A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  Fiercely whiskered men in swishing robes were leading camels, loading camels, cursing and beating camels. The camels bellowed back at the men and displayed mouthfuls of large yellow teeth. When she had arrived, an hour or more ago, great heaps of merchandise had been scattered over the ground; now they had been attached somehow to the camels, making the beasts wider and even more threatening. Kadolan had been happy at first to sit in a shady nook and watch all this fascinating activity, for it was a most unusual experience, but now there was no shade left, and almost nothing to sit on or hide behind.

  Except, of course, camels. Madness! Inosolan, dear Inosolan!

  Midnight messages, disguises, secret underground passages!

  Still, although she would not admit it except to herself, Kade was rather enjoying all the nonsense. Undoubtedly Queen Rasha must be behind it all, but if it amused her and amused Inos, there could be no harm in playing along with whatever they thought they were doing.

  Having had a day to think the matter over, Kadolan had now decided that the idea of forcing Inosolan to marry a goblin was quite absurd. The imperor would never agree to such an abomination. The wardens, surely, were cultivated, civilized people who must know that goblins were vicious savages. They would never condemn an innocent girl to such a fate. Rasha herself had suffered at the hands of uncaring men. No, it had all been some sort of a bargaining ploy, obviously, not intended to be taken seriously.

  Hrunnh!

  Kadolan shied at the roar and looked up into the thick-lashed eyes of a very tall camel and into a mouth full of amber tusks. Feeling like a rowboat being molested by a galleon, she eased away along the wall. If the brute wanted the corner position, she would not argue.

  The black bedsheet in which she had been wrapped was quite a comfortable garment. Although it made her feel conspicuous, in fact it must be having exactly the opposite effect, for all the women she could see were similarly garbed. But her ankles ached with all the standing, and the smell was making her nauseous. Moreover, her face and hands had been dyed with some sort of berry juice. It had left her with a nasty, sticky feeling, and it seemed to be attracting more than her share of the flies. There was no shortage of those.

  “Aunt!”

  Kadolan swung around and was surprised to see that the young woman beside her had green eyes, very unusual in … “Inos!”

  The green eyes twinkled. “I fear you have made an error, ma’am. I am Mistress Hathark, the wife of Seventh Lionslayer.”

  “Oh? Well, if you say so, dear.”

  The newcomer peered around at the swirling mob of people and camels, having trouble because of the cloth hooding her face. Then, apparently reassured that no one was listening, she said quietly, “You are still my aunt, of course, but they are planning some other name for you. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

  Nothing of Inosolan was visible except her eyes, but her voice gave her away. She was feeling guilty and wanted reassurance.

  “A most interesting experience, dear.”

  “You always did want to visit Hub, didn’t you?”

  Hub? That seemed very unlikely. “Certainly. Is that our destination?”

  Inosolan bent close. “We are going to appeal to the Four!” she whispered dramatically. The words were barely audible over the roaring of the camels.

  “That will be nice, dear.”

  Green eyes registered relief. “I am sure a ride on a camel will be highly educational. You always did want a ride on a camel, didn’t you?”

  “An appetite easily sated, I am sure.”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Inos,” Kadolan said gently, “you do not seriously believe that her Majesty is unaware of this escapade, do you?”

  Her niece flinched. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that she is a sorceress, that’s all.”

  “Oh!” Inosolan sighed with relief. “You didn’t discuss it with her, or see her as you left, or … or anything?”

  “No, dear. I followed instructions, and had a most curious journey through several very evil-smelling tunnels with some very unlikely-looking guides … But, no. I was just wondering how you could possibly expect to outwit anyone with Sultana Rasha’s abilities. That’s all.”

  “Well, we have help. I think we’ve escaped—will escape. I’m tired of being a prisoner! I am going to go and do something. Going to recover my kingdom! Aha!”

  A very tall man had emerged from behind a camel at Inosolan’s side. He was almost as anonymous as she was, in dirty-looking robes. An enormous sword hung at his side.

