"A simulacrum? An empty shell?" Aietes exclaimed, half rising from his throne chair.
"No, I am not!" Hekate cried. "I am me. I am real. I am no simulacrum!" With the words, she created a mage light and left it suspended just above the hand holding her staff. "No simulacrum could cast a spell!"
Aietes sank back into his seat. "I have never heard of a simulacrum that could cast a spell. Usually they can barely speak and walk." His eyes sought his daughter's.
"Usually?" Medea hissed. "What is usual about this circumstance? About what we have heard of her? Why could a simulacrum not be created carrying one or even several spells? I say we must destroy—"
"Gently. Gently," Aietes remonstrated, waving back the guards who were closing in on Hekate. "I don't wish to damage either the person or if it is a construct, the construct. Such a creation is worth study. And it is not inimical to us, Medea. If it is a simulacrum and if, as you claim, it carries one spell, why not a spell of destruction? The mage light can do no harm even if it is floating free. And I would like to know how she did that!"
"It could snap forward and touch you before you could avoid it. How do you know what it can do if it touches you?" Medea snapped.
"Shall I dissolve it?" Hekate asked. "Would that come under what a simulacrum could do? What can I do to prove I am real? I don't wish to be cut to show I bleed red blood."
While she was speaking, Phrixos had released the hand of the little boy, stepped off the dais, and cupped his hand around the mage light. "It is harmless to me," he remarked, and raised his hand so that it fell on Hekate's shoulder. "She is warm and of flesh."
"I don't care!" Medea shrieked. "She isn't there! I see her with my eyes, but I can't feel her. I can't sense her. She has no soul! No matter how perfect, she's a simulacrum!"
"No," Aietes said quietly. "Calm yourself, Medea. I think Phrixos is right—"
"Phrixos is always right!" Medea spat.
"About the woman," Aietes continued. "I agree that I don't feel her as I feel others, but I can't sense the spell that holds the mage light either."
"What?"
Medea's huge eyes turned to the mage light that held steady over Hekate's hand on the knob of her staff. She stared at it. It shone placidly. She muttered under her breath. It didn't move or flicker. She gestured, spoke aloud in a language unfamiliar to Hekate. From the corner of her eyes, which she kept fixed on Medea, Hekate could see the swirls of lightning power around the mage light, but they didn't affect the earth-blood power Hekate had used to create it. The mage light remained unaffected. Medea looked at Hekate.
"Who are you? What are you?" she asked, eyes narrowed.
"I am called Hekate." The answer acknowledged that she had a true name kept unknown. "I am an herb-wife—or, I was an herb-wife until I came to Colchis and found those who would teach me healing spells. I am now a healer."
"What other spells do you know? I don't wish to have someone carried here from a sickbed so you can show your healing skills."
Hekate shrugged. "I know a few illusions, such as may entertain at a celebration."
She saw a thread of light dart from Medea toward her and pulled a touch more power into her shields but without shifting her eyes or allowing any change in her expression. The thread of light touched her wards and dissipated into a blurred mist. Hekate frowned thoughtfully at Medea.
"I am very good at personal illusions," she said, pointed a finger at her head, drew it down her body to her feet, muttered a few meaningless words, and shifted to the crone.
It was perhaps a dangerous chance to take, but she was tired of arguing about whether she was real or not and even Medea would acknowledge that a simulacrum could not change its appearance. She had proof enough that neither Aietes nor Medea, who was, Hekate suspected, the more powerful of the two although less experienced, could feel her. That would make it impossible for them to sense that the crone was not an illusion but a true form of Hekate so her shift should not betray her.
The guards had sprung forward as she began to mutter and gesture, one throwing himself in front of her so that she could not cast a spell at those on the dais, the second reaching for her. When she changed form, however, both hesitated, and in that time Aietes bade them let her alone.
"So," he said, "you are no simulacrum. An illusion atop an illusion—that is too much. Now you need to tell us how you can do magic no one can sense and why we cannot touch you as we can touch everyone else."
"I wish I could," Hekate said most mendaciously but with seeming sincerity, "but I don't know myself because I can't sense your magic. I'm sure you and the Lady Medea have been trying to scry my soul, but I feel nothing."
Aietes raised his hand to rub his lips. As he did, a bolt of light flew from his fingertips. Hekate ignored it, keeping her eyes on the king's and not flinching or blinking when the bolt shattered on her shields.
"Yet when you learn a spell, it will work for you?"
Hekate's lips parted to speak, but she was interrupted by Medea, who said, "Dismiss that disgusting illusion! If we must talk with you and be nauseated by what you say, at least spare our other sensibilities."
