Liavek 7

  Copyright

  "Portrait of Vengeance" by Kara Dalkey

  "The Skin and Knife Game" by Lee Barwood and Charles de Lint

  "Strings Attached" by Nathan A. Bucklin

  "The Tale of the Stuffed Levar" by Jane Yolen

  "An Act of Love" by Steven Brust, Gregory Frost, and Megan Lindholm

  "Spells of Binding" by Pamela Dean

  LIAVEK 7: Spells of Binding

  edited by Will Shetterly and Emma Bull

  Copyright

  Ace edition/1988

  CatYelling edition/2016

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyeditors for the CatYelling Edition:

  Rebecca Stanich, Brandon Tabbert, and Will Shetterly

  All rights reserved. Copyright © 1988 by Will Shetterly and Emma Bull.

  "Portrait of Vengeance" © 1988 by Kara Dalkey.

  "The Skin and Knife Game" © 1988 by Lee Barwood and Charles de Lint.

  ''Strings Attached" © 1988 by Nathan A. Bucklin.

  "The Tale of the Stuffed Levar" © 1988 by Jane Yolen.

  "An Act of Love" © 1988 by Steven K. Z. Brust, Gregory Frost, and Megan Lindholm Ogden.

  "Spells of Binding" by Pamela Dyer-Bennet

  "Portrait of Vengeance" by Kara Dalkey

  Finger-Bells tinkled and swaths of black silk rustled to the insistent rhythms of lap drums and the piping of flageolets. Aritoli ola Silba gazed in admiration at the dancer on the stage. No longer did he regret following the advice sent him by Fatar Shimuz, saying that he should see the "Black Swan" dancing at Tam's Palace. Aritoli stroked his black mustache and watched as if entranced.

  The dancer's arms undulated like wheat in the wind and her torso beneath the black silk veils rolled like the swells of the sea. The Serpent Dance, Aritoli had heard, had originated among the tribes of the Great Waste as a way to teach young brides-to-be what to do on their wedding nights. When brought to the city, the dance was found to be a profitable entertainment in the less tasteful salons.

  But this dancer, thought Aritoli, strips away the tarnish on the reputation of the Serpent Dance. Although, by profession, Aritoli was a critic of arts more visual than kinetic, in his estimation the Black Swan was a master of her craft.

  The flageolets trilled a flourish and the Black Swan flicked off the veils from her face and head. Cascades of golden hair, so rare and exotic in Liavek, tumbled down and flowed over her shoulders. There was an aloof beauty to her face that brought to Aritoli vague memories of a love long past. As her eyes met his, the Black Swan smiled.

  She danced toward him, and Aritoli grinned in wicked delight. So, I am to be the hapless male in the audience she teases. It was a common enough antic with such dancers. But as the Black Swan leaned over him, her face became set in an expression of rapt interest, as if she were at last achieving a heart's desire. It is no game, Aritoli thought. Either she is a brilliant actress, or she truly wants me.

  Her bracelets flashed as her arms flowed in swift, graceful movements. Her gaze held his. She whispered, "Look for me when darkness falls." As she stepped back, she playfully cast a black veil over Aritoli's head and shoulders. Then, in a swirl of silk, she turned and danced away. Thunderous applause erupted from the audience, and Aritoli felt the stares of envious men upon him. He settled back smugly in his seat and smiled.

  Half an hour later, as the last pink-gold rays of sunset lingered on the rooftops, Aritoli knocked discreetly on the side door to Tam's tavern. The door opened and a small, round man peered out, wiping his hands on an apron. "Excuse me, good sir," said Aritoli, "I would like to speak to the Black Swan on a matter of, er, professional interest." He gestured with his left hand, in which he held her black silk scarf, as proof of her approval.

  The little man squinted up at him. "Deremer? She's gone home. Go 'way." The door slammed in Aritoli's face.

  Aritoli sighed, then shrugged to himself. Thank the Forces I am no longer of an age when this would devastate me. He stepped out onto the Levar's Way to hail a foot-cab.

  Presently a stout woman trotted up pulling a fancy number with brightly painted wheels and a fringed canopy over the seat. "Cab, Master?"

