Raspnex ignored him, addressing Rap. “Nice try, faun! I’ll settle the score later, never fear.”
“I suffer loyally,” Yodello said, seemingly to the night itself. “I am a very good example.”
“I didn’t deliberately try to deceive you, sir,” Rap told the dwarf. “I didn’t think of—”
“I know. You couldn’t have fooled me. But I’ll settle, anyway.” Raspnex glowered. Perhaps he was afraid of being made an example, too.
“About a week until I burst,” Yodello announced cheerfully. “Remember to come and watch that.”
“Arakkaran, faun?”
“Yes,” said Rap’s mouth.
Raspnex nodded, satisfied. “What the goblin said.”
“She may not still be there!” Rap said hopefully.
The dwarf shrugged his giant shoulders. “We’ll see. Come along now. The boss wants you. He hates to be kept waiting.”
“Come early and get ahead of the crowds,” Yodello said.
6
Ekka was talking about spiders’ webs. She kept on talking about spiders’ webs. She would not stop talking about spiders’ webs, and yet Kadolan could not hear a word she was saying because she was whispering. Whispering was not ladylike. It was very annoying. She decided she must tell Ekka that she should either speak up clearly, or else she should keep quiet and let Kadolan go back to … sleep?
She was very stiff. Her back felt as if it had been tenderized with a meat mallet. Even her knees. Bells jingling in the distance. There was no light in the tent. Tent?
It wasn’t Ekka. It was Inosolan who was doing all the whispering. Shaking Kadolan’s shoulder.
“Mmph?”
“Don’t waken the girl, Aunt!”
“What g—”
“Shh!”
There was someone else moving. Gods! A man! The sultan, of course. Kadolan certainly did not want to jostle him, not after seeing the blister on Inosolan’s finger.
Inosolan had her lips to Kadolan’s ear. “Get dressed quickly. It’s almost dawn. We’re leaving.”
“Leav—”
“Shh!”
Kadolan struggled to sit up. She felt impossibly stiff, and very grateful that the other two could not see her. This was what came from only one-half of a day on a camel. She must have a whole day ahead of her now. There were weeks and weeks of it to come. She was too old for this. Her eyes felt full of sand. She shivered, and not just from sleepiness; the air was nippy.
“Watch out for the girl!” Inosolan whispered again.
“I don’t know where she is!” Kadolan whispered back. Fooni had been sleeping somewhere on her left, but that was not much help in pitch darkness after hours of sleeping. She could have rolled anywhere. “What is that revolting noise?”
“Camels!” Inosolan said.
Did they never stop bellowing? If the Fooni child could sleep through that racket, then Kadolan could practice a trumpet fanfare without disturbing her. If the camels came any closer, they would step on the tent. That would do it! They smelled close but that was probably just the tent itself. Everything smelled of camel.
Azak pushed back a corner of the flap, and a slightly lesser darkness surged in.
“There she is,” Inosolan whispered.
Things were beginning to make more sense, as Kade’s old brains awoke, taking their time. She didn’t like some of the implications.
“Why mustn’t we waken her?”
Inosolan made an exasperated sound. She was on her knees, brushing out her hair, which was crackling and sparking in the cold dryness. Azak was a featureless enormity, an undefined impression of size. He must be kneeling, also, for the tent was much too low to let him stand, and he sounded as if he were busy. Stuffing things in bags, maybe?
“We’re going to sneak away before dawn!” Inosolan whispered.
Kadolan thought Oh-oh! and felt a twinge of a sinking feeling. She was quite convinced in her own mind that this whole mad escapade had been organized by the sorceress. Or, if Rasha had not planned it, she must be aware of it and be tolerating it for her own reasons. Kadolan wasn’t sure why she thought that, but she did; and she in turn had been willing to humor Inosolan and Azak by pretending that it was a serious attempt to escape from Arakkaran.
“Why?”
Inosolan made another cross noise. “Just in case Master Elkarath is not what he seems.”
“But what could he be?”
This time it was Azak who answered, deep and urgent. “His timing was very suspicious, ma’am. He furtively sent me word just two days after you and your niece arrived, claiming that he had often transported messages, or even messengers, for my grandsire, and that he would be happy to perform such services for myself. There was no way to confirm his tale, although it is plausible.”
At least he had given Kadolan the courtesy of a civil answer.
“But what else could he be?” she asked. “What evil could he be plotting, with you to guard us, Sire—I mean Lionslayer?”
“He could be an agent of the harlot.”
“Do hurry, Aunt!” Inosolan whispered urgently.
“I’ve been telling Inos that.” Kadolan did not budge, except to rub her back plaintively. The camel roarings and jinglings seemed to be coming closer. They would surely waken the Fooni girl soon. “I admit I don’t understand why Rasha should indulge in such a devious silly game, but—”
“To hide your niece from the warlock.”
Oh, dear! That made excellent sense. Inosolan was a valuable political