"Yes, my lady."
Hekate repeated her meaningless "spell" and shifted back to the woman, straightening away from the staff on which she had been leaning her bent body. She was aware of Medea's keen scrutiny and of the flash of anger that betrayed Medea had not sensed the dismissal of the "illusion." As she looked toward the king to answer the question he had asked, Phrixos bent close to speak in Aietes' ear. Hekate waited. The king sighed, then nodded and beckoned to the guard who had accompanied Hekate from the inn—at least she thought it was the same one; they were to her eyes identical.
"Take Lady Hekate to the first waiting chamber," Aietes said. The guard came forward. The king held up a hand and said to Hekate, "I can see that I must speak to you at length, but this is a time of petition for my people and I must not scant them. You will have to wait."
"Yes, my lord," Hekate said.
She bowed to Aietes and again to Medea, watching each carefully as she transmitted to Kabeiros the information that she was going to have to wait, for how long she knew not. To her relief, neither showed the smallest sign that they were aware of what she was doing. She had not previously aimed a clear communication at the hound, for fear they would sense it although she had "echoed" their remarks and her replies, hoping Kabeiros would be able to catch something. Now she shifted her attention to the guard and "sent" that she would be in the first waiting room . . . wherever that was.
The guard showed no response, but as Hekate moved toward him, Medea said, "Wait!" and the guard, who had been turning, stopped. So did Hekate. "Where is the black dog?" Medea asked. "We were told that she was always accompanied by a large black dog with white eyes. Does he hold her soul?"
"No, of course not," Hekate said immediately, allowing a touch of anger to show in her voice. "Even if you can't sense it, my soul is just where it should be, within my own body." She bowed to the king. "King Aietes, I didn't intend to hide Kabeiros. I just didn't think it fitting to bring a dog into your palace. Kabeiros is waiting for me by the outer door."
Aietes shook his head at Medea. "That the soul can be lodged elsewhere is a tale, Medea. Even the gods can't move their souls around." Then he looked at Hekate again. "Nonetheless, I would like to see this dog myself."
"I will fetch him," Hekate said.
"You can't summon your familiar?"
"Kabeiros isn't my familiar. He doesn't store or focus my power . . . such as it is."
Although Kabeiros was resistant to her magic, Hekate wasn't sure he would be equally resistant to that of Aietes and Medea. Her spells didn't "take" on him, so she had no way to shield him and didn't want Aietes and Medea trying to take him apart to find what wasn't there.
"I have heard he is a very strange-looking dog." Aietes' doubts were clear in his voice.
"That's true, my lord. His eyes are all white. He was left on a midden near my house—because he was believed blind, I suppose. Perhaps I am too tender-hearted, but I couldn't leave that puppy to die of hunger and thirst. I told myself a dog doesn't use his sight as much as his smell and hearing. I brought him home, and it worked to my advantage. It was as if he knew; he has always been devoted to me and when my husband's family put me out . . ."
"For what?" Medea's question was sharp, suspicious.
Hekate shrugged. "For being childless—as if it were my fault when my husband was past fourscore years."
"And you were not powerful enough to hold your own against them?" Medea's suspicions had not been allayed.
"Powerful?" Hekate shook her head. "I knew nothing then but herbs, and in that city—"
"Enough!" Aietes cut her off and gestured sharply at Medea, whose lips tightened; however, she stepped back. Then Aietes spoke to the guard. "Take Lady Hekate first to the door to fetch her dog. Then bring her and the dog to the first waiting room. Stay with her until I come."
Hekate went at once, but as she and the guard made their way out of the bright center of the chamber and through the dimmer, almost forest-like aisle, she remembered that the guard had obeyed Medea when she said, "Wait." If there were a contest of wills between Aietes and Medea, who would win? Aietes right now, Hekate thought, but not forever; perhaps not even for long.
Father against daughter. Hekate felt chilled and reminded herself firmly that Aietes was no Perses and Medea was the last person in the world to need her help. Then she wondered whether she should warn Aietes. Warn the father against the daughter? Hekate restrained a shudder and decided if he didn't understand the danger a warning would do no good because he wouldn't be perceptive enough or strong enough to resist Medea anyway.
When they went through the audience-chamber doors into the corridor, Hekate called aloud, "Kabeiros, come," so the guard should hear her give the hound a verbal order. But it wasn't the dog she saw at first. The shadowy man almost leapt to his feet as the solid hound rose more slowly from his haunches.
*What happened?* Kabeiros' face was twisted with anxiety. *I almost tried to follow you twice. I smelled the magic of your wards—a burning smell—as if they had been damaged. Are you all right?*
Hekate felt startled and frightened. The touches on her shields had seemed insignificant; then the damage Kabeiros sensed had been undetectable to her. She passed her tongue nervously over her suddenly dry lips.