  "Yes. To Number 69, Oyster Street, please." He climbed into the seat, tucking the Black Swan's scarf into his belt, and relaxed on the cushions. The soft pad-pad-pad of the runner's feet melted into memories of the rhythm of the Black Swan's dance, and Aritoli closed his eyes. So her name is Deremer. Something familiar about that. And her face. In his mind, he watched again the sinuous movements of her body, the swirling of her black silk veils draping her in sweet-scented darkness.

  A bump in the road jolted the cab and Aritoli opened his eyes, blinking. He was surprised to see the clear evening had dimmed to a fuzzy greyness. "This fog blew in quickly, did it not?" he called out to the runner.

  "Fog, Master? Why this is as clear a night as I've seen this season."

  Aritoli peered around but saw only a few blurred orbs of light in the darkening grey. "Where are we?"

  "We're hard by the Levar's Palace, Master. And such a grand sight she is, with all her lights, wouldn't you say?"

  Aritoli was about to make a snide remark about the runner's poor joke when he realized that he could see nothing at all. His heart jumped in sudden fear. Aritoli drew sorcerous power from the ornate belt buckle that was the vessel of his magic, then tried a simple spell of casting light motes from his fingers. He saw nothing.

  "If you please, Master, fireworks are forbidden in the cabs. Company policy."

  Aritoli felt his throat tighten with dread. He raised his hands to his face and gently touched his eyelids. His eyes were open and he could not see his hands. Great Twin Forces. I'm blind.

  The foot-cab made a sharp turn to the right, onto Fountain Circle, Aritoli presumed. He gripped the sides of the cab seat until the woven reeds bit into his hands, and breathed deeply, trying to calm the panicked pounding of his heart. Is this a trap? The work of thieves? He did not wish to acknowledge the horror crawling at the back of his mind; that the blindness might be permanent, that his career might be ruined. An art critic who is blind. There's a pitiful joke. Who would do this? Someone I've offended? Some enemy? I have so many…

  The cab lurched left, then came to a halt. "Number 69, sir," the runner announced.

  Is it really? I wonder. Aritoli pretended to have difficulty getting out of the seat, then slumped back on the cushions. He reached into his belt-bag and flicked a large coin in the runner's direction. "Here. Be so kind as to fetch me my manservant from the house. I'm feeling a mite tizzy, er, dipsy … well, you know. I fear I may need his assistance."

  "Yes, Master!" said the runner and her footsteps padded away.

  How large was the coin I threw her? Aritoli thought. Those blind from birth, I hear, can discern the slightest difference in weight between coins. Those newly blind, I suppose, have a most impecunious time of it.

  Presently, two sets of footsteps returned. Now we shall see. Aritoli smiled to himself in bitter irony. He heard the voice of his elderly manservant, Maljun. "Master Aritoli, are you well?"

  Aritoli felt someone lean into the cab. He grasped the intruder's shoulders.

  "Master?" said the manservant beside his ear.

  With a sigh of relief, Aritoli rested his head against Maljun's neck. "Pretend I am drunk," he whispered, "and help me climb out."

  "Easy now, Master," Maljun said gently. "A cup of warm herb tea awaits and sleep will do you good."

  Aritoli allowed himself to be pulled out of the cab seat. He stumbled as his feet were unsure where to find the pavement. Maljun's arms wrapped around him and guided him, as Aritoli mumbled a bawdy song.

  "G'night, Master!" called the runner. "Sleep well." Her feet and the wheels of the cab rumbled away behind them.
/>
  Aritoli straightened up, but continued to let Maljun guide him up the steps and across several thresholds, until he was seated on a soft surface that he presumed to be his sitting-room divan.

  "What is it, Master? Are you ill?"

  "No, Maljun. I'm blind."

  "Master! How—"

  "I don't know. It happened only just now, returning home in the cab."

  "We should not have let her leave."

  "I don't think it was her doing." Aritoli rubbed his face and eyes, but nothing improved. "I don't even know if this is sorcery or some foul trick of Nature."

  "Shall I send for a healer, sir?"

  "No," Aritoli said hastily, then, "Oh, curse it, yes. But a good one—someone discreet."

  "Right away, sir."

