Murder in Tarsis Read online

  Behind him walked a figure even stranger. The man wore garments of tanned deerskin that were covered with amulets; rattling strings of bones both human and animal; tinkling bells; miniature animal figures wrought in bronze and iron; beads of amber, coral, and lapis lazuli. At his belt were a tambourine and a horn, and his head was covered by a tall, conical fur cap from which more strings of beads, bones, and amulets dangled so densely that his face was almost obscured by them.

  The rest of the party, a dozen or so men, were typical plains warriors wearing clothing of leather and hairy hide, soft boots with pointed, upturned toes, and wide belts studded with metal and colorful stones. The complexity of their facial tattoos proclaimed their importance, and all of these men had faces made up principally of figures wrought in red, blue, and green, signifying that they were chieftains of rank. None carried weapons, but empty sheaths, quivers, and bow cases were a part of each man’s attire, save for the shaman.

  The majordomo strode forward and rapped his staff on the floor three times. “All hear me!” he cried. “The Lord of Tarsis and the Inner Council receive the embassy of Chief Kyaga Strongbow of the Plains of Dust. Ambassador Yalmuk Bloodarrow has presented his credentials to the Great Council in accordance with the law and custom of Tarsis, and is recognized as the envoy of Chief Kyaga, with all the privileges of an ambassador.” The majordomo bowed and withdrew.

  “Ambassador Yalmuk has also presented his sword and dagger, his bow and his sharp, swift-flying arrows,” said the envoy. “This is an insult! A warrior of the plains is never to be without his weapons.”

  With an effort, the Lord of Tarsis bit back a sharp retort to this unprecedented rudeness. “It grieves me that you feel ill-used, but this is the custom of our court. Do foreigners come armed into the presence of your master?”

  “Of course not!” Yalmuk snorted. “But my master, Kyaga Strongbow, is lord of the world and may order men to do as he wishes, for that is his right.” The rest of his party gave loud assent to these words.

  “It is clear,” said the Lord of Tarsis, “that matters of rank must be cleared up before we can proceed with negotiations.”

  “Who spoke of negotiations?” demanded Yalmuk. “I come here with my chieftain’s orders!”

  “Then you must understand,” said the Lord of Tarsis in a low voice from which all patience had fled, “that I will, upon no account, deal with your master under such a misapprehension. It is the custom of all lands, including those of the nomadic tribes, for sovereigns to deal with one another as equals. I will recognize your chief’s embassy upon no other grounds.”

  “As it happens,” said Yalmuk, his snubbed nose elevated, “my chieftain has given me permission to abide by this pretense for the nonce. He therefore calls you brother and colleague.”

  “Excellent,” said the lord with the thinnest of smiles. As he had suspected, this bullying little blowhard had been testing him, seeing how much he could get away with before the whip was snapped. It was a common tactic. Civilized envoys were just more subtle about it. “Please state the requests of my brother, Chief Kyaga Strongbow.”

  “The demands of Kyaga Strongbow are as follows: Wherefore in the past it has been the custom of the plainsmen to come to Tarsis and barter the rich products of our herds for the trifling commodities of this city, henceforth Tarsis shall render as tribute, to be sent to the court of Kyaga Strongbow each year on the Feast of the Longest Day, one thousand worked saddles of the best wood and leather, one thousand swords of wrought steel, one thousand daggers of the same, ten thousand arrowheads of the same, one thousand bolts of woven silk, ten thousand bolts of woven wool, and ten thousand steel coins.”

  For a moment there was a stunned silence.

  “I see,” said the lord. “Quite aside from the fact that this is out of the question, does it occur to Kyaga that it is difficult to produce woven wool without the raw wool from the plains?”

  The envoy waved a hand dismissively. From his wrist dangled a flexible quirt. “You shall of course be free to buy our wool as in the past. Only the price is changed. It was one ounce of fine silver per hundredweight. The new price is ten ounces.”

  “These demands are quite unacceptable,” said the Lord of Tarsis, sounding almost bored. “We see no reason why the ancient relations between our city and your people should not go on as they have for many centuries. However, should you feel that our rates of exchange are no longer fair, we are prepared to negotiate.”