  “Aunt, may I present my husband? He is a lionslayer. I understand lionslayers have no names, only numbers. He is Seventh Lionslayer.”

  “Fifth, now,” Azak growled. “I am looking for Fourth. He has a slight squint, I believe.” He stared all around, peering between the camels and over everyone else’s head.

  “What will you do with him when you find him?” Kadolan inquired uneasily.

  The big man’s red eyes fastened on her menacingly. “I shall persuade the poltroon to hasten at once to Sheik Elkarath and grovel before him, confessing the defects and shortcomings he has hitherto concealed.”

  Nonplussed by that, Kadolan turned back to her niece. “Did you say ‘husband’, dear?”

  A flush appeared around Inosolan’s green eyes, under the berry-juice stain. “We shall be sharing a tent, of course, but I can explain—”

  “No one,” the sultan said loudly, “has ever complained that I snore!”

  Inosolan glanced nervously at her aunt and sniggered. Kadolan sighed. Whatever nonsense they were planning, these youngsters were certainly convinced that they were outwitting the sorceress.

  Then Azak said, “Ah!” triumphantly, and stalked off into the melee, shouldering smaller men aside.

  “It’s all right, Aunt,” Inos said hastily. “Really, it is. I am quite safe with Azak! I’ll explain as soon as we get a moment alone. He really did slay a lion, too—on his thirteenth birthday! So he tells me.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “I’m sure I can, dear.”

  “I haven’t forgotten your eight-year-old Prince Whoever-he-is. I’m not making eyes at Azak, honestly I’m not!”

  “No, dear, I’m sure you’re not.”

  Obviously Inos had not yet noticed the way Azak looked at her.

  Dawn of nothing:

  One Moment in Annihilation’s Waste,

  One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste,

  The stars are setting and the Caravan

  Starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

  Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§38, 1859)

  EIGHT

  Magic shadow shapes

  1

  Rap had sunk into a stupor. The sound of hooves on the flags roused him enough to glance behind him with farsight. Instantly he twisted around for a proper look at the procession advancing along the harbor road. The man in front was obviously a groom or a guide of some sort, and the four persons behind him were just as obviously rich visitors—a fat, balding man in front, an even fatter overdressed matron behind him, and then two overweight daughters.

  They were riding hippogriffs.

  A rush of memory sent his mind skittering back to a gloomy garret on icy winter nights in Krasnegar, with the debonair Andor suavely describing the great world to his wide-eyed young friend. In telling of Sagorn’s visit to Faerie, claiming it as his own, he had mentioned his ride on a hippogriff. Of all the tall tales he had told in those yarn-spinning sessions, that had been the only one that Rap had wanted to disbelieve. He loved horses so much that he had been revolted by the idea of a half-horse monster. But obviously hippogriffs were real, and now he was seeing them with his own eyes.

  And they were splendid. The one in front was black as midnight, its head and neck shaped like an eagle’s, but as large as a horse’s. Its beak was a fearsome scimitar, its golden gaze ferocious. The taloned forelegs cou
ld have torn a man in half, and they paced in strange silence, while the hooved rear feet clopped loudly on the cobbles. The great wings were folded back, shrouding the riders’ legs, and the feathers shone like jet. The second mount was a snowy gray; the other three were bays of various shades.

  Entranced, Rap squinted, striving to squeeze the blurring out of his vision. As horses, these would have been beautiful creatures, and the daunting raptor heads made them magnificent. Unconsciously he reached out with his farsight and stroked the sable plumage of the lead mount. The hippogriff would feel nothing, but Rap could sense the texture of the feathers—hard, yet silken soft.

  But … something was wrong.

  He closed his eyes, and still his farsight said that there were wings there, and eagle beaks. The troop had drawn level with him in their stately progress, floating above their own inky shadows. The locals were going about their business unperturbed, accustomed to seeing these handsome wonders, but some visitors were conspicuously pointing and making appreciative noises. Some had pulled out sketchbooks.