  Maljun's footsteps rapidly faded and Aritoli felt terribly alone in his private darkness. If he did not fear he would bump into things, he would have stood and paced the room furiously. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself as if to keep despair in check, and waited.

  •

  After what seemed hours, Aritoli heard Maljun return. "I have brought the healer Marithana Govan, Master."

  Aritoli reached out and felt warm, smooth hands grasp his. "Thank you for coming to see me. I have heard your talents praised highly."

  "Your name is known to me as well," she replied in a contralto voice, whose tone implied she would brook no nonsense from him.

  "Not in a bad way, I hope."

  "I don't think you summoned me to discuss your reputation, Master ola Silba. Your manservant tells me you have been blinded, yet I see no obvious damage to your eyes. If you will allow me some tests …"

  "By all means." Aritoli felt heat near his face.

  "Do you perceive any light at all?'

  "No."

  "Close your eyes, please."

  Aritoli felt unsettled, having been unaware that his eyes were open. He had to concentrate to shut his eyelids. She must have held a candle near me, but I saw nothing.

  Her hands rested lightly across his eyes and cheeks and he felt a tingling across the upper part of his face. He prayed that whatever gods she served could help him. The Church of Twin Forces offered much in the way of stimulating philosophy, but little in the way of miracles.

  Presently, she drew back with a sigh. "Well, I can say, at least, that your disability is not natural to the body."

  "Which means?"

  "It is wizardry. If you wish, I will seek the nature of the spell."

  "Yes, of course! Why should I not?"

  "Some spells do not wish to be found out," she said cryptically.

  He sensed her bending over him again. Soft silk brushed his cheek and he felt her cool, moist breath on his brow. An urge rose within him to reach out and embrace her, more from need for reassurance than desire. Thoughts of the Black Swan returned to haunt him and he imagined black veils swirling in the blackness of his vision. Sorcery. Could it have been she who cast it?

  Pain lanced behind his eyes and Aritoli screamed. He felt Marithana jump away from him and he clapped his hands to his eyes. The pain remained intense as it ebbed, as though the inside of his face had been burned. He bent over and rested his forehead on his knees, and his lips stretched into a grimace.

  "I am so sorry," Marithana said, above him. "I was afraid this might happen. The spell was well planned and well wrought. Whoever did this to you is a very powerful or skillful wizard."

  "Oh. Wonderful." The pain had nearly gone and Aritoli rubbed his eyes.

  ''There is more. It is not a common form of sorcery. I have a suspicion as to its nature, but I would rather not say until I am sure."

  "I forgive you," Aritoli groaned, sitting up. "But can you remove the spell?"

  "I? No, I haven't the skill. But I can ask one who might."

  "Mistress Govan, I will gladly pay you whatever you consider reasonable to bring this person to me."

  "I think she'd be rather … annoyed to be roused at this hour."

  "Mistress, my eyes are my livelihood! If it became known that the art critic ola Silba was blind, my career would be ruined! I will do whatever is necessary to soothe this person's annoyance, if you bring her quickly."

  Marithana sighed. "Very well. I'll go now. But I won't guarantee when, or if, I'll return with her."

  Aritoli tried to control his own irritation and frustration. "I will bear that in mind, mistress."

  "Until later, then."

  Aritoli heard the rustle of her garments as she left. Not knowing what else to do, he curled up on the divan, hoping to sleep.

  •

  He had no idea what hour it was when he felt someone shaking his shoulder. "Master Aritoli," Maljun said softly, "the wizard is here."

  Aritoli sat up, groaning. The boundary between wakefulness and sleep seemed less distinct with no visual clues. But at least in my dreams I could see. Do those who are born blind see when they dream? He smelled the aroma of kaf, and a warm mug was placed between his hands. "Thank you, Maljun. Send her in at once, please."

  Swift footsteps approached, and Marithana said, "Master ola Silba, I would like to present Granny Karith."

  Aritoli had heard the name before, but it meant little to him. "Welcome, mistress."

  "This had better be worthwhile, Master ola Silba," she replied in a firm elderly voice. "I've a tapestry to finish this morning."

  Well. thank you. "I am most sorry to have disturbed you, mistress," Aritoli said in his best sardonic tones, "But I have this small problem with my eyes—"

  "Yes, Marithana told me," Granny Karith interjected. "Now sit still."

