Now Pondague was danger and enemies. Rap had no money. He wore goblin clothes and goblin tattoos, so he might well be cut down on sight if he ran into a contingent of Imperial troops. Living off the land south of the mountains was going to be difficult, or impossible. He knew roughly what farms were and how farmers felt about poaching. He did not know where Kinvale was. He supposed that it was a place like Krasnegar, but he had no idea how far from the mountains it was, nor how to find it.
His first trial would be to sneak through the pass unobserved. Probably he would be safer south of the mountains, where goblins were no threat and hence would not so readily provoke violent reaction. He would have to find someone—a priest, perhaps—and explain his problem. With luck he might obtain a guide who would believe his story and deliver him to Kinvale on the promise of reward from Inos. Then Rap could dress like a civilized man again and regain his self-respect. Inos would find employment for him until he could return to Krasnegar with her, by land or sea, as she chose.
Unless Andor had already got to her, of course.
Then what?
Eventually Rap decided that he did not know the answer to then what? He rose, took up a spruce bough, and swept clean an area of floor near the fire. The goblin sat cross-legged and watched without comment or question.
“Right!” Rap stripped off his jacket. “Come and give me some wrestling lessons.”
Little Chicken shook his head.
“You’re my trash, you say? Then I order you to come and give me a wrestling lesson!”
A firmer head shake. Trash, apparently, could decide what trash was good for.
“Why not?”
“I hurt you.” A faint smile played over the goblin’s big mouth.
“A few bruises won’t matter. I want to learn, and I need the exercise.”
Another refusal.
Beginning to shiver without his coat, Rap swallowed any trace of pride he might have retained. “Please, Little Chicken? I’m bored! It would be fun.”
“Too much fun.”
“What does that mean?”
Little Chicken’s eyes glinted in the firelight: “I start to hurt you, might not stop. Too much fun.”
He was quite capable of dismembering a man with his bare hands. Hastily Rap took up his jerkin and dressed again.
The third day … a faint light was glimmering through the chinks in the walls and windows that had been plugged with branches. Rap had not realized until he came to this ruined cabin that goblin buildings had windows at all. Apparently they were normally covered over in winter.
He sighed and glanced again at Little Chicken, inevitably sitting cross-legged, bare-chested, idly poking his long stick at the fire. His patience was inhuman. In the firelight his dusky skin shone greenly. His curiously slanted eyes were unreadable. Try conversation again? Just maybe a little companionship? “When we get to Kinvale—” Rap’s voice sounded strange after so many hours of silence. “—then I shall release you.”
“I am your trash.”
“Not forever! You have done wonders for me. I could never have come this far without you, so I am very grateful. If I could reward you, I would.” Perhaps Inos would give him money to reward Little Chicken. What would he buy with it, though?
“Reward?” The familiar faint smile of contempt appeared on the goblin’s face. “You will not give me what I want.”
“What’s that?” Rap rather thought he could guess the answer.
“Go back to Raven Totem. Kill slowly, much pain.”
Rap shuddered. “I kill you? And then your brothers would do the same to me?”
The goblin shook his head. “Not if you do good work, make good show. Kill slow—win honor.”
“Never! I could not do that to anyone. And I am grateful to you. I like you. I want us to be friends.”
“I am your trash.” Little Chicken directed his attention once more to the sparkling logs.
“You won’t be able to help me at Kinvale,” Rap said firmly. “Nor back at Krasnegar.”
“I shall look after you.” Little Chicken seemed to think that the conversation was over. Arguing with him was like trying to bail out the Winter Ocean with a leaky bucket.
“I will give you your freedom!”
The goblin shook his head at the fire and said nothing.
“You mean that you are my trash forever?” What could Rap do with a slave in Krasnegar, a slave who refused to be freed?
Little Chicken looked up now and stared steadily at him for a while. He seemed to make a decision. “Not forever.”
“Good! Until when?”
“Until the Gods release me. Not you.”
This was progress! “And when will the Gods release you?”