  Rap opened his eyes again and still he felt confused. These lovelies looked like hippogriffs. Obviously they rode like horses, placid, well-trained horses. All mares, he saw. They were not the ugly hybrids he had imagined. Sunlight rippled on their plumage and their coats. They had beauty and grace. Why, then, was he so upset?

  The troop had gone by him before understanding came. He could not see inside a horse’s mind exactly, but he had enough empathy to sense its emotions and understand its concerns. He could summon most horses, or send them away, or calm them. He could do the same with dogs and cattle —with almost anything on four legs. And they all felt different. Mules and jackasses did not think like horses, although more like them than sheep did. These hippogriffs had minds like horses. They thought like horses.

  They thought they were horses.

  And a drayman’s ancient hack standing between its shafts thought they were horses, too. It was watching them quite placidly. It would not have reacted so calmly to a donkey.

  Again Rap reached out, and this time not with farsight. He stroked the lead mount’s horsey mind, as he might have patted its neck, or it might have nuzzled his hand. He said a silent hello.

  The hippogriff swung its great raven head up to look for him.

  Hello, Rap said again. I’m over here.

  Claws scratching, rear feet clattering, the hippogriff turned toward him, wanting to be friendly, just as a horse would. The groom on its back swore and tugged at the reins and kicked.

  Rap said hello to all the hippogriffs.

  The rich visitors were not as skilled as the groom. Their mounts veered toward Rap. The daughters screamed, and the hippogriffs flinched at the noise as horses would, rolling their eyes and twisting their ears … What ears?

  They twisted their heads, too, as if the bits were hurting. How could bits hurt beaks like those?

  But Rap was making trouble. The three bays were coming to visit him, ignoring their frantic riders. The man on the gray was disciplining it so crudely that it was fretting, rolling yellow eyes in its milk-white head, and starting to fight against his kicking and rein-jerking. Why did hippogriffs not flap their wings when they were upset like that? The spectators were starting to notice.

  This was folly! Hastily Rap sent soothing farewells, adding his efforts to those of the furious guide. The hippogriffs calmed at once and set off along the road. Rap turned around and faced the harbor again. Peace returned to the waterfront. A fugitive was crazy to create such disturbances in his own vicinity, right under the eye of the Gazebo.

  So the hippogriffs were another deception? Undoubtedly all the other monsters in the zoo would be false, too, a fake threat to keep visitors from straying too far from town, perhaps. How long had this been going on, for Gods’ sake? More than just centuries, obviously—thousands of years! Emine and his Protocol had just regulated it, that was all, and perhaps one reason even then had been to save the fairy folk from being exterminated completely.

  Idiot! There was his answer! He had been forgetting his mastery over animals, and there were horses going by all the time. All he needed to do was find an unattended horse and call it over to him. Then he could unharness it, if it came with a wagon, and ride off to hide in the jungle until his ankle healed. Easy! And he could steal a dog from somewhere, just as he had once taken Fleabag from the goblins. The dog could catch food for him! Why hadn’t he seen that sooner?

  “You’re the one called Rap,” said the woman. It was more a statement than a question.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rap had not noticed her before, sitting where Gathmor had, on the far end of the bench, but she was much more welcome company. Even if her gown was a simple white thing, sleeveless and plain, it was obviously well made, and she wore silver sandals. Clearly she was a lady of wealth, as well as no small beauty. She was shading herself with a parasol decorated in white, red, green, and blue, but otherwise she bore no color at all, no gems or flowers or embroidery. Just red lips, black eyes, brown skin, white damask, and silver sandals.

  It was a long, long time since a pretty girl had smiled at him.

  His vision had cleared. The world was back in hard-edged focus. His head had stepped pounding, and the swelling on his ankle …

  May the Good preserve me!

  “You are feeling better?” Again, barely a question.