  “You mistake the intentions of Kyaga Strongbow,” said the ambassador. “He does not wish to negotiate. You may accept his terms, or you may face war, siege, and extermination!” His followers cheered fiercely.

  “I quite understand,” said the lord. “But we must talk further. In the meantime, I have set aside tomorrow for a great feast to celebrate the arrival of the first embassy from the new ruler of the plains.”

  “We accept your invitation,” Yalmuk said. “But do not talk too long. In three risings of the sun my chief arrives in our camp, and if he is not satisfied with your response, he will destroy Tarsis!” The ambassador then spun on his booted heel and strode from the audience chamber. When the doors had closed behind the barbarians, the councilors muttered among themselves.

  “Did I hear aright?” said Councilor Rukh. “Did that flea-bitten savage just demand our unconditional submission and tribute?”

  “Calm yourself,” said the lord. “This is just a trade negotiation. This new nomad chief has simply put his most outrageous demand on the table first. That way, he can seem generous and reasonable when he demands something marginally less absurd.”

  “My lord,” said Councilor Melkar, “I think you misjudge Kyaga. I believe he means every word of it. Preparations must be made at once to defend the city.”

  “I have already ordered such preparations. But I think they will not be necessary. Tomorrow, at the banquet, commence the subversion of these simple savages. We have three days to bribe them away from their chief. That should be more than adequate.”

  * * * * *

  The Lord of Tarsis looked about the festively decorated hall, pleased with his strategy. The banquet was going well, all things considered. The savages stuffed themselves without decorum, boasted loudly, and smelled abominable, but so far there had been no overt acts of violence. Guards stood around the periphery of the banqueting hall with polearms at the ready, but the lord had little faith in these. Tarsis had few military men of any account, and the city guards were merely a constabulary, poorly trained and inefficient.

  All the members of the Inner Council, unmasked now and smiling as if they were among their closest friends, had one or more of the envoys sitting near them. Farther down the table, other, lesser lords and ladies of the city feasted merrily.

  Beside the Lord of Tarsis sat Yalmuk Bloodarrow and the shaman, whom the lord had learned was called Shadespeaker. The shaman communed with the dead, as well as with the thousands of spirits, small gods, and major deities of the plainsmen. It seemed the man was a person of great importance among the nomads, for he always stayed close to Yalmuk and in some ways the ambassador seemed to defer to him. The Lord of Tarsis felt that the shaman might be a man to cultivate. The problem was, with what did one bribe a shaman?

  “Holy Shadespeaker,” said the lord, “is it by the will of your gods that Kyaga Strongbow has been elevated to the overlordship of the Plains of Dust?”

  The man regarded him through the strings of dangling beads. His face was even harder to read because it had been painted a vivid green. “The spirits of all our ancestors came to me and proclaimed that Kyaga was indeed the one prophesied to us.”

  “Ah, I see. So it was through you that he became chief?”

  “Through the ancestors,” said the shaman, “and through his own might. He brought many tribes under his lordship through many years of fighting.”

  “How splendid.” This looked promising. If the shaman felt that it was through his intercession with the spirits that Kyaga was e
levated, he might feel himself the equal of the new leader. He would be resentful if the chieftain paid him insufficient honor. “Your lord must value you above all other men.”

  “My lord listens when I speak,” said the holy man.

  “He listens to his wizard,” chimed in Yalmuk. “But Kyaga knows that his glory rests on swords and bows and the hearts of his warriors!” He set his teeth into a venison pasty and washed it down with half a beaker of strong wine.

  “A chief must have warriors,” the shaman said, “but the greatest bowmen are of no use to him if he has not the favor of the gods and the ancestors.”

  “As you say, Shadespeaker,” Yalmuk muttered. A few minutes later Yalmuk excused himself from the table, and the lord was able to speak confidentially to the shaman.

  “I think the ambassador considers himself to be your better,” commented the lord.