“I shall know.”
Suddenly Rap did not like the expression on that wide, greenbrown face. “And how shall I know?”
“I take care of you until the Gods release me,” Little Chicken repeated. He licked his lips. “Then I kill you.”
“Oh, great! You mean that you are my faithful slave until one day you decide you’re not, then you just kill me?”
The goblin’s oversized teeth showed in a sudden friendly grin and Rap laughed in relief. He had been afraid that Little Chicken was serious. It was a surprise to learn that he did have a sense of humor after all.
“You won at testing, town boy. Good foe! I did not know then. I know now.”
Rap’s merriment died away. “Do I get any warning?”
Little Chicken shook his head, still smiling.
“When do I get this surprise? Soon? Or not for years?”
“I shall know when. Then I kill you. Very, very slow. Long, long pain. Good opponent, I give you good death. Light small fires on your chest. Push stick under kneecap and twist. Many days. Sand below eyelids and rub with finger …”
No, he was not joking.
Once started, he could not be stopped. From then until dusk, when his voice failed and he became hoarse, he sat by the fire, slobbering with anticipation, eyes shining bright with hatred. Trembling much of the time with the effort of confining his activities to conversation instead of putting his plan into action at once, the goblin described in infinite detail the revenge he had been devising.
2
They were on their way! Inos could hardly believe that it was not a dream. But it was real! She was really sitting in a real coach, facing Aunt Kade and Isha, her maid—and sitting next to Andor, too.
Seven days with Andor back in Kinvale! They had been seven days of heaven, and days of frenzied packing, as well—what to leave, what to set aside for shipping, what to try to squeeze into impossibly small packs. They had also been seven days of farewells, of hastily arranged parties, of dancing, and of continuous heavenly music that no one but she had been able to hear. Or had Andor detected a chord or two? She hoped so. The obnoxious Yggingi had vanished, gone ahead to Pondague to arrange for an escort, and his departure had been almost as great a blessing as Andor’s return … No, it hadn’t. Having Andor back, knowing that he had cared enough to cross the bitter taiga in winter, for her—that was the greatest miracle of all.
They had not had a moment alone, not one, but even in the crowds she had been conscious of hardly anyone but him—his smile, his laugh, his imperturbable strength. It had been Andor who had made it all possible at so little notice, purchasing a coach and horses, hiring men to drive it, planning itinerary—organizing and arranging. Aunt Kade had been grateful to leave all those masculine tasks to him. There had hardly been time, even, to brood very much over her father’s illness.
Andor was coming back to Krasnegar! Because they had never been alone together, he had not repeated the pledge he had given her before he left, but his eyes had spoken it many times. Andor was coming to Krasnegar … to stay? Always?
May it be so, Gods! I did remember love, as I was bidden!
Outside the windows, the fields and woods of Kinvale rolled by in watery sunshine under a smoke-blue sky. The end of w
inter meant the start of spring—soon, but not quite yet. Grass was green, and shy flowers smiled in the hedgerows. Ahead and behind the coach, Corporal Oopari and his troop thumped erratically along. Krasnegar’s men-at-arms were not notable riders, but they could manage on the straight, smooth roads of the Impire. They could certainly keep up with the rocking, clattering carriage. A couple of the men were new recruits, replacing others who had formed romantic attachments and chosen to remain at Kinvale. Ula, the maid from Krasnegar, was long forgotten. Stupid Ula had disgraced herself within days of her arrival and been hastily married off to a gardener.
Andor rearranged the rug spread over their laps, as the bouncing of the coach threatened to dislodge it. Her hand found his again, out of sight.
All those farewells …
“I can’t believe it!” Inos said for the hundredth time. “We are really on our way!”
“You may find it all too real before we arrive, ma’am.” Andor smiled.
With that smile beside her, Inos could face anything.
“It will be a great adventure!” Aunt Kade said brightly. Her shiny-apple cheeks were flushed with excitement, but not a single hair protruded wrongly from under her cornflower-blue traveling bonnet. “I have always wanted to try the overland route.”
