The End of Magic - Chapter 18
Aug. 14th, 2021 05:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desastristaThe End of Magic is an original multichaptered fantasy work that I am currently publishing on both AO3 and Dreamwidth. You can find the master post of all chapters here or just click the "end of magic" tag. (AO3 link here)
The carriage arrived so early the next morning that Ozal and Kadim were the only ones awake in the house when they set off for the Palace. Ozal told himself that he had to leave then because his errand demanded it. The Sheikh of Magicians would be hard to find in the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times. But as Ozal sat across from Kadim and watched the sunrise spread slowly over Kadehir, he knew it was no coincidence that he left before he had to face Nadide or Ahmad.
The wheels of the carriage creaked and groaned and the doors were not solid enough to completely keep out the din from a city beginning to waken. But inside the carriage there was only stillness and quiet. Normally, Ozal would not have minded. He might even have preferred it. Silence allowed for contemplation, and contemplation was one of the virtues that the Stand sought to cultivate. But now Ozal’s thoughts chased each other in vicious circles, and he had to say something to clear his mind.
“If the Sheikh of Magicians will not accept Savaner kishah, it does not matter what the rest of the Stand thinks.” The words hung heavily in the air. Ozal sighed. “I hope,” he added, a final concession to honesty.
Kadim nodded.
“I don’t know much about the man. I think he was still the Sheikh when my father was still a student in the Stand. I don’t think my father ever met him -- I wonder if he knew my grandfather.” The man must be ancient. No wonder he had been looking for a replacement. For all their sakes, Ozal hoped he held out a little longer. Still, he had to muster up some confidence. “His long tenure would put him above the everyday, petty squabbling of the Stand.”
Ozal tried to make himself believe those words. He wanted so badly to believe them. But what he wanted from the Stand and what it chose to be had now diverged -- likely had diverged long even before the kishah cursed him. It was only now that he was noticing it. He wondered if Kadim would say anything to that effect. It seemed like someone had to. But his Mucevhed just nodded again in agreement.
Ozal noticed a certain distraction in Kadim's expression. A thought occurred to him. “What do you think?” he asked.
It was clear that this was not a question Kadim had expected, or perhaps even contemplated. “What do I think?” he echoed with a hint of disbelief.
It did seem a strange question, hearing it repeated back at him. It took a moment for Ozal to realize why. “I’ve never asked you before.”
He could see the tips of Kadim’s cheeks redden. “It is not a question a magician usually asks of his Mucevhed,” he responded, retreating for the moment into the safety of generalities. Ozal blinked in surprise. It felt like there was a sudden distance between them -- the two of them, who had been all but inseparable since they had been bonded.
Ahmad’s cruel words repeated themselves in Ozal’s ears. I know the Stand raises children as slaves. I know you tell them that is all they are because you think that is the only way you can have magic.
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed to spill from his mouth of their own volition. From his expression, they seemed to have taken Kadim by surprise too.
“I have been thinking about what Ahmad said yesterday.” He watched Kadim’s lips thin. They had spent the night in silence; Ozal had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even wondered what Kadim thought of the events that had transpired.
Even when the events had included his master and his master’s guest talking about him.
It occurred to Ozal suddenly that perhaps he had been slightly oblivious to certain matters.
“What did you think about what he said?” Ozal made himself ask. It felt like exercising an unfamiliar muscle. From the way that Kadim shifted, the feeling might be mutual.
“Ahmad bajedi is not from Kadehir. The way that things are done in his province --” Kadim let his words trail off.
“The way things are done in his province doesn’t make anything he said yesterday about the Stand untrue.” Ozal completed the sentence. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. They hung unpleasantly in the air.
Kadim did not look convinced. "I -- was always told that the Stand rewarded service. The Servant is one of the Seven Gods. The idea that the Stand might let Mucevheden die in order to secure stronger magic..."
"There's not a magician in the Stand who is not obsessed with why magic seems to be in the decline." Ozal shook his head. He'd heard conversation after conversation about the matter over the years. It had never occurred to him that it was anything except idle talk.
Despite the situation, the corner of Kadim's mouth lifted. "And what about you?" He must have seen the way that Ozal frowned, not understanding, because he added, "You are talking as if you are not still a magician of the Stand yourself."