  Shadespeaker drummed his fingertips against the taut rawhide of his tambourine. “He is a great tribal chief, second only to my lord, who values him above all others.”

  “Surely that place belongs to you, the man who elevated him and made plain to all the tribes that he is their rightful leader.”

  “Kyaga Strongbow chooses as he will,” said the shaman sullenly. “It is not for ordinary men to question him.”

  “Of course not,” said the lord. “But here in Tarsis, we accord honor as it is deserved.” As he spoke these words Yalmuk returned to the table.

  In time the shaman departed to join a group of court ladies who were interested in his tribal lore, and the Lord of Tarsis found himself temporarily alone with the ambassador.

  “Your holy man seems to think highly of himself,” the lord said.

  “Those spirit-speakers are mostly frauds,” grumbled the man, bleary-eyed from all the wine he had drunk. “They do no work, they own no herds, they do not fight, yet they think they can live easy and have the respect of real men.”

  “I quite agree. You will notice that priests have no say in the affairs of Tarsis. We let them tend to the service of the gods while men of wealth and war direct the affairs of our city. I understand that you are the chieftain of a great tribe. It must vex you to see so much honor go to a mere shaman instead of to a worthy man like yourself.”

  Yalmuk shook his head. “I would never dispute the decisions of my chief. He is not as other men.”

  “Of course not. You are a man of great loyalty. I, more than any other, know how valuable are men of honor. While I know full well that you would never betray your chief, this shaman could succeed in turning him against you. Such men can never stand to see others too high in the favor of their chieftain. Should that happen, know that you have a place here in Tarsis.”

  “I have no worries on that account,” said the ambassador, but he clearly lacked conviction.

  As the banquet came to a close, the Lord of Tarsis was very pleased with the poison he had spread.

  * * * * *

  Late the next day, the members of the Inner Council sat in their accustomed places as each tendered his report to the lord. Councilor Rukh was first to speak.

  “My lord, I entertained three of the envoys at my own house, the ambassador and two chiefs named Guklak and Shatterspear. Ambassador Yalmuk has his resentments, but on the whole I perceive him as loyal to his chief. Guklak is fanatically loyal to Kyaga. Shatterspear, on the other hand, is ripe for rebellion. Kyaga defeated him in battle and incorporated his tribe into the greater nation. Shatterspear resents this usurpation of his own leadership. Also, he is stupid and a wastrel, very greedy for gold. He can be had for a few coins.”

  “Very good,” said the lord, keeping to himself his own doubts about the loyalty of Ambassador Yalmuk. He likewise kept to himself his doubts about Councilor Rukh’s report. Whatever had passed between the ambitious aristocrat and the nomads, Rukh would report it in whatever form would serve to advance his own schemes. The Lord of Tarsis knew he could credit only information confirmed by a number of sources, including that tendered by spies of his own planted in each noble household. He heard out the others, and each had much the same report.

  “This is excellent,” said the lord when all had spoken. “Among the envoys, the breakdown seems to be roughly thus: one third are extremely loyal to Kyaga, one third are wavering, and one third are ready to rebel at the hint of a bribe. With this knowledge, we can begin to undermine Kyaga. It is almost certain that the bulk of his subchiefs, who even now gather on the plain outside our gates, are similarly chancy of loyalty. I shall draw out negotiations as long as possible, while you continue subverting his chiefs. Give them plenty of gifts. Promise them honors and titles, for these cost us nothing. Promise them gold and other treasure, even Tarsian women as wives and concubines. Payment can always be deferred.”

  “Kyaga Strongbow arrives upon the morrow, my lord,” reminded Councilor Melkar. “He may be in no mood for negotiation.”

  “If not, defensive arrangements will be in order,” assured the Lord of Tarsis.

  “My lord,” said Councilor Alban, an old man notorious for his many superstitions, “my star-reader warns me that a grim future awaits Tarsis. He says that the signs are in place for a war of armies and sorcerers and dragons. Might this shaman of Kyaga’s command powerful magic? If so, what steps should we take to ward off his spells?”

