A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  She had cured his ankle and the bump on his head. And he didn’t like lying. Especially not to pretty ladies.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her eyes widened. “How many words?”

  “Just one.”

  “One word and you have mastery over animals? And people?”

  “No, just animals. And I have farsight.”

  “An occult genius, and in two manifestations?” She was surprised by something. “But words can’t be detected with magic. The truth trance wouldn’t have worked for that. Why did you tell me?”

  “I’d already given myself away, hadn’t I? You could hear it, or feel it, or something?”

  “The mastery, not the farsight. Even the most powerful sorcerers have difficulty detecting the sights being used. As soon as you started meddling with the hippogriffs, though, we had you.” She smiled quizzically, inviting comment.

  “That’s what they’re for? Sorcerer traps?”

  She nodded, amused. “I doubt if they ever caught a mere genius before, but mages and sorcerers can never resist the monsters. Even adepts give themselves away sometimes. I’ve never heard of one just admitting to it, though. Your honesty may get you into trouble.”

  “I’m not in trouble now?”

  “Well, yes you are. By the way, I am Oothiana, his Imperial Majesty’s trusty and faithful proconsul of Faerie.”

  Rap jumped up and bowed. Then he felt very foolish, standing there holding a parasol, so he sat down again. A proconsul was a very important person, a deputy of the imperor. She seemed much too young to hold such a post. Of course she was several years older than Inos, who was a queen, but that was different.

  She raised her head and looked sadly at him with black eyes that took his breath away.

  “Your story is fascinating, Master Rap. The trouble is, it doesn’t make sense. You and Thinal followed the goblin through the magic casement—but magic casements don’t do that. It might have been combined with a magic portal, I suppose, but a magic portal has to be specific, I think.” A small frown marred her perfect brow. She was amazingly flawless. Rap could not find a single freckle or mole to spoil her perfection. “I suppose it may be possible. I’ll ask. But you have certainly told me the truth as you know it, so I must assume that someone has planted a falsehood in your mind.” She bit her lip again. “And I’m afraid I know someone who will try to get it out.”

  Rap was horrorstruck. “I haven’t lied to you, my lady! I told you everything I know about Thinal and the sequentials.”

  Her sudden smile was a fair dawn after a stormy night. “I didn’t ask you the right question, did I? Well, do you know how you came to Faerie?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Bright Water sent me.”

  Color drained from Oothiana’s face as from a flower struck by killer frost. After a minute she said, “Tell me what you know of Bright Water!”

  “She’s witch of the north, one of the wardens of the Four …”

  Rap’s tongue started to gallop again. This tale was shorter because she now knew much that he could leave out. He finished and took another swallow from that inexhaustible, ever-cool beaker.

  The second story pleased the lady not at all. It seemed to worry her greatly. She laid the handle of her parasol across her lap and twirled it idly to and fro, using it as a toy instead of a sunshade, clearly not thinking of it at all.

  “I have not handled this well,” she muttered.

  “My lady?”

  “I never guessed one of the three would have the impertinence—the sheer, brazen audacity … How could I have known?”

  She stopped and turned to look landward. Rap became aware that legionaries were coming, running along the harbor road, and the crowd was scattering to give them passage. He ought to be alarmed, he knew, but he stayed calm, either because of the lady’s bewitchment, or just because he was with her and she was the imperor’s deputy—so she said, anyway.

  The soldiers ran in columns of two, all laden with full armor and bulky packs topped by mattocks and axes; with three javelins apiece, and swords and shields. That must be a terrible load for a man and a terrible pace, too, in this heat, and Rap could almost hear the sweat splashing off them as they pounded by on the far side of the broad street. One or two were staggering, eyes bulging in scarlet faces.

  He turned to the lady, who was watching the procession with an expression of disgust.

  “Punishment?”

  “Partly. Is it fair? No, of course not. But two hundred men failing to arrest three juvenile vagrants must naturally be punished.” She grimaced even more strongly and looked away. Gradually the sound of boots and clanking armor faded into the distance. Rap felt uneasy and puzzled.