Ozal thought of the way that the members of the Stand -- his fellow magicians -- stared at him since he had recovered. Or, more accurately, how they stared at him and his cane. “I am. But it has become easier to see the matter from an outside perspective lately,” he admitted, attempting a smile that his mouth mangled. “If we are to stop Savaner kishah’s, we must convince someone with real influence at the Stand.”
“So you want to talk to the leader of the Stand -- a man you have never met.”
“Worse than that,” Ozal huffed. “Worse than a man I’ve never met -- I can’t think of anyone I know who has met him.” He paused, considering. If he was going to try and prove Ahmad wrong -- and he really wanted to, still, despite everything -- he had to start treating Kadim differently. He had to start treating him as his equal. “Where do you think we should start?”
He started to smile -- genuinely, this time -- as he watched Kadim mull over the question. The task at hand was still daunting. They could not afford failure and yet success seemed so distant a possibility. But Kadim was here to help him, and Ozal was grateful for that.
It had been Ozal’s intention to ask the highest ranking magicians he knew that he had a petition for the Imperial Magician and get their advice, but Kadim suggested that they ask some of his peers first. “After all, they’re more likely to help you,” he pointed out. “And less likely to tell the Imperial Magician about your inquiries.”
The point was well-taken. And it had the advantage of being easier to execute; when they first entered through the Palace gates, Ozal recognized a tide-binder and his Mucevhed from his own days as a student. When he approached, the man spoke easily with him -- until Ozal mentioned that he was hoping to find the Sheikh of Magicians. The man frowned at that. “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said.
Ozal thanked the man for his time, and then he and Kadim kept walking. And kept walking. They walked until Ozal’s knees started to complain and he had to waste some precious minutes sitting and recovering. They ran into a few more people that Ozal knew, but none had even a scrap of information about the Sheikh. Ozal could not believe it. This man existed, he at least nominally controlled the Stand, and yet absolutely no one seemed to know anything more than vague generalities about him. The closest they could get to advice was from another secretary that Ozal knew who told them to ask the Imperial Magician. “I would imagine he has probably been in the most contact with the Sheikh.”
After what felt like a whole morning wasted, the two of them retreated into a quiet corner in one of the Palace halls. Ozal leaned heavily against the stone, while Kadim paced impatiently. "I cannot believe it, but going to see the Imperial Magician is probably the best advice we’ve gotten all day,” Kadim sighed.
Ozal drummed his fingers against his cane. “I am tired of audiences with Tolga bajedi,” he muttered. He did not trust the Imperial Magician, and was loath to even let the man suspect their mission.
Kadim nodded sympathetically, but added, his mouth twisted wryly, "It's still the best advice we've gotten today."
Ozal made an inpatient noise, but he had no other reply. He hated it, they likely both hated it, but Kadim was right. Ozal swallowed his pride -- when had the taste of it become so familiar? -- and made to stand.
A guard stopped them from entering Tolga’s quarters before they’d barely crossed the courtyard.
“I am here to see the Imperial Magician,” Ozal informed the man.
It was true he did not have an appointment or even really a pretext for seeing Tolga, but he’d hoped the price he had already paid for his empire would be sufficient fare for one last visit with the Imperial Magician. Yet the guard’s face remained impassive. “He is already engaged.”
Ozal’s nostrils flared in frustration. He bit down on his tongue and tried to coax the words he wanted to say into a more courteous form. “Well, then. When will he next be available?” The man did not answer. Ozal tried a different tact. “How long has he been engaged?” he asked instead.
At least those words drew a reaction. The corner of the guard’s mouth quirked in a way that Ozal found he disliked intensely. But all the man said was, “A while.”
Ozal drew in a deep breath. He waited a moment, but the man said nothing more. It occurred to Ozal there was nothing he could do or say that would draw out anything more from the guard, and they both knew it. So instead he turned back to Kadim. “We’re done here,” he announced, loud enough for the man to hear. For all the good that would do.
His head felt light as they started back towards the carriage.
“Perhaps if we waited until the Imperial Magician was available --,” Kadim started uncertainly.