*Both Aietes and Medea tried my shields, but I felt no weakening. We may be in worse danger than I thought if—*
*No. I must have smelled the testing. The wards are as usual now, just smelling of your kind of magic.*
Was that true, or had Kabeiros only offered reassurance so that fear shouldn't weaken her? She was distracted from that concern as the shadow of the man reached her, ahead of the dog. He put out a hand, as if to draw her to him, and Hekate leaned toward him, wanting desperately to be enfolded in a supporting embrace . . . but she only felt the dog lick her hand. Tears stung her eyes, and she had to force her eyes away from the man and make herself pat the dog's head. It seemed to her that before she had looked away, the shadow eyes were bright with shadow tears.
The guard, who had waited until the dog reached Hekate's side, pivoted to the left and walked along the wide corridor which, as Hekate had thought, went all the way around the building. They didn't go so far, however. At what Hekate estimated must be an area that was behind the dais in the great audience chamber, the guard stopped, turned left again to face the inner wall, and opened a door.
The room was not large, but it was plainly not a prison cell either. Although Hekate held the dog close, curiosity dulled the pain of wanting the man. Facing the door at which they entered was a beautiful mosaic of a garden. About midway a gate wrought of some dark metal was pictured. Through the gate the mosaic showed a paved walk that disappeared into the distance.
Against the wall on the right was a narrow table that held a pitcher and several glasses on an oval platter. Above it were three mosaic portraits, very well done, particularly the eyes, which had a lustre that was nearly living. Hekate could see no sign of active power around those eyes, but the lustre might have been lent by old usage. By the other wall there was a divan flanked by two comfortable chairs. A low table stood before the divan.
"Sit," the guard said, and went to stand with its back to the door.
Although Hekate and Kabeiros had plenty of time to review everything that had been said, done, and felt while she was in the audience chamber, their wait was not as long as Hekate feared it might be. Before the slight nagging sensation in her belly resolved into real hunger, Kabeiros, who had been sitting by her knee facing the back wall, stiffened and rose to his feet. Hekate turned to look and also rose to her feet.
Along the path pictured in the mosaic came two figures that quickly approached the wrought metal gate. As the man put his hand out to touch the gate latch, Hekate saw he was Aietes, the woman Medea. Neither Phrixos nor the child was with them. And then they were in the room, standing with their backs to the gate as if they had actually passed through it.
Both looked at Kabeiros, who looked back, perking his ears and wagging his tail very slightly in an ingratiating manner. He and Hekate had decided that meek compliance was their best hope until all hope was gone. Then, if necessary, they would both attack and try to escape. But that didn't seem an immediate threat.
"You never answered my question," Aietes said, coming forward. He seated himself in one of the chairs and Medea went to the other—neatly flanking Hekate and Kabeiros. "When you learn a spell, that spell will work for you?"
"Yes, my lord. And I have taught the spell of the free-floating mage light to other sorcerers. When they cast the spell, it works just as it should . . . but I can't sense it any more."
The king waved at Hekate to be seated, and she resumed her place on the divan with Kabeiros at her knee again. But now he had his back to her so he could watch Aietes and Medea.
"You've taught that spell to others?" Medea repeated. "Why would you give away so valuable a spell?"
"I didn't give it away, my lady. I bartered it for learning the language of Colchis and for other small spells—a binding spell I didn't know and several finding spells, which are very useful in my business. And the floating mage-light spell is not valuable among the people from whom I came. It is a simple spell, taught as soon as a child is known to be Talented by making fire."
"Teach me," Aietes ordered.
Hekate nodded and smiled. "Gladly, but I need something with which to write the symbols so you can fix them in your mind, my lord. And if you want me to write the words, I will need a sheet of parchment."
"Write," Aietes repeated without expression. "You are a well-educated herb woman."
Hekate felt the hound by her side stiffen as if he sensed a threat, but she answered calmly, "My husband was a man of substance, but he was old. He did not trust his family—with good reason as it turned out—so he had me taught to read and write. That way, he could continue to conduct his business without the interference of his dishonest nephew or his daughters' greedy husbands."
Aietes nodded, but his eyes still assessed her. The expression was skillful, she realized, as she swallowed a strong temptation to make further explanations that might well reveal more than she wished. She attempted to look eager and hopeful, but when she glanced down at Kabeiros she realized that the shadow of the man Kabeiros was gone. That nearly startled her into a reaction, but Aietes had turned his head to look at the guard; Hekate swallowed hard and drew more power into her shields.