  With a sigh, Aritoli did so, and felt small, light fingers roam over his face, pressing here and pinching there. He steeled himself for another wave of agony, but the worst he felt was an intense tickling behind the eyeballs.

  The fingertips left his face and the old woman said, "Hmmph. As I thought. What were you doing before this happened?"

  "I had gone to see a dancer, the Black Swan at Tam's Palace."

  The old woman sucked air through her teeth. "She's a bold one. I'll give her that."

  "So it was she who cast this spell!"

  "Look for me when darkness falls," she said. She even told me! "Yes, she is skilled, I grant her. I wonder who paid her to do it."

  There was a silence, during which Aritoli could almost feel the old woman staring at him. "Young man, are you really so wind-brained," she said at last, "that you do not remember Deremer Ledoro?"

  Ledoro! The surname instantly brought back memories: A deserted courtyard at dawn; a middle-aged, overweight priest of Irhan waving a flimsy sword and accusing Aritoli of various acts with his wife, some of which were true; a brief, clumsy fight that left the priest confused and bleeding to death on the paving stones; and a little girl watching from a dark comer of the courtyard, screaming and screaming as the priest fell. That must have been Deremer. Aritoli fingered the faint scar on his cheek, left from the one blow the priest had managed to deliver.

  "I see you remember now," said Granny Karith.

  "Yes. And I can understand her wish for vengeance. I might even find it in my heart to forgive her, once I am healed. I assume you can do so?"

  "You almost deserve that I try. No."

  "No?"

  "She planned this well. I hadn't known how much of the book she had memorized."

  "What book?"

  "Never you mind. All you need to know is that the spell can only be removed safely by Deremer herself. Anyone else who tries will bring back the pain that you've already experienced."

  "Oh. Lovely." Aritoli massaged his forehead. "Isn't there anything you can recommend? Anything I can do?"

  "Young man, you brought this upon yourself."

  "I didn't know the priest was so poorly prepared!"

  "You could have declined the duel."

  "Declined the—" Aritoli stopped. As a younger man, it would have been unheard-of, cowardly for him to avoid a duel. Now, he wondered.
>
  "Exactly." the old woman said. "Well, mend your ways." Her quick footsteps departed the study.

  Aritoli sighed, leaning back on the divan. "What an unpleasant old goose," he muttered.

  "I will have you know," said Marithana, "that that 'old goose' is the oldest, wisest wizard of S'Rian magic in Liavek!"

  Aritoli was startled, having forgotten that the healer was still in the room. "I am most sorry, mistress. But if that … creature is the wisest S'Rian wizard, it is no surprise to me that S'Rian fell so long ago."

  "She's right, you should mend your ways. If you cannot be grateful for the help given you, then I will be gone. Enjoy your condition." And another pair of swift footsteps exited the room.

  Aritoli buried his face in his hands. "May Karris cut out my tongue and use it for a noisemaker. Has all my tact fled with my sight?"

  "Surely it is due to the pain and confusion caused by your loss, sir," offered his manservant.

  "You're too kind, Maljun. What do I do now? What hour is it?"

  "Near six, I would guess. The sun has only just risen."

  "Hmmm. How soon do you think you could make a withdrawal from my funds at the house of iv N'stiven?"

  "Usually not until ten, sir. Banker's hours, you know. But if I could convince them there was urgent need …"

  "Yes, good, but do not be specific about the reason. Let them think I have gambling debts or some such. And have the cab runner wait when you return. We will leave again immediately."

  "May I ask to what destination, sir?"

  "To the one place where I can expect an optimistic answer, if I pay enough—Number Seventeen, Wizard's Row."

  •

  "Number Seventeen, gentlemen!" the runner called out in a lusty voice.

  "Thank you, good fellow," said Maljun and Aritoli heard the clink of coins. He pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his face, hoping there was no one nearby to recognize him.

  "Thank you, sir!"

  "You understand, we have not been here."

  "Who? Where?"

  "Very good."

  Aritoli felt Maljun grasp his arms and he was guided out of the cab. The strongbox Aritoli carried felt very heavy. With careful steps, Aritoli's feet felt the way over the curbstones.