“For all we know, he is meeting with Savaner kishah now.” Ozal shook his head. He stopped walking. He needed to think. There had to be something he had missed. The Sheikh was not a ghost or a children’s story. He had to be somewhere. It was just that no one seemed to know where exactly that could be -- or even who else might know. No one, it seemed, knew anything about this man.
Except that wasn’t quite true. There was someone Ozal knew who had encountered the Skeikh -- or at least men claiming to work on the man’s behalf. Of course. He'd forgotten about the matter until now. It was so easy to forget a story when it was told by a voice one wasn't used to hearing.
"Kadim," he said suddenly, his voice hoarse. "I need to go to the Inner Sanctum."
He tried to explain to Kadim as they sat in the carriage, but even to his ears he sounded half mad.
"Ahmad's Mucevhed -- Mahir -- he said that he went into the Inner Sanctum." He saw Kadim’s mouth thin. Ozal was familiar with the expression. It was a blasphemy -- but for their purposes now, a useful one. “But more than that. He said that when he was there, Savaner kishah went underneath it.”
“The Inner Sanctum is already underground.”
“It is,” Ozal agreed. “But what if there is someplace below that?”
Kadim started to frown. “I don't understand. Surely you would have known -- surely you would have heard about it by now if that were the case."
"A location that no one seems to know exists would seem a good place to look for a man who no one knows where to find," Ozal pointed out. Kadim laughed.
"This is madness," he said with a shake of his head. "But then again everything since you have been stricken has been madness."
Ozal felt the weight of the words press against his chest. It was the first he’d heard Kadim speak like this. He’d been telling himself all along that he was doing what needed to be done to protect his sister and his Mucevhed -- and yet, if he was being honest with himself, he had hardly stopped to listen to either one of them.
“That will stop once we find the Sheikh of Magicians,” he announced, and he meant more than Savaner kishah this time.
Kadim smiled. Ozal could only return it weakly.
By the time they arrived at the Stand, Ozal had a plan. If there was anything below the Inner Sanctum, the most likely entrance would be either in the Inner Sanctum itself or hidden somewhere in the Inner Courtyard. As Mucevheden were not allowed in the Sanctum itself, Ozal would search there alone and Kadim would see what he could find above ground.
They entered the Courtyard together. The Stand had once again closed off access to the God-trees to the public and the area was almost empty, save for a few magicians who read with their Mucevheden in the grass and the occasional figure bent in prayer beneath the boughs. Ozal noticed a few heads turn towards them as they walked, but he was surprised when a man actually stood up and made to approach them.
“Ozal,” the man called out. Ozal frowned as he recognized the man. Tolga bajedi’s physician -- Ayberk. “I had hoped you might come here.”
The entrance to the Inner Sanctum was less than a hundred paces away. Ozal eyed it closely. “I am sorry --,” he started, insincere.
“I talked to your sister recently,” the man pressed. “Did she tell you?”
The man had moved to block his path. Ozal raised an eyebrow. What could possibly be so urgent? “She did,” he answered slowly. But only because she wanted to help us stop a dangerous man, he was tempted to add.
“I -- well, I wanted to tell you that I understand things have changed since talking with her. I understand your position now.”
This was a waste of his time. Trying and failing to keep some of the impatience out of his voice, he responded, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
The other man flushed. “Well, with the hanging of the Vaspahanian ambassador -- I wondered -- after all, you told me yourself that you did not believe you were poisoned. But that was just because that was what the foreigner told you, yes?”
Ozal’s eyebrows had arched high enough that he thought they might scrape the fabric of his turban. “Ahmad, yes. He’s told me a great many things.” Not all appreciated, of course. But he kept that thought to himself.
A grin started to spread across the man’s face. The wider it got, the more Ozal frowned, until the man finally exclaimed, “But that’s just it! That man is not to be trusted.”
There was so much relief in his expression. It was as if a burden had been lifted. Ozal could not fathom how this man considered himself burdened by anything Ahmad had said, but nonetheless he shook his head. “I sometimes find myself wishing that were the case,” he noted dryly.
Evidently the relief had been fragile. Ozal watched the smile crumble slowly at the sides of Ayberk’s mouth. “But the Imperial Magician --”
“What about the Imperial Magician?” Ozal asked sharply.