The guard, however, remained motionless by the door. Nonetheless, a few moments later, the door opened and another guard carried in a small wooden lap desk. A gesture from Aietes sent the second guard to Hekate, who took the desk.
She opened it at once, found a capped inkwell, a split reed for writing, and sheets of—of all surprising things—Egyptian papyrus. Knowing she had seemed startled, she fingered the writing material as if she didn't recognize it. She wasted no time on inquiring, however, but quickly drew her symbol for light and the glyphs for epikaloumi eustropsos. Below these she drew the single upcurving line with attached triangles for wings that signified the ability to float and the glyphs for didomi elapsrotes, and finally the shattered, double-headed arrow for motion and the glyphs denoting exesti exelthein.
She then invoked the mage light, demonstrating how the three commands were almost piled one atop the other. "But there is no reason why you cannot do each separately, that is, create the light on a support and then apply to it the other two commands. It only takes a little more power to combine the spells from the beginning, however, and then you can do what you like with the light. Of course, you must keep each symbol clearly in mind or draw it with a gesture when you say the commands."
Suspicion had given way to interest in Aietes's expression and he held out a hand for the sheet of papyrus, which Hekate handed to him. After studying it for a moment he set it on the low table.
"My spell for the mage light is different than yours," he said. "It's longer and more complicated to tell the truth. However, that spell is familiar to me. Could I use that and then apply these other two?"
"I have no idea," Hekate replied, eyes bright with speculation. "I've never tried to mix the spells I was taught here in Colchis with old ones I learned as a child and those I learned along the road. It—" she gestured, frowning "—they were mostly for different purposes. And healing spells . . . One must be specially careful with healing spells. I would never mix those. I don't think mixing would cause a backlash, but I don't know. Perhaps you should summon a palace sorcerer to try instead of risking yourself, my lord?"
He looked at her. "You are remarkably generous with inviting others to share your spells." Then he smiled. "The spells seem simple enough. Would the backlash from them be strong?"
"Not if they are just ill done. As I said, these are the first spells taught to children and no one wishes a child to come to real harm. I think the backlash is little more than a stinging slap. But that is just for not doing the spell right. A mixture with other magic . . . That might be another matter altogether and much more violent. I just don't know."
The king grinned like a mischievous boy. "And make a big bang? I used to do that often as a boy. I think I'll try again."
Hekate felt the hound pressed against her thigh stir slightly and her attention moved from the spells themselves to Aietes. She could see now that there was what appeared to be a faint glow under his skin, and she realized that he—and likely Medea too—had warded themselves before they came to the room to speak to her. Most cleverly warded, too, and likely covered with a binding spell because she hadn't seen any swirl of lightning power around them.
When the king started to gesture and whisper, Hekate politely turned her eyes aside so as not to seem to spy on the spell he was creating. It was safe enough not to watch; Kabeiros was watching and her shields were at full strength. A casual glance at Medea was also swiftly withdrawn; Hekate fixed her eyes on her own hands in her lap. The princess, who had feigned utter indifference to the spells Hekate was inscribing, now had her eyes fixed on the parchment on which they were written while her father was occupied.
Even with her eyes lowered, Hekate saw a flash of light and drew breath to command the stasis of any spell; she had no intention of being accused of deliberately harming the king if the spells did backlash violently and had little hope that Medea would stand witness that she had warned Aietes. However, her caution wasn't necessary. The brilliant light held steady—unlike an explosion of power—and when she looked up, Aietes was smiling broadly. Midway in the room a very brilliant mage light hung and as Hekate looked at it, it moved upward to rest at the ceiling.
"The two magics work together very well," Aietes said to Hekate. "And now that I have cast them, I can sense your spells as clearly as my own. Well, Medea?"
The princess shrugged. "I sense them also. But not that." She pointed to Hekate's mage light, much fainter than that of Aietes', which floated where Hekate had left it. Her head snapped around to Hekate. "Why?"
"I don't know," Hekate wailed in a really fine simulation of fear and frustration. "Do you think I haven't tried to discover why your magic is invisible to me and mine to you? If I knew, I would tell you gladly. You are far too powerful for me to try to hide such a secret, and what harm would it do me if you knew? I might indeed try to hide it from fellow sorcerers, but the king and the princess of Colchis could never be rivals for such as I. Moreover, you would be pleased with me if I told you. Do you think I don't know how much good that could do me?"
In fact, Hekate thought it might not do her any good at all. She wondered if the precious pair might kill her to be sure they were the only ones who retained the secret of the different sources of power for magic.