Well, if she could believe that, who was Inos to contradict her? Aunt Kade’s indestructible good humor could be very irritating at times, but it would be easier to bear on the journey than sulks, and few persons of her age would have been willing to contemplate at all what she was undertaking so cheerfully.
Andor pointed out the final glimpse of Kinvale, as the carriage crested a hill. Then it was gone.
“Well, Sir Andor,” Kade said, snuggling into her corner. “At last we have time to hear all the news.”
Again Andor’s smile warmed the whole carriage. “Of course, ma’am! Remember that it will be stale, though—I left at Winterfest. But, apart from your brother, everyone in the castle seemed to be well. Chancellor Yaltauri’s lumbago was troubling him. Doctor Sagorn prescribed a liniment with a powerful odor of cheese …”
In moments he had the three of them in stitches, even Isha, who was not supposed to show that she was listening, and who knew none of the people being discussed. He ran through the foibles of the whole palace hierarchy and moved on to the notables of the town. Apparently he was already acquainted with everyone in Krasnegar and that was a surprising thought, one that would need a little time to absorb. Yet under her laughter Inos wondered about Ido. And Lin. What news of the friends of her childhood? A transient cloud shadowed her happiness. They would be friends no longer. An abyss of rank would cut them off now from the princess they had once accepted as one of themselves. What use to tell Ido of the latest dance craze from Hub? What need to play the spinnet for Rap? Chatterbox Lin would not care about Kinvale scandal, nor share what local gossip he had with his queen. Yet she felt an irrational nostalgic longing to know how the old gang was faring. Who was married, who was courting? Those things would interest her more than details of Chancellor Yalta Uri’s lumbago.
But she could not ask. A gentleman like Andor would not have troubled himself over chambermaids or scullions. Or Stableboys.
Inos and Kade picked their way carefully down the hazardous staircase, to find Andor waiting for them, morning-fresh and resplendent in tan suede riding habit. He swept as deep a bow as was possible in the cramped confines of the hostelry. Despite the early hour, the inn was packed with people, most of them soldiers, apparently—noisy, bustling, a noticeably rough and unwashed collection.
“Highnesses, you slept well?”
Kade chirruped something much more cheerful than Inos could manage. A rank stench of men and beer was not a welcome greeting so early in the morning. Andor started clearing a path, leading them through the melee to one of the tiny tables in a corner by a window.
The inn had been a great shock to Inos. Somehow she had come to imagine that the whole of the Impire was as comfortable and luxurious as Kinvale, a very stupid assumption. The tiny bed she had shared with Kade had obviously been stuffed by stonemasons; the leaky thatch had been dug out of a silo, and there had been things living in that thatch. Just after she had retired, a great clamor of voices and horses had arisen outside and continued for hours. That must have been all these soldiers arriving, and now they completely filled the lower room.
The sun had not yet risen. Barely enough light spilled through the tiny, grubby window to show Corporal Oopari and one of his men sitting at the table. They sprang up, yielding their stools to the princesses. She wondered if this had been more of Andor’s foresight. Isha would have to eat on her feet, as many of the soldiers were doing.
“For breakfast, honored ladies,” Andor said in the unctuous whine of a waiter, “we offer a selection of either porridge or porridge. However, you may choose whether to eat the lumps or leave them. Our hot tea is cold and unloved. The chocolate is passable.”
Inos suppressed a lurching feeling inside her, a yearning for the fresh rolls and sweet preserves of Kinvale. Porridge? Ugh!
“I should love some porridge,” Aunt Kade said brightly. “After all that rich food at Kinvale, it will be a pleasure to return to a simpler diet. You, my dear?”
“Just the chocolate, I think.”
The man-at-arms was dispatched into the throng. Apparently the hostelry staff had been immobilized by this military invasion. The table was small, splintery, and filthy.