“Have you not heard? He ordered the foreigner’s arrest.”
Ozal felt his limbs lock. His very breath seemed to catch in his throat, he could have choked on it. “That is not possible,” he started to protest weakly. But of course it was. It was well within the Imperial Magician’s power to order such a thing. What possible pretext would Tolga bajedi have, though? Ahmad had committed no crime. All he had done was tell the truth and not be believed. “How -- when did this happen?”
“It was only decided this morning. Or, at least, that is when I heard about it.” Ozal fought the urge to swear. He had left before sunrise and not returned home since. He had not seen the need -- their errand was urgent -- evidently it had been even more urgent than they knew. “The Imperial Magician has branded him a thief.”
Ozal gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “What could he have possibly stolen?”
“Why, he stole a magician’s Mucevhed.” The physician blinked, as if it were obvious.
The words might as well have been a blow; Ozal staggered as if he had been struck. “Savaner kishah,” he muttered to himself. No doubt it was that man’s idea. The only magician in Kadehir who had been able to best Savaner’s curse. And the kishah had found a way to silence him.
"What have they done to him? Where have they taken him?"
The man paled. "I don't -- I have no idea."
A waste of time indeed. Ozal turned abruptly around. He could see how even Kadim started. “Where are you going?” Ayberk called out distantly. “I thought you would be glad to know! I thought you had already figured it out -- you told the Imperial Magician you had been poisoned!”
Ozal’s thoughts were a jumble. He had to get home. He had to see if Nadide was alright. He had to talk to Tolga bajedi. He had to make the Imperial Magician see sense. He had to make the world make sense.
And then all at once his breath really did stop in his chest.
He felt the spell wash over his body. A recognizable strangeness. The first time the curse had taken him, he had barely had time to register it. But now he knew its presence, knew it for what it was. But knowing that he was being cursed did not stop his knees from locking up, did not stop him from crashing to the ground, did not stop Ayberk and Kadim from calling his name in vain.
As the world went dark, Ozal realized his mistake. Ahmad wasn’t just a threat to Savaner kishah because he was the only magician in the Stand who could best his spell. It was because he knew the truth. And so did Ozal. And it turned out Savaner kishah knew a way to get rid of him, too.
The carriage arrived so early the next morning that Ozal and Kadim were the only ones awake in the house when they set off for the Palace. Ozal told himself that he had to leave then because his errand demanded it. The Sheikh of Magicians would be hard to find in the best of times, and now was certainly not the best of times. But as Ozal sat across from Kadim and watched the sunrise spread slowly over Kadehir, he knew it was no coincidence that he left before he had to face Nadide or Ahmad.
The wheels of the carriage creaked and groaned and the doors were not solid enough to completely keep out the din from a city beginning to waken. But inside the carriage there was only stillness and quiet. Normally, Ozal would not have minded. He might even have preferred it. Silence allowed for contemplation, and contemplation was one of the virtues that the Stand sought to cultivate. But now Ozal’s thoughts chased each other in vicious circles, and he had to say something to clear his mind.
“If the Sheikh of Magicians will not accept Savaner kishah, it does not matter what the rest of the Stand thinks.” The words hung heavily in the air. Ozal sighed. “I hope,” he added, a final concession to honesty.
Kadim nodded.
“I don’t know much about the man. I think he was still the Sheikh when my father was still a student in the Stand. I don’t think my father ever met him -- I wonder if he knew my grandfather.” The man must be ancient. No wonder he had been looking for a replacement. For all their sakes, Ozal hoped he held out a little longer. Still, he had to muster up some confidence. “His long tenure would put him above the everyday, petty squabbling of the Stand.”
Ozal tried to make himself believe those words. He wanted so badly to believe them. But what he wanted from the Stand and what it chose to be had now diverged -- likely had diverged long even before the kishah cursed him. It was only now that he was noticing it. He wondered if Kadim would say anything to that effect. It seemed like someone had to. But his Mucevhed just nodded again in agreement.
Ozal noticed a certain distraction in Kadim's expression. A thought occurred to him. “What do you think?” he asked.
It was clear that this was not a question Kadim had expected, or perhaps even contemplated. “What do I think?” he echoed with a hint of disbelief.