  “You arrived before dawn,” Oothiana said, smiling again as if nothing had interrupted their talk. “That explains why none of us felt the ripples.” She paused, and Rap had a strange feeling that she was not really speaking to him, that she was rehearsing excuses. What could possible frighten a sorceress who was also proconsul of an Imperial province?

  Oothiana might be a very nice person when she wasn’t governing or ensorceling. Maybe she wasn’t as young or graceful as she seemed, in her simple white robe and silver sandals, but somehow he felt that much of her was genuine. Her manners certainly were. The Rasha sorceress had appeared far more beautiful, and carnal. She had almost driven him out of his mind. Consumed by love for her—all right, lust—he would have done anything to please her, but he’d never for a moment thought he’d like her.

  “The first we knew of you,” the lady said, “was the fairy death cry. Then there were a couple of those fast clicks. Those would have been the sequential spell in use, I see now, but they were too brief to track down. That must be how your group friend has stayed independent for so long. The spell must be a beautiful piece of work. When I finally did locate you, you looked fairly harmless. Three young smugglers been shipwrecked, I thought, but he was suspicious—he always is—and said just to watch and see what you did. You just came here, to Milflor.”

  “Who …” A young dwarf, of course! Rap failed to finish the question, not wanting to have his guess confirmed. O Gods!

  Oothiana sighed. “We didn’t know which one of you had been blessed by the fairy, but we picked up the thievery when you got close to town. That really was very funny to watch.”

  Rap held his breath, expecting to hear about trolls next. But apparently not.

  “We never guessed that all three of you would turn out to have power! But we got the goblin, and now I have you. That only leaves the group, and he—they—can’t evade us for long. An elderly scholar, or a handsome, apparently rich young playboy?”

  “Or a minstrel, ma’am, but I don’t think he’s very likely, because the others don’t trust his judgment. Or a giant jotunn warrior, but he’ll need a doctor, because—”

  “Rap,” she said sadly, “do stop! You’ll hate yourself terribly when you sober up. Let’s go now.” She rose and laid her parasol on the bench.

  Sober? Rap had never felt more clear-headed in his life. And he had been trying to help! Feeling a little hurt, he stood up, also, laying his parasol beside hers, near the beaker of lemonade. After a moment he glanced back and saw that the bench was empty.

  2

  She was tall for an imp, but he was taller. He walked on her right, staying a handsbreadth back because that felt respectful, and all the time wondering if he was doing this because he wanted to or because she had made him want to, and what the difference was. What did the expression “changed his mind” ever really mean, anyway?

  Oothiana seemed miraculously cool and fresh as she walked along the waterfront, where everyone else was slouching under the whip of the tropic sun. No one seemed to notice her go by, yet she was never crowded or jostled. Rap wondered if she wore a sort of low-grade sorcerous aura. Or something.

  The column of loaded legionaries came running back, still in double time, but with a new centurion in command now. There did not seem to be as many
of them as before, and more had the unsteady gait of men about to drop. The bystanders stared after them with expressions of contempt and bewilderment.

  “What happens to the ones who fall down?” Rap asked brashly.

  Oothiana kept her eyes on the cobbles. “That is the punishment. The first twenty to fall will be executed.”

  “What! That’s barbaric! Weren’t they just ordinary, mundane soldiers trying to do their best? Against magic?” What then would be the penalty for thieves, vagabonds, and murderers? “Dwarves enjoy cruelty, like goblins?” He was being foolish, but he couldn’t have very much to lose.

  She shook her head without looking up. “No. The punishment is incidental. What counts is the example.”

  Example? Somehow that coldblooded logic seemed to make the cruelty even more horrible, but obviously the proconsul did not approve either.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Not your idea, was it?”

  She glanced sideways at him. “No. Now, I can tell you’re bursting with questions. Go ahead and ask. I’ll answer what I can.”

  “Thank you very much, ma’am. I just wondered … the men the goblin killed? Was that revenge? Magic justice?”