“Your Highness!” Corporal Oopari was addressing Kade, and his tone snapped Inos out of her engrossing self-pity. He was an earnest young man, Oopari, but too old to have been one of her childhood friends, and too stolid to be good company anyway—dull, but dependable as winter. His family had served hers for generations. He had the dark coloring of an imp, with enough jotunn in him to make him taller and bonier than most men in the Impire. Someone jostled him at that moment, and he almost fell over the table. He straightened up without turning around to seek retribution or apology. That alone showed that he was upset over something, and his face was deeply red.
“Yes, Corporal?”
“I take orders from you only, do I not, Highness? That was what the king told me.”
Aunt Kade looked up at Andor, who was standing at the corporal’s side, likewise squeezed against the table.
“Proconsul Yggingi has joined us, ma’am.”
“Oh!” Aunt Kade seemed to read something from Andor’s tone or expression. She glanced around, and suddenly her smile seemed strangely forced. “All these men are here to escort us, you mean?”
Andor nodded solemnly. “A whole cohort. You will be well guarded.”
Yggingi himself? Inos felt a strong upsurge of distaste, and then saw that something more was bothering the others.
“We don’t need guarding yet, do we?” she asked. This was only the second day of the journey, and they were still well within the Impire. She had caught a glimpse of the mountains from upstairs, but still a long way off. The real adventure would begin on the far side of the pass, Andor had said, and he estimated at least four more days to Pondague.
“Apparently you are going to have an escort, whether you need it or not.” Andor returned his gaze to her aunt. “Corporal Oopari has been informed that he is now under the proconsul’s orders.”
Kade looked flustered, while the angry, stubborn expression on Oopari’s homely face reminded Inos momentarily of someone, but she could not think of whom.
“What is your advice, Sir Andor?” Why was Kade so concerned?
“I fear that the proconsul is correct, Highness. Private armies are not permitted within the Impire. Once we are past Pondague, then things will be different, at least in theory; but I understand that the proconsul is planning to increase the escort then.”
“More than one cohort?”
“Four.”
Kade actually wrung her hands. Inos had never seen anyone do that before, certainly not Aunt Kade. The roses in her cheeks had been stricken by
a sudden frost.
“I erred?” she murmured, as if to herself.
“I did, certainly,” Andor said. “But there is no other road, and we could hardly have slipped away unseen.”
Inos did not understand, and she was staying quiet. Surely a large escort would be good protection against the goblins and, therefore, welcome news? She noticed that Isha was standing very close to the corporal, closer even than the press of the crowd required. So that was in the wind, was it? Inos had been wondering why the girl had agreed to enter the service of ladies who lived in a far country.
Aunt Kade restored her smile and directed it up at Oopari. “I think you had better agree to what the proconsul wants, Corporal. We can hardly have a divided command, and a proconsul is one of the Impire’s most senior officials.”
The honest, stubborn face flushed very red. “Then my services are not truly necessary, your Highness?”
Kade glanced again at Andor, as if seeking support, or hearing a message. “We do not question your loyalty or courage, Corporal, but your small band can hardly compare with an entire cohort. As Sir Andor says, we are to be well guarded. Do any more of your men wish to remain at Kinvale?”
Through clenched teeth, Oopari said, “All of them, ma’am. But we thought you had need of us.”
Now it was Aunt Kade who turned red. “I quite understand, and if you wish to be released, then now is certainly the time. Sir Andor? If you would accompany the corporal … He has our money. Four imperials for him and two for each of the others? And would you be so kind as to take the rest of it into your own care?”
Obviously wrenched in several directions at once, Oopari looked down at Isha, and she was staring up at him in dismay. Aunt Kade noticed and sighed.
A few minutes later, Inos found herself alone with her aunt, clutching a large and clumsy earthenware mug of watery lukewarm chocolate. Andor and Oopari and the man-at-arms had gone, and so had Isha. Inos would have to brush her own hair now, and Aunt Kade’s, also. Who would lay out and repack clothes? Perhaps they could hire someone else at Pondague. Anonymous Imperial troops still hemmed in the table, making her feel claustrophobic.
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