Aietes shook his head, his eyes on Medea. "Since I can't read her at all, I can't truth-read her, but what she says makes good sense." Then he looked at Hekate. "Would you be willing to allow several of our court mages to examine you?"
"Yes, of course," Hekate agreed without hesitation.
What she had heard from Yehoraz indicated that the king and more particularly the princess were stronger than any of the sorcerers who served the court. Her one concern was that several working together could breach her shields if the "burning" Kabeiros had sensed was damage to them rather than the smell of the lightning power dissipating itself against them. Still it was far safer to agree readily than to arouse greater suspicion by refusing.
Aietes stood. Hekate rose also and said, "Please, my lord . . ."
"Yes?"
"I'm getting very hungry," Hekate said in a small voice, "and my clients will wonder what has become of me. Some may hear I was summoned to the court. If I don't soon return, they will believe I am somehow tainted with your displeasure and won't use me any more. Please, my lord, may I go about my business now? I will hold myself ready to come again any time you wish to send for me."
"Medea?" Aietes looked at his daughter.
Medea's exquisite face was expressionless. "I agree with you, Father, but I have a question or two I wish to ask Hekate—" she smiled suddenly, exposing all of the sharp pointed teeth; Hekate barely retained a shudder "—to do with the dog, not magic. Then I will let her go."
Hekate rather expected Aietes to sit down again, but instead of acting curious about Medea's continued interest in Kabeiros, an expression of unease flicked over his face and was swiftly wiped away. When he spoke, he almost seemed not to have heard her.
"Very well," he said. "For me there's little more to learn from her in the matter of spells. Illusions I can make. Spells to entertain are useless to me as are those for finding. Binding . . . I think I know every binding spell there is. Let her go. We know where to find her and I will make sure she cannot leave Colchis until I am completely satisfied about the magic she uses."
"Good." Medea nodded agreement.
Hekate pretended to turn to the princess, but she was watching Aietes in her wide peripheral vision. She expected him to approach the mosaic and wanted to know whether he had translocated himself—which Kabeiros had once told her was possible to the great mages of Olympus—or if he had translocated Medea and she him. However Aietes didn't satisfy her curiosity. He walked to the door to the corridor rather than the gate in the mosaic. The guard moved aside and he exited the room in a most mundane manner.
Now Hekate gave her full attention to Medea, but the princess did absolutely nothing. She sat quite still, staring straight ahead—a gaze that took in neither Hekate nor Kabeiros. Actually, she seemed to be listening. Hekate sat still and silent, daring to do no more than once lick her dry lips, hoping the princess was not as inimical and dangerous as she feared.
Suddenly Medea turned her head to the guard and said one sharp word. Hekate gasped as the bright faceted stones that were the creature's eyes dimmed. Her gaze flew to Medea, and she saw to her intense surprise that the princess was pallid, her breath coming quickly. After a few moments when nothing more happened—the guard still stood with its back to the door although its eyes were dead—Medea slowly looked away. She still did not speak to Hekate, but took on the listening expression again. This time it did not last long. After one more glance over her shoulder to make sure the guard still stood, she spoke, not to Hekate, but to the dog.
"Come out of that shape!" she ordered sharply. "I wish to see the man form."
Kabeiros whined and Hekate burst into tears. Medea's lips thinned to near invisibility.
"I don't know what protections you use, but in this I mean you no harm. Dismiss them. I need to know if I can sense the dog's change. Come! Be a man!"
She knew. It was too late for lying. "He can't!" Hekate cried.
"I don't believe you!" Medea spat—and there coiled before them a huge serpent.
It was very beautiful. The pointed face was scaled in silver, the lidless eyes unusually large. Beginning between them was a wide V of brilliantly green scales bordered in dark red. Those spread out over the narrow portion that separated the head from the immense body and the green was patterned with varying shapes in black-bordered silver with accents of the dark red. The snake moved. The patterns also moved, binding the eyes. At first Hekate couldn't look away, but a blow struck her thigh and a man's cry of agony tore through her mind. She looked down to see Kabeiros convulsing on the floor.
There was no time for spell-casting, not even for the word or two she would need; worse, there was no spell she knew that was adequate punishment for Medea's cruelty. Without thinking, Hekate grabbed her staff from where it leaned against the divan and struck the serpent with it, sending through it a blast of power. The serpent screamed, and Medea lay back in the chair, her skin bright red, as if she had been burned. Kabeiros lay still.
Hekate grasped the staff between both hands so the sharp steel point was aimed directly at Medea's throat. The princess's eyes widened, bulged with fear; her mouth opened on a desperate unvoiced plea. Hekate, face twisted with a terrible rage, raised the staff to strike.