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There was something too perfect about Dahlaha Farrier’s sensual beauty. Not even Varnaythus could be certain, but he strongly suspected that her natural appearance had been significantly improved upon. Unfortunately, improving the packaging had made no difference to what lived inside it, which was hardly surprising. Women who turned to Dahlaha’s chosen deity were already corrupt, with a soul-deep twistedness, because only a woman who was could endure Her service. Priestesses like Dahlaha could count upon being gifted with eye-catching physical beauty, if they did not already possess it, but no amount of enhanced beauty was going to change that i
Varnaythus enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh as much or more than the next man, and he had no inherent objection to corruption. But there was a hunger to Dahlaha’s corruption—one as dark as Jerghar’s lust for blood, although it yearned for something quite different. Varnaythus had no illusions about what would ultimately happen to any man who surrendered himself to Dahlaha’s power.
“Of course I’ve always known Triahm is a fool,” the wizard-priest continued, settling himself into the more conventional chair he preferred to the chaise longues Dahlaha favored. No doubt so that she could display her indisputable charms to best advantage. “If he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t be the tool we need. And if stupidity and ambition didn’t blind him to everything but what he wants, he might ask himself a few awkward questions about just where and how you were able to find him ’hirelings’ with our capabilities. But despite all that, it genuinely a
“What’s this? The conspirator as philosopher?” Dahlaha laughed again. “Or is it just a case of pragmatic necessity offending your i
“The latter, probably,” Varnaythus said. He leaned forward and snagged another apple from the table. It was from the previous fall’s harvest, and its skin was wrinkled, but its taste remained pleasantly sweet.
“Say what you will about Cassan,” he continued as he chewed, “the man is at least competent within the limits of what he knows is going on. And he has two or three people working for him who are very good at what they do—like Darnas Warshoe.” He shook his head and took another bite of apple. “Warshoe’s good enough that I actually had to hunt him down and arrange for him to stumble over ’Cathman the Peddler.’ “
“Oh?” Dahlaha laughed. “Are you still using that old faker as an alias?”
“It works,” Varnaythus replied with a grin. “And even though he’s considered a harmless old crank, he does manage to find a few charms and protective amulets that actually work. Fortunately for us, Cassan’s one real weakness is an absolute phobia about magi reading his mind.” The wizard-priest shrugged. “It’s silly of him, of course, but it inspired him to send Warshoe to Cathman for amulets to prevent it as soon as Warshoe reported that Cathman was in Toramos. Amulets of my own design, of course. And the beauty of it is that Cassan insists that all of his closest henchmen wear them at all times, to keep magi from picking their brains, so now I can keep track of all of them without even needing my gramerhain. Which is probably a good thing, given how busy Cassan keeps them—especially Warshoe.”
“Well, that’s Cassan, not Triahm,” she said. “But if it makes you feel better about helping an idiot, just remember how unlikely he is to survive long enough to enjoy his success. As you said yourself, his incompetence was one of the reasons They chose him as Their tool. Do you honestly expect him to be able to navigate the storm we’re preparing for him?”
“No, of course not.” Varnaythus munched on his apple, then chuckled suddenly. “And you know what? It does make me feel better.”
Dahlaha laughed yet again and raised her glass in mock salute. He waved the half-eaten apple at her in response, then applied himself to finishing it off.
“Do you really think that having Tellian’s daughter injected into the situation at Kalatha is going to work to our advantage?” his hostess asked after a moment, her tone much more serious, and Varnaythus snorted.
“It’s hard to say.” he took a last bite of apple, tossed the gnawed core back onto his plate, and then stretched. “With another, more typical Sothoii noble, I’d be more prepared to hazard a prediction. But Tellian is scarcely typical—I suspect that that’s the main reason They want him dead, or at least discredited and set at odds with the Crown.” He shrugged. “The man loves his wife and his daughter, and I frankly think it’s unlikely he’ll cut himself off from the girl, whatever she’s done. That’s the real reason I opposed killing her. If we can get him tangled up in our little web—” Dahlaha’s eyes flashed at his choice of noun, as he’d known they would “— it would do far more to destabilize the kingdom as a whole than anything we might achieve locally here in Lorham.”
“Don’t underestimate what we’re doing here, Varnaythus.” Dahlaha’s husky voice had turned cold and hard, and Varnaythus glanced at her. “My Lady doesn’t waste Her efforts on minor projects,” she continued. “The web She’s weaving here will stretch out to every corner of the Wind Plain. Yes, drawing Tellian into Her toils would make things easier. But in the end, She will achieve her goals even without him.”
“And if a champion of Tomanak interferes?” Varnaythus asked levelly. There was an odd, greenish flicker at the backs of Dahlaha’s eyes, and he felt his pulse quicken with a sudden tingle of something much too much like fear for his taste. But he made himself look into those eyes steadily, and reminded himself that he, too, had his patron.
“Tomanak!“ Dahlaha hissed the hated name. Her long, graceful fingers with their crimson-painted nails flexed like claws, or pincers, and she spat on the floor. “That for your precious champion!” she snarled.
She really didn’t look at all beautiful in that moment, Varnaythus reflected.
“That’s all very well,” he said in a brisk, businesslike voice, “but your Lady is the one who’s going to have to deal with this Kaeritha if she gets that far putting things together.”
“She won’t,” his hostess said shortly.
“Dahlaha,” he said patiently, “that’s exactly the sort of thinking that leads to … unfortunate errors. I remind you of what happened to Tharnatus when this same champion and Bahzell came calling in Navahk.”
“Tharnatus was a fool, and Sharna is a coward,” she shot back, and her ripe mouth twisted with contempt. “I can’t believe your Lady let Herself be roped into that entire mess. One thing Carnadosa has always been is smart, so what was She thinking of to throw good money after bad that way?”
“The Lady of the Wand is smart,” Varnaythus agreed. “In this case, though, She had no choice. The decision came from Phrobus Himself.”
Dahlaha looked up from her wineglass, her expression suddenly taut. Then she shrugged.
“I still don’t understand why Phrobus allowed himself to be convinced to let Sharna deal with the hradani in the first place. Granted, even He should have been able to handle a horde of ignorant barbarians, but His father must have known He’d think small, as usual. And then He chose Tharnatus as His chief priest. Tharnatus!“ She barked a vicious laugh. “He always was as stupid as Triahm, and he certainly proved it in Navahk! First he overestimated his own cleverness and power, and then Sharna was too terrified of Tomanak to face him openly when Tharnatus needed Him most. But that won’t happen here. My Lady fears no one and nothing! When we require Her aid, She’ ll provide it, and spit in Tomanak’s face, if She must.”
Varnaythus gazed at her for several seconds, and his stomach muscles tightened at what he saw in her expression. It was more than possible that she was reading too much into her deity’s intentions. But it was also possible that she wasn’t. Dahlaha’s Lady was noted for neither her sense of restraint nor her willingness to accept any limitations upon her power. Or, for that matter, for what most mortals would have called her sanity. The wizard-priest remembered his conversation with Jerghar, and he felt sweat trying to pop out along his hairline.