The Simbul’s Gift

Publicly, Mythrell'aa claimed she was no one's enemy, that Illusion had no ambition, and she wished only to follow her own path. Privately, Aznar Thrul knew her proclamations were trash. She'd declared for Szass Tam after last year's Rashemen Gorge rout, then undeclared when Tam himself was defeated in the spring. He believed the first declaration, not the second. Thrul was certain Lady Illusion had made new promises to Szass Tam; he had more than one spy master reporting to him. He was almost certain the two were conspiring against him directly.

Mythrell'aa wasn't useful, not at all. Thrul wanted her dead—if he could be certain death wouldn't simply make her even more dangerous. But...

"Mythrell'aa? She's got a grudge against the silver-eyed bitch, had it for years; no one knows why. But flinging out a net in greater Aglarond? That's hardly Illusion's style, woman, and you know it." Then another thought raced through the zulkir's mind. "Death's door—she's not spying on Aglarond, she's spying on us! If she's gotten wind of our web ..."

The spy master nodded sagely. "We cannot not rule that out, my lord. I have not."

Thrul wondered, Had he made the greatest mistake of his life when he trusted this woman? Should he slay her on the spot and eliminate the possibility? By design, they kept secrets from each other. Thrul had other spies, other spy masters; that was one of his secrets. What were hers? She wasn't supposed to spy within Thay, especially within Bezantur, but she'd be a fool if she didn't. She'd be a fool if she didn't have eyes and ears within Serpent Tower—if she hadn't at least tried to place a spy there. Thrul's gods knew, Thrul himself had tried often enough. Was his spy master luckier? more skilled? Or a traitor? Did he dare trust her? Did he dare not?

"My lord? You are distracted."

The zulkir shook his head and prepared a lie. "We have invested so much in this web. I would be grieved if Mythrell'aa had compromised it before it had truly begun to function."

"It is not compromised, my lord. Not at all. The woman we lost was in Nethra. She cannot be traced to us; that is the beauty of what we have created. And she's already been replaced. Mythrell'aa's web is in Aglarond proper, disguised as grain traders."

"Grain traders! Mythrell'aa?" Thrul snorted and took a drink from his goblet. "Surely, this is humor?"

"They have been on the roads since the spring mud dried, my lord, visiting village after village. They have paid handsomely for grain they do not want.. . There will be havoc, my lord, when the real traders arrive. Towns and cities will have to pay more, or face revolt. It is a clever ploy, my lord—one we might consider using—but from Mythrell'aa, it is pure chance. Her minions aren't looking for grain. We don't know what it might be, my lord, but we suspect they may have found it in a small village near Mesring."

"So? Why tell me this? Why bother me, if you don't have answers. What do I pay you for, woman? Questions? Suspicions?"

The spy master squared her shoulders. She came from unquestionable Mulan stock and when she straightened her back she towered over the seated zulkir. "My suspicions are answers, my lord. They are the currency of my trade. If they no longer satisfy you ..."

Thrul met her eyes, weighed his options, and poured more wine for them both. "Tell me your suspicions, woman. My curiosity can be contained no longer."

"This morning I learned that there are three wizards in that village, my lord, and three more outside it. The ones inside are of no account, but the others were recognizable. She's sent three of her best, my lord. Any one of them could turn that village into a memory, but she sent three—"

"Why? What could attract her? Who cares ... ?" Thrul's voice trailed. He answered his own question: "The damned queen!" He cursed softly. "A trap to snare the queen in her own backyard. What if she succeeds?"

The spy master grinned. "No one will know it was her, my lord. Our own wizards have surrounded the village and the illusionists. They won't make the first move, but they'll make the last."

The zulkir saluted his spy master with his goblet. "A rival, an enemy, and no risk to us, no matter what—correct?"

"Correct, my lord. If Mythrell'aa fails, you will be there to humiliate her. If she wins, you, my lord, will be the first to claim Aglarond for Thay."

"The rewards are indeed incalculable." Thrul set down his goblet. "What part of them will you claim for yourself, woman?"

"Who am I, my lord, but your spy master? Will you need me any less tomorrow than you need me today? I want nothing I do not already have—"

"Wisely said, wo—"

"But I need gold, my lord."

"Debts?" Thrul asked eagerly, thinking he'd discovered her weakness.