  Oothiana looked puzzled. “How do you mean?”

  “Were they the ones who killed the fairies in the village? Did Little Chicken’s … er … power seek them out?”

  “Oh, no! The words don’t work that way. And the man who did that … He has been punished.”

  There was a strange intensity in that remark, and she quickly changed the subject. “You haven’t asked what’s in store for you.”

  “I think I can guess. It isn’t the weather, is it?”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Mother Unonini told me about the Four. Jotunn raiders, Imperial legions, dragons … but she said that West’s prerogative was the weather. It isn’t, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t weather. It’s here, in Faerie. You know what it is. It’s—”

  The proconsul’s attention was diverted by a wall exploding just ahead. Milflor taverns were flimsy, airy structures like the houses, and one of them now collapsed, emitting a rolling ball of four or five imps and two or three jotnar. The noise increased considerably as more revelers emerged from the ruins in search of room to brawl, waving furniture and leaping into the fray. The proconsul shrugged her lovely shoulders and detoured around them.

  She walked in silence until Rap wondered if he had offended her, but then she said, “It’s very evil, and completely unstoppable. West is always the most powerful of the Four, Master Rap. The Protocol says that when a warden dies, then the other three shall elect a successor, witch or warlock. Of course a very strong candidate may elect himself, as Zinixo did, but normally the vacant throne is filled by election. The exception is West. When the red throne becomes vacant, then the strongest of the three takes that one and leaves his former throne to a newcomer. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. That wasn’t what happened this time?”

  “No. Suddenly Ag-An was dead and Zinixo was warlock. Assassination’s not rare for the other three, but it’s only been done to West maybe six or seven times since Emine’s day. West’s strength comes from his prerogative, of course, although in this case he’s also immensely powerful in his own right.”

  They were going by the ships now. As Thinal had said, most were galleys, but there were also a few barks and argosies, and larger, awkward lateen-rigged vessels—none of them types that ever came to Krasnegar. Rap would have enjoyed looking at them had he not been more concerned by his own approaching death. “In his own right, ma’am?”

  Oothiana still did not look around. “Zinixo may well be the most powerful sorcerer since Is-an-ok, or even Thraine. Ag-An was no mean witch, yet he destroyed her and two guardian votaries single-handed. South and East didn’t want Faerie to fall into the hands of an unknown, so they tried to take him out at once. He knocked them aside like puffballs.”

  Again conversation was interrupted. A dozen drunken, half-naked jotnar were staggering along the road in line abreast, bellowing out a bawdy song, waving clubs that looked like table legs, and forcing everyone else to back up. Rap expected Oothiana to summon troops, but she barely seemed to notice the disturbance. Just before the mob reached her, all the rioters suddenly turned hard left. Roaring happily, the line went lurching into a tavern. The crowd dispersed, grumbling, and the road was clear. She had not missed a step.

  “By now, of course,” the sorceress said, “the dwarf’s unassailable. He’ll hold the red throne for centuries. Only all the others acting together could kill him, and that would mean a pitched battle. He might even win it.”

  “West’s prerogative is the supply of magic,” Rap said, “so now he knows hundreds of words?”

  “No. That isn’t the way it works; four’s the limit. But any sorcerer can be put under a loyalty spell by a stronger sorcerer. Then he’s a votary, an aide. All warlocks and witches do it, but the others must hunt for people who already know words. West has a dependable supply. This is where they come from.”

  “One fairy, one word?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh, then you … Beg pardon, my lady.”

  She raised those glorious eyes to his, and he was astonished to see them glistening. “Yes, me. I want you to know, even if you can never understand completely. I can’t help myself. Master Rap. I’m telling you all this because it doesn’t matter and you deserve to know why you will suffer, but if talking might hurt my master’s interests in any way, then I couldn’t do it. I can’t be disloyal in the slightest and I must obey any order he gives me; if he told me to kill myself, I would do it. I can’t betray him.”

  “You don’t like him, though?” Rap said.

  “Dwarves,” she said cautiously, “tend to be mean and suspicious and rapacious.”

