. Do you understand?"

She shrugged. "Of course. Bribery, blackmail, and slander, the same game we usually play."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you." He raised the yellow rose, saw that it had already blackened and withered in his grasp, and with a sigh tossed it away.

The ironbound door was below street level. Bareris bounded down the stone steps and pounded until the hatch set in the center of the panel opened. A bloodshot eye peered out, and its owner said, "What's the password?"

"Silver." Bareris lifted a coin for the doorkeeper to see.

The other man chuckled. "Close enough." A bar scraped as it slid in its mounts, then the door swung open. Bareris tossed the silver piece to the doorkeeper and advanced into the cellar.

The place had a low ceiling and a dirt floor. The flickering light of a scattering of tallow candles, stuck in wall sconces or empty wine bottles in the centers of the tables, sufficed to reveal the gamblers hunched over their cards and dice, the whores waiting to separate the winners from their profits, and the ruffians on hand to keep order and make sure the house received its cut of every wager. The tapers suffused the air with eye-stinging smoke and their stench, which mingled with the stinks of stale beer and vomit.

Bareris cast about until he spotted Borivik Iltazyarra. Tammith and Ral's father was a stocky fellow with a weak mouth and close-set eyes, which were currently squeezed shut as if in prayer. He shook a leather cup, clattering the dice inside, then threw them down on the table. They came up losers, and he cursed and flung the cup down. The croupier raked in the coins.

Bareris started forward then felt just how furious he was. He paused to take a long, deep breath.

It calmed him to a degree, but not enough to keep him from grabbing hold of Borivik's shoulders and tumbling him out of his chair and onto the floor.

The croupier jumped up and snatched for one of the daggers in his braided yellow belt. Another tough came running. Two of the gamblers started to rise.

Bareris sang a succession of rapidly ascending notes in a tone strident as a glaur horn. Power shimmered through the air. The croupier yelped and recoiled, wetness staining his crotch. His fellow ruffian balked, dropped his cudgel, and backed away trembling, empty hands raised to signal that he no longer intended any harm.

Bareris knew the two irate gamblers weren't experiencing any magical terror. He hadn't been able to cast the effect widely enough to engulf everyone, but the display of arcane power evidently made them think better of expressing their displeasure, because they froze then settled back down in their chairs.

Bareris raked the room with his gaze. "Does anyone else want to meddle in my business?" From the way they all refused to meet his eye, it seemed no one did. "Good." He pivoted back around toward Borivik, who was still sprawled on the floor.

"Bareris!" the older man stammered. "My boy! You… couldn't do that before."

In point of fact, he couldn't. For as long as Bareris could remember, he'd possessed a knack for the magic implicit in music, but it was only during his wanderings that it had evolved into a genuinely formidable talent. The ventures he'd undertaken to make his fortune had required that he become a more powerful bard and a stronger swordsman, or else perish.