  Neat white teeth.

  “Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

  She frowned very slightly. Her face was a lovely thing, slender and delicate. She had a glorious complexion, far better than most imps’. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun. Quite obviously, she was a sorceress.

  “You had a bad concussion, you know. And your ankle was broken. How on earth did you manage to walk this far?”

  “I don’t know, ma’am.”

  She shook her head reprovingly, but then she smiled again, a smile like a joyous carillon of bells. “Well, I want to hear the whole story.”

  “Starting where, ma’am?” She had the same sort of calm, inoffensive authority he’d seen in King Holindarn or his sister; it assumed a right to command so natural and unarguable that somehow the person being ordered around was not diminished by it. Inos had been starting to show some of the same manner when he had last met her. The sorceress must do her duty, which included giving orders; Rap’s duty required him to obey them. They were equals, both just doing their duty.

  “Start at the beginning, of course,” she said. “No, you’ll take that too literally—I’ll try a few more questions first. You comfortable?”

  He nodded sadly. He thought he had been happier before she cleared his head for him. Oh, what a mess he was in now! But he did feel good physically. He would sing and dance if that was what she wanted.

  “I need to know about the imp,” she said. “We’ve lost him, now he’s stopped his pilfering. He’s been using some other sort of power; very strong, but so brief that I can’t locate it. Little Chicken I’ve met. He was badly shocked, but he’ll be all right.”

  “Shocked, ma’am?”

  “Would you like to be run through with a sword?”

  “No, my lady. Please not!” And Rap was astonished at his own reaction. “I’m glad! I am really glad! I thought the soldiers had killed him.”

  She shrugged. “I arrived just before he ran out of blood. I was too late to save three of the legionaries, though.”

  Tragic, maybe, but there was something almost funny about one young goblin killing three armed Imperial soldiers and maiming however many others the sorceress had healed. “I’m glad to hear he survived, ma’am. I shouldn’t be, because he hates me, but I’ll be happy to see his big ugly face again.”

  “You will. Tell me about the imp.”

  “Thinal, my lady? That’s a long story!” Rap leaned his elbows on his knees and scowled fiercely at the harbor as he tried to recall everything he knew about Thinal’s gang. He’d begin with Sagorn coming to visit the king, which meant explaining abou
t Krasnegar, and then Jalon … and Andor … and Darad …

  Once he was started, he spoke very fast, faster than he ever had before, gabbling the words but never hesitating, pulling the story out of his memory in a smooth string, event after event in logical order, hardly having to think. He was vaguely grateful for the sunshade he was holding. It was similar to the lady’s, but he had no idea where it had come from or when she had given it to him. He was even more grateful for the beaker of cold lemon cordial, although he did not remember getting that, either. Every few minutes he would pause and gulp some of it, and the beaker never seemed to run dry. He wondered in spare moments how it felt to do magic like that.

  But he had little time for thinking of anything but his story. Almost before he stopped swallowing, his tongue would be racing off in full spate again, so fast that he wondered how she could comprehend a single word. She interrupted only once, though, asking for more details about the events in the fairy village.

  Finished! He took a long draft and waited hopefully to hear if he had pleased her. The shadows had moved. His jaw ached.

  And the lady did not look pleased. She was staring at her hands and biting her lip, her eyes shielded by long lashes. “You’re a good man, Master Rap.”

  Astonished, Rap took another drink.

  She blinked. “I would apologize, if it meant anything. I would make recompense if I could. I can only assure you that I would never have done this to you had I … had it not been necessary.”

  “Done what, ma’am?”

  “Put you in truth trance. I’ll let it wear off slowly, so I don’t give you a seizure.”

  Rap chuckled. “I should be worried, shouldn’t I? You’re a sorceress!”

  She sighed. “Yes, I confess it. And you have occult powers yourself, don’t you?”

  You don’t have to answer that, said a voice in his head. Deny it. She can’t tell if you lie about that.