It did seem a strange question, hearing it repeated back at him. It took a moment for Ozal to realize why. “I’ve never asked you before.”
He could see the tips of Kadim’s cheeks redden. “It is not a question a magician usually asks of his Mucevhed,” he responded, retreating for the moment into the safety of generalities. Ozal blinked in surprise. It felt like there was a sudden distance between them -- the two of them, who had been all but inseparable since they had been bonded.
Ahmad’s cruel words repeated themselves in Ozal’s ears. I know the Stand raises children as slaves. I know you tell them that is all they are because you think that is the only way you can have magic.
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed to spill from his mouth of their own volition. From his expression, they seemed to have taken Kadim by surprise too.
“I have been thinking about what Ahmad said yesterday.” He watched Kadim’s lips thin. They had spent the night in silence; Ozal had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even wondered what Kadim thought of the events that had transpired.
Even when the events had included his master and his master’s guest talking about him.
It occurred to Ozal suddenly that perhaps he had been slightly oblivious to certain matters.
“What did you think about what he said?” Ozal made himself ask. It felt like exercising an unfamiliar muscle. From the way that Kadim shifted, the feeling might be mutual.
“Ahmad bajedi is not from Kadehir. The way that things are done in his province --” Kadim let his words trail off.
“The way things are done in his province doesn’t make anything he said yesterday about the Stand untrue.” Ozal completed the sentence. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. They hung unpleasantly in the air.
Kadim did not look convinced. "I -- was always told that the Stand rewarded service. The Servant is one of the Seven Gods. The idea that the Stand might let Mucevheden die in order to secure stronger magic..."
"There's not a magician in the Stand who is not obsessed with why magic seems to be in the decline." Ozal shook his head. He'd heard conversation after conversation about the matter over the years. It had never occurred to him that it was anything except idle talk.
Despite the situation, the corner of Kadim's mouth lifted. "And what about you?" He must have seen the way that Ozal frowned, not understanding, because he added, "You are talking as if you are not still a magician of the Stand yourself."
Ozal thought of the way that the members of the Stand -- his fellow magicians -- stared at him since he had recovered. Or, more accurately, how they stared at him and his cane. “I am. But it has become easier to see the matter from an outside perspective lately,” he admitted, attempting a smile that his mouth mangled. “If we are to stop Savaner kishah’s, we must convince someone with real influence at the Stand.”
“So you want to talk to the leader of the Stand -- a man you have never met.”
“Worse than that,” Ozal huffed. “Worse than a man I’ve never met -- I can’t think of anyone I know who has met him.” He paused, considering. If he was going to try and prove Ahmad wrong -- and he really wanted to, still, despite everything -- he had to start treating Kadim differently. He had to start treating him as his equal. “Where do you think we should start?”
He started to smile -- genuinely, this time -- as he watched Kadim mull over the question. The task at hand was still daunting. They could not afford failure and yet success seemed so distant a possibility. But Kadim was here to help him, and Ozal was grateful for that.
It had been Ozal’s intention to ask the highest ranking magicians he knew that he had a petition for the Imperial Magician and get their advice, but Kadim suggested that they ask some of his peers first. “After all, they’re more likely to help you,” he pointed out. “And less likely to tell the Imperial Magician about your inquiries.”
The point was well-taken. And it had the advantage of being easier to execute; when they first entered through the Palace gates, Ozal recognized a tide-binder and his Mucevhed from his own days as a student. When he approached, the man spoke easily with him -- until Ozal mentioned that he was hoping to find the Sheikh of Magicians. The man frowned at that. “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said.
Ozal thanked the man for his time, and then he and Kadim kept walking. And kept walking. They walked until Ozal’s knees started to complain and he had to waste some precious minutes sitting and recovering. They ran into a few more people that Ozal knew, but none had even a scrap of information about the Sheikh. Ozal could not believe it. This man existed, he at least nominally controlled the Stand, and yet absolutely no one seemed to know anything more than vague generalities about him. The closest they could get to advice was from another secretary that Ozal knew who told them to ask the Imperial Magician. “I would imagine he has probably been in the most contact with the Sheikh.”