  “Could he not make you like him?”

  Oothiana walked a dozen paces in silence, and then her answer was very quiet. “Easily. Would that be kinder? You’re going to hate me tomorrow, Rap. But he leaves my thoughts free because he values my advice, I think, or maybe just to see if I’m plotting something. He doesn’t trust loyalty, whether it’s occult or real. Your word is valuable, and my master told me to get it for him. So I must do as he says, even though I hate doing so.”

  “And Thinal’s, when you catch them, and Little Chicken’s.”

  “Especially Little Chicken’s.”

  Three words? The warlock could force them to share, and have three mages, then perhaps kill two of them to have one stronger mage. Add one more word to have a slave sorcerer …

  “So I become a slave?”

  She bit her lip with pearly teeth. “It’s worse than that! He’s more likely to force your word out of you for somebody else. Even if he had use for a faun … Pardon my saying this, but you’re not a very typical faun. You’re too big.”

  Rap shivered, despite the heat. “But he could make me look like anything he wanted, couldn’t he? An imp, a dwarf, an elf, even?”

  “Yes, he could. But another sorcerer would see the spell on you. That would be two spells, you see, and a glamour spell like that, an appearance spell, happens to be a conspicuous thing. A loyalty spell is much harder to detect. Unfortunately.”

  Unfortunately! “So I tell my word and then I die?”

  She spoke without looking at him. “It may not happen right away. Perhaps not for some time. But I have to take you to jail now, and I expect that’s where you’ll stay.”

  Again they walked for a while in silence, the lady watching the ground, ignoring the watercarts and hucksters plying their wares to the ships. Now that his farsight had been restored, Rap had trouble ignoring the ships. The jotunn in him had always been interested in ships. One of the galleys must be Gathmor’s Stormdancer. But he was going to die soon, here in Faerie, so ships did not matter now. Magic just possibly might.

  “So a faun-jotunn cross won’t be much use to him. How does he choose who gets elevated?”
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br />   She glanced at him oddly. “You think clearly. Master Rap. Yes, he has trouble, because there is always a faint chance he will create a sorcerer more powerful than himself. That’s why I said you might live quite a while yet; while he makes up his mind.”

  In a cell! “Little Chicken … Why did the fairy do that? I mean, why did she die?”

  Oothiana hesitated. “I’m going to have to put a forbiddance on you, telling you all this. These are well-kept secrets you’re learning!”

  “That’s all right, ma’am. I don’t know why you’re telling me all these things anyway. But I do appreciate it!” he added hastily.

  She flashed another of her sad little smiles. “Perhaps because I enjoy speaking to an honest man for a change.”

  Rap turned his face away quickly. She did not seem to be joking, either.

  “This way.” She pointed, and headed across the road, which now branched, the left side going on along the waterfront and the moorings, the right angling up the hill. He could sense the shielding around the palace quite close by. On the skyline, still distinct, the roof and the upper level of the Gazebo formed a sinister all-seeing eye, bright in the rays of the sun setting over the mainland town.

  “What the fairy told the goblin was her name. Alone of all the peoples of Pandemia, fairies seem to have no magic, but they are born knowing their names and die if they ever speak them.”

  “But why?” Rap blurted. Then he felt very stupid. Ask her why the sky is blue, dummy! That was how the Gods had made the world.

  Yet Oothiana did not seem to find the question stupid, “No one is certain. My master says—and he is a very powerful sorcerer, remember, so his wisdom is great—he suspects that a word is not truly a fairy’s own name. What use is a name you can never use? He thinks they must be the names of elementals, a sort of guardian spirit …”

  Ah! Now Rap sensed something intelligible in the insanity of magic.

  “But he admits that even he is guessing,” she concluded.

  Straight ahead the road reached a high wall of pointed timbers and an imposing gateway topped by the imperor’s four-pointed star. This palisade was in much better shape than the feeble ruin around the town and it was an occult barrier, also, blocking farsight completely. Beyond the archway were trees, flowers, and parkland that showed only to his eyes.