  It was a struggle for the lord to hide his disgust. He had little patience with Alban, but the man was immensely wealthy and had to be reckoned with. Wizards! Dragons! Things of history and legend! What had these to do with war and diplomacy in the modern world? Still, he spoke soothingly.

  “Councilor Alban, I have spoken with the man and find him a mere, ignorant tribesman. I have also consulted with merchants who have traveled extensively among the nomads. All assure me that the tribal shamans are no more than fraudulent mountebanks. They say they commune with the dead, but what of that? Is a dead savage somehow more dangerous than a live one?” This raised a chuckle from the council. “Beyond that, they practice petty arts of healing and cursing. Some of these require no magic at all; some are spells of the weakest sort. If the nomads knew any great sorcery, would they not have mastered the world long ago?”

  “These are wise observations,” Alban allowed, “yet the possibility exists that something may have changed. I have received disturbing reports, my lords. Sentries atop the walls have reported sightings of a strange apparition in the skies: a vast, winged creature, accompanied by a sound of great wings beating. My staff of wizards affirm that this may be a true dragon of the Great Wyrm class. If so, this portends great shocks and changes.”

  The Lord of Tarsis sighed. This was just what he did not need at such a time. Why was he forced to deal with such an idiot? He answered his own question silently. Because he is rich and powerful, that is why. Aloud he said, “My esteemed councilor, I must remind you that no dragon of any status whatever has been seen in these parts for generations. Moreover, most of the guards on our walls are foreign mercenaries, men of the most primitive and superstitious sort. They are liable to see dragons in every storm cloud just as they see dryads in every forest shadow and ghosts in every darkened room.” This raised a restrained chuckle from the others. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “we must overlook nothing. Pray continue your researches as you deem best.”

  “If all here agree, I shall assemble a body of the most learned men of Tarsis to map out a strategy of counterspells.”

  “Please do so, Councilor Alban,” said the lord. At least it would keep the old fool out of his way while he attended to the real business of diplomacy. “Now, to other business. Is all ready to receive Kyaga Strongbow when he arrives tomorrow?”

  “The honor guard is assembled and has been drilled, my lord,” reported Councilor Rukh. “The musicians are practicing even now. The dried flower petals left over from the last reception are arranged in baskets on the balconies for the ladies to cast down. If he had come in the summer this savage could have been showered with fresh petals, but it seems h
e has no sense of timing.” This raised another chuckle and Councilor Rukh continued. “Seriously, my lord, a procession through the narrower streets presents an excellent opportunity to rid ourselves of this would-be master of the world. One arrow and he is gone. Without their leader, the nomads would dissolve into a mob to be massacred piecemeal.”

  The Lord of Tarsis nodded. “It is a very tempting opportunity, and I have pondered just such a tactic since learning that the savage was on his way. It would be in violation of all diplomatic custom, but that would not stay my hand. After all, it is not as if he were a civilized king. No, I have other reasons for rejecting the idea. First, because I do not think he represents a threat serious enough to warrant a move so drastic. Second, we do not yet know enough about the nature of the army assembling outside our gates. Third, it has been our traditional, well-proven policy always to set these nomad tribes one against the other, rather than take direct action ourselves. Until I am satisfied upon all these matters, we will rely on prolonged negotiation and subversion. Do all understand?”

  “Yes, my lord,” all chorused.

  “Then go and do as I have instructed.” He turned and strode from the room.

  That night, satisfied he had prepared for any possibility, the Lord of Tarsis retired to his bed. He was not to get a good night’s sleep.

  * * * * *

  “My lord!” The panicked cry was accompanied by loud and prolonged pounding. “My lord, wake up!”

  The Lord of Tarsis sat up in his bed and wiped a hand across his face, trying to clear away the cobwebs of sleep. “What is it?” he barked. It seemed he had just laid his head on the pillow.

  “You must come quickly, my lord! There’s been a murder!”

  Now he recognized the visitor’s voice. Constable Weite was commander of the night watch, a dubious post for one who was afraid of his own shadow. “And what causes this one to warrant my attention?” the Lord of Tarsis demanded. His tone boded ill for one who would disturb his rest over trifles.