After what felt like a whole morning wasted, the two of them retreated into a quiet corner in one of the Palace halls. Ozal leaned heavily against the stone, while Kadim paced impatiently. "I cannot believe it, but going to see the Imperial Magician is probably the best advice we’ve gotten all day,” Kadim sighed.
Ozal drummed his fingers against his cane. “I am tired of audiences with Tolga bajedi,” he muttered. He did not trust the Imperial Magician, and was loath to even let the man suspect their mission.
Kadim nodded sympathetically, but added, his mouth twisted wryly, "It's still the best advice we've gotten today."
Ozal made an inpatient noise, but he had no other reply. He hated it, they likely both hated it, but Kadim was right. Ozal swallowed his pride -- when had the taste of it become so familiar? -- and made to stand.
A guard stopped them from entering Tolga’s quarters before they’d barely crossed the courtyard.
“I am here to see the Imperial Magician,” Ozal informed the man.
It was true he did not have an appointment or even really a pretext for seeing Tolga, but he’d hoped the price he had already paid for his empire would be sufficient fare for one last visit with the Imperial Magician. Yet the guard’s face remained impassive. “He is already engaged.”
Ozal’s nostrils flared in frustration. He bit down on his tongue and tried to coax the words he wanted to say into a more courteous form. “Well, then. When will he next be available?” The man did not answer. Ozal tried a different tact. “How long has he been engaged?” he asked instead.
At least those words drew a reaction. The corner of the guard’s mouth quirked in a way that Ozal found he disliked intensely. But all the man said was, “A while.”
Ozal drew in a deep breath. He waited a moment, but the man said nothing more. It occurred to Ozal there was nothing he could do or say that would draw out anything more from the guard, and they both knew it. So instead he turned back to Kadim. “We’re done here,” he announced, loud enough for the man to hear. For all the good that would do.
His head felt light as they started back towards the carriage.
“Perhaps if we waited until the Imperial Magician was available --,” Kadim started uncertainly.
“For all we know, he is meeting with Savaner kishah now.” Ozal shook his head. He stopped walking. He needed to think. There had to be something he had missed. The Sheikh was not a ghost or a children’s story. He had to be somewhere. It was just that no one seemed to know where exactly that could be -- or even who else might know. No one, it seemed, knew anything about this man.
Except that wasn’t quite true. There was someone Ozal knew who had encountered the Skeikh -- or at least men claiming to work on the man’s behalf. Of course. He'd forgotten about the matter until now. It was so easy to forget a story when it was told by a voice one wasn't used to hearing.
"Kadim," he said suddenly, his voice hoarse. "I need to go to the Inner Sanctum."
He tried to explain to Kadim as they sat in the carriage, but even to his ears he sounded half mad.
"Ahmad's Mucevhed -- Mahir -- he said that he went into the Inner Sanctum." He saw Kadim’s mouth thin. Ozal was familiar with the expression. It was a blasphemy -- but for their purposes now, a useful one. “But more than that. He said that when he was there, Savaner kishah went underneath it.”
“The Inner Sanctum is already underground.”
“It is,” Ozal agreed. “But what if there is someplace below that?”
Kadim started to frown. “I don't understand. Surely you would have known -- surely you would have heard about it by now if that were the case."
"A location that no one seems to know exists would seem a good place to look for a man who no one knows where to find," Ozal pointed out. Kadim laughed.
"This is madness," he said with a shake of his head. "But then again everything since you have been stricken has been madness."
Ozal felt the weight of the words press against his chest. It was the first he’d heard Kadim speak like this. He’d been telling himself all along that he was doing what needed to be done to protect his sister and his Mucevhed -- and yet, if he was being honest with himself, he had hardly stopped to listen to either one of them.
“That will stop once we find the Sheikh of Magicians,” he announced, and he meant more than Savaner kishah this time.
Kadim smiled. Ozal could only return it weakly.
By the time they arrived at the Stand, Ozal had a plan. If there was anything below the Inner Sanctum, the most likely entrance would be either in the Inner Sanctum itself or hidden somewhere in the Inner Courtyard. As Mucevheden were not allowed in the Sanctum itself, Ozal would search there alone and Kadim would see what he could find above ground.
