The Vondish Ambassador

That was one reason Lar had insisted Emmis return to the Crooked Candle – to find out anything he could that might tell them what the Lumethans knew, or didn't know.

That was pretty much all that Lar had actually told him, but Emmis thought he had picked up hints that there was another element at work. He remembered that Lar had said there had been two warlocks in Semma since the Night of Madness, and there had been vague implications that Lord Sterren took a personal interest in this whole situation.

Emmis could see two ways this might work. Lord Sterren might be the second warlock, and hiding it, or he might know who the second warlock was and be afraid of what he or she might do. The second warlock might be a family member, or a close friend, or a sworn enemy – or perhaps the princess Sterren was reportedly pla

If it was Sterren himself who was a warlock, would he really want the Lumeth power source destroyed?

He might; after all, Vond had come to a bad end.

But if he had the same sort of unchecked magical power Vond had had, why didn't he use it? Why keep it concealed? Was he that afraid of the Calling?

Or was he, perhaps, that frightened of the Wizards' Guild, which had forbidden magicians to hold high office?

That made sense. And if the Lumeth source was destroyed, well, Vond was so far from Aldagmor that he'd hardly be a warlock at all, would he?

It could be any of those; Lar hadn't said, and Emmis didn't know. Lar might not know either, for that matter. Emmis did believe, though, that Lar intended to track down the Lumeth source and see that it was destroyed.

Emmis thought that was probably a good idea. He was no geographer, but if there was a previously-unknown and unused source of warlockry in Lumeth of the Towers, its range presumably extended in all directions, just as the one in Aldagmor did. Lumeth of the Towers was northwest of Semma and the Empire of Vond.

And Ethshar of the Spices was northwest of Lumeth. Emmis was not at all sure of the distances involved, but he thought it was possible that the Lumeth source might be entirely too close for comfort if warlocks all learned how to use it.

Better for all concerned if no warlocks ever heard about it.

He turned from High Street onto Commerce Street, and noticed a few interesting shops – the house in Allston really did need more furniture, and kitchen supplies, as well as ordinary things like candles, lamps, and oil.

Perhaps he would go back by way of Bargain Street, rather than High, and see what he could find. Then at least this entire trip wouldn't be wasted.

The truth was that he did not expect to find anything useful in Shiphaven. He was sure his belongings must have been stolen; if they hadn't been he would almost be disappointed, as it would mean the thieves of Ethshar were not living up to their reputation. And surely, the foreigners must have all fled by now, and there would be nothing worth learning at the Crooked Candle.

But Lar had sent him to check, so he would check. He was being paid to do what he was told.

He pushed quickly through Canal Square without stopping to look at any of the merchandise on display. This was not much of a market; the better goods wound up in Shiphaven Market or the shops of the Old Merchants' Quarter, and Canal Square got the leftovers, the bits of this and that that had been discarded by the successful merchants and salvaged by scavengers, the items pilfered from cabins and cargo holds by sailors, the things that thieves had been unable to fence elsewhere.

It occurred to Emmis when he was three blocks down Twixt Street that perhaps he would have found some of his own former possessions offered for sale there – most of what he had had was not likely to bring any real money, which meant it was just the sort of merchandise that someone might try to sell for a few bits in Canal Square.

Well, it wasn't worth turning back at this point. He strode on, across Shiphaven Market, past the farmers, fishmongers, and recruiters, into Commission Street.

And there he stopped, twenty yards from the Crooked Candle.

There were guards at the i

Emmis didn't believe that for an instant. Guards did not lounge on Commission Street. It wasn't on the way from any of their usual posts to anywhere they would need to go. If guards were needed on the Shiphaven docks or at the shipyards they would be sent from Westgate and would come down Shipwright or Captain Street, not Commission. If there had been a disturbance in Shiphaven Market, as sometimes happened, they would lounge in the market itself, not on Commission Street. If it were evening, and the guards were pla

So they were watching the Crooked Candle.

Which meant there was no chance at all that A

Why were the guards being that stupid? Wouldn't it make more sense to have a few men out of uniform inside the i

Well, that wasn't Emmis's problem. He already knew coming here was pointless, but Lar had told him to go to the i

At the door of the i

"Is there something going on?" Emmis asked, pointing to one guard's sword.

"Nothing that concerns you," the soldier replied.

"It's all right if I go inside?"

"We won't stop you, but mind your own business."

Emmis nodded, and stepped through the door into the i

A third guard looked up at his entrance, and Emmis was startled to realize that he recognized this one. This was one of the two who had come up from the Palace last night to investigate the attempted assassination.

A white-haired old man was seated at a table just behind the guardsman, speaking intently with someone Emmis recognized as the i

A few customers were scattered about – very few; Emmis counted four. Gita was serving one of them a mug of beer. No one was else was in sight.

The familiar guard looked at Emmis, then tapped the old man on the shoulder. "My lord?" he said quietly.

The old man cut off whatever he was saying to the i

"My lord, Emmis of Shiphaven just came in."

So much, Emmis thought, for any hope that he might be able to get a quiet beer and slip away u

The old man turned and looked at Emmis. Emmis stood where he was and smiled politely. He had no idea who the old man was, but anyone addressed as "my lord" was not someone he wanted to antagonize.

"Ask him to join us," the old man said.

The guardsman stepped forward, and Emmis came to meet him. "I heard," he said.

"I'll have to ask you to give me your knife," the guardsman said.

Startled, Emmis drew his belt-knife and handed it over, hilt first. Whatever was happening here, the soldier was taking it seriously; ordinarily no one even thought of a belt-knife as a weapon. Disarmed, he approached the table cautiously, and took a chair under the watchful gaze of the guard and the old man. The i