Conan and the Emerald Lotus Part 8

Zelandra whispered a soft incantation, and an unearthly silver glow dispelled the gloom. Ten spheres of hemat.i.te were set in a circle on the tabletop, and they radiated a chill illumination.

The sorceress sat in the chair, touching each of the stones in turn.

Silver light raked her features, turning them stark and sinister. Her hands danced over the ring of stones, describing intricate patterns, and a patch of light appeared in the air before her. It rolled and seethed, suspended above the circle of silvery stones like a ball of glowing smoke.

"Mithrelle," said Zelandra clearly. "Mithrelle."

The ball of smoky light vanished, and it was as though a distorted mirror suddenly hung before Zelandra. The flattened image of a woman's face peered at the sorceress, floating above the table.

"Mithrelle," said Zelandra. The conjured face blinked as if startled.

It was a face of extraordinary beauty.

"Who dares?" The voice was rich and throaty, sounding as if its owner shared the little room with the Lady Zelandra.

"Who dares, indeed." Zelandra smiled casually, but her hands were clenched into tight fists, and the pulse fluttered visibly in her throat.

"Zelandra!" The woman called Mithrelle smiled in recognition. Black hair hung in heavy coils around her pale face. Eyes like pools of oil gleamed with dark humor. Her lips were stained so deeply red as to appear black. "To what do I own this unexpected pleasure?"

"Greetings, Mithrelle. I'm loathe to disturb you at this hour, but I have need of information. And everyone knows that there is no one so well informed as yourself."

Mithrelle laughed, throwing back her head and baring her white throat.

On her breast, a swollen garnet hung from a necklace of black pearls.

"Flattery! This is not like you, Zelandra."

"I need your help, Mithrelle."

"Even so? You have had little use for me since we studied together."

"Your path is not my path, Mithrelle."

"Oh no." Mithrelle's tones grew heavy with sarcasm. "The lady prefers the quiet life of a scholar. She hides away in Akkharia with her slaves, only venturing out to go to market."

"How is Sabatea, Mithrelle?" Zelandra's voice turned hard.

"Very well. I have performed a few favors for the sorcerers of the Black Ring, and they have been appropriately grateful. My life is full of pleasures. And your own? Is that strapping Khitan slave still keeping you company?"

"I freed Heng s.h.i.+h long ago," said Zelandra tersely. She fought to control herself. Anger would accomplish nothing.

"Of course you did. I'd expect nothing less. You are the same woman you were a score of years ago. Yet, I have heard rumors as of late that the reclusive Lady Zelandra is seeking a more public position. I couldn't credit it." Mithrelle paused theatrically, lifting a long-fingered hand to stroke her chin. Her nails were sharp and gleamed with black lacquer.

Zelandra shrugged in resignation. She should have known that Mithrelle would ask at least as.many questions as she answered.

"I'm seeking the position of court wizard to the king."

"It's true, then," exclaimed Mithrelle in mock surprise. "And why would the Lady Zelandra demean herself by working for another? Could it be that her inheritance is dwindling and that she must needs earn a living for the first time in her life?"

"I fail to see why you ask so many questions," Zelandra replied stiffly, "since you obviously know all the answers already." Mithrelle laughed in delight, her mirth as sweet and cloying as poisoned honey.

"Indeed. That is why you sought audience with me, is it not? Now, how can I a.s.sist my old friend?"

"Tell me of the Stygian sorcerer named Ethram-Fal."

"Phaugh!" Mithrelle grimaced delicately. "What do you want with that one?"

"He has insinuated himself into my affairs. He claims that he can sell me magical talismans of unprecedented power."

"Ah." The Sabatean's eyes lit up. "I see. You wish to know if his goods can a.s.sist you in claiming the position of court wizard."

The sorceress nodded ruefully, as if admitting an unwelcome truth.

Inwardly, Zelandra rejoiced that Mithrelle was not as perceptive as she believed herself to be.

"Ethram-Fal is a laughingstock. I presume that you have heard how he came to Sabatea seeking members.h.i.+p in the Black Ring. Even the feeblest student of the dark arts knows that the Black Ring recruits its own members, yet still the dolt came calling. Perhaps he imagined that his greatness had escaped the notice of the Black Ring. They were more merciful than might be expected, however, merely casting him out of the city in disgrace. If Thoth-Amon had been about when Ethram-Fal made his plea, the upstart would probably still be screaming under the Steel Wings."

"Do you know where he dwells?"

"Ethram-Fal was born in Kheshatta, though I believe that he left the City of Magicians in order to take up residence here in Sabatea. The Dark G.o.ds alone know where he has fled since his exile. You have seen him in Akkharia?"

"Yes, but his home is elsewhere."

Mithrelle's eyes grew hooded and lazy. "Why should this be so important to you? Ethram-Fal has little to his credit save his considerable skill in the magic of plants, fungi, and such. Still, I hardly imagined that his rejection by the Black Ring would drive him to become a merchant.

What manner of magical talismans did he offer, that you felt it necessary to call me?"

"Just a handful of potions and philters. Magic intensifiers, mostly."

Zelandra fought to keep the tension out of her voice, smiling sheepishly. "I shall need all the aid I can muster to be chosen as King Sumuabi's court mage."

"Yet you don't seem curious about your rivals. What is it that truly concerns you about Ethram-Fal, Zelandra?"

"It is small wonder that I do not converse with you more often, Mithrelle. You are the most suspicious woman I have ever known."

Zelandra's hands crept across the table toward the s.h.i.+ning spheres of hemat.i.te. The image of Mithrelle swelled and throbbed brighter.

"Oh no, milady. Don't think to end this audience just yet. I can't abide unanswered questions, and you have made me very curious."

"Goodbye, Mithrelle." Zelandra slipped her hands down on two stones.

The flat image of the Sabatean sorceress flickered and dimmed, then abruptly flared to brilliant life.

"You would desert your old friend?" Mithrelle's voice dropped to a guttural growl. "Come to me, little Zelandra. Come to me and answer my questions and be my slave." The oval image expanded rapidly and acquired depth. Zelandra felt as if she stared into an open portal carved from empty air.

Mithrelle's bare, white arms shot out of the image. Her hands seized Zelandra about the throat. Black nails scored Zelandra's flesh as the Sabatean sorceress reached into the chamber as if leaning over a windowsill.

"You would toy with me, Zelandra? Did you forget that I was always your better? Come!" Mithrelle's long-fingered hands squeezed off her breath, lifting Zelandra from her seat.

The blood roared in the sorceress's ears. She pulled back against the Sabatean's embrace, lifting her hands from the silver-glowing stones and clapping them upon Mithrelle's temples. Crimson lightning crackled from her palms. Mithrelle's mouth fell open like a castle's drawbridge, but no sound emerged. Her hands sprang from Zelandra's throat and clawed spastically at the air.

"You were always overconfident, Mithrelle," said Zelandra hoa.r.s.ely. She dropped her hands onto the stones. Mithrelle's arms were wrenched forcibly back into the image, which shrank and flattened until it once again resembled a floating mirror.

"You can't!" The Sabatean found her voice. She snarled like a beast, a lank lock of black hair falling across her pale face. "You can't!"

"I can," said the Lady Zelandra. Her hands moved upon the stones and the image winked out in a scarlet flash, like a bursting bubble of blood.