They entered the Courtyard together. The Stand had once again closed off access to the God-trees to the public and the area was almost empty, save for a few magicians who read with their Mucevheden in the grass and the occasional figure bent in prayer beneath the boughs. Ozal noticed a few heads turn towards them as they walked, but he was surprised when a man actually stood up and made to approach them.
“Ozal,” the man called out. Ozal frowned as he recognized the man. Tolga bajedi’s physician -- Ayberk. “I had hoped you might come here.”
The entrance to the Inner Sanctum was less than a hundred paces away. Ozal eyed it closely. “I am sorry --,” he started, insincere.
“I talked to your sister recently,” the man pressed. “Did she tell you?”
The man had moved to block his path. Ozal raised an eyebrow. What could possibly be so urgent? “She did,” he answered slowly. But only because she wanted to help us stop a dangerous man, he was tempted to add.
“I -- well, I wanted to tell you that I understand things have changed since talking with her. I understand your position now.”
This was a waste of his time. Trying and failing to keep some of the impatience out of his voice, he responded, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
The other man flushed. “Well, with the hanging of the Vaspahanian ambassador -- I wondered -- after all, you told me yourself that you did not believe you were poisoned. But that was just because that was what the foreigner told you, yes?”
Ozal’s eyebrows had arched high enough that he thought they might scrape the fabric of his turban. “Ahmad, yes. He’s told me a great many things.” Not all appreciated, of course. But he kept that thought to himself.
A grin started to spread across the man’s face. The wider it got, the more Ozal frowned, until the man finally exclaimed, “But that’s just it! That man is not to be trusted.”
There was so much relief in his expression. It was as if a burden had been lifted. Ozal could not fathom how this man considered himself burdened by anything Ahmad had said, but nonetheless he shook his head. “I sometimes find myself wishing that were the case,” he noted dryly.
Evidently the relief had been fragile. Ozal watched the smile crumble slowly at the sides of Ayberk’s mouth. “But the Imperial Magician --”
“What about the Imperial Magician?” Ozal asked sharply.
“Have you not heard? He ordered the foreigner’s arrest.”
Ozal felt his limbs lock. His very breath seemed to catch in his throat, he could have choked on it. “That is not possible,” he started to protest weakly. But of course it was. It was well within the Imperial Magician’s power to order such a thing. What possible pretext would Tolga bajedi have, though? Ahmad had committed no crime. All he had done was tell the truth and not be believed. “How -- when did this happen?”
“It was only decided this morning. Or, at least, that is when I heard about it.” Ozal fought the urge to swear. He had left before sunrise and not returned home since. He had not seen the need -- their errand was urgent -- evidently it had been even more urgent than they knew. “The Imperial Magician has branded him a thief.”
Ozal gave a disbelieving shake of his head. “What could he have possibly stolen?”
“Why, he stole a magician’s Mucevhed.” The physician blinked, as if it were obvious.
The words might as well have been a blow; Ozal staggered as if he had been struck. “Savaner kishah,” he muttered to himself. No doubt it was that man’s idea. The only magician in Kadehir who had been able to best Savaner’s curse. And the kishah had found a way to silence him.
"What have they done to him? Where have they taken him?"
The man paled. "I don't -- I have no idea."
A waste of time indeed. Ozal turned abruptly around. He could see how even Kadim started. “Where are you going?” Ayberk called out distantly. “I thought you would be glad to know! I thought you had already figured it out -- you told the Imperial Magician you had been poisoned!”
Ozal’s thoughts were a jumble. He had to get home. He had to see if Nadide was alright. He had to talk to Tolga bajedi. He had to make the Imperial Magician see sense. He had to make the world make sense.
And then all at once his breath really did stop in his chest.
He felt the spell wash over his body. A recognizable strangeness. The first time the curse had taken him, he had barely had time to register it. But now he knew its presence, knew it for what it was. But knowing that he was being cursed did not stop his knees from locking up, did not stop him from crashing to the ground, did not stop Ayberk and Kadim from calling his name in vain.
As the world went dark, Ozal realized his mistake. Ahmad wasn’t just a threat to Savaner kishah because he was the only magician in the Stand who could best his spell. It was because he knew the truth. And so did Ozal. And it turned out Savaner kishah knew a way to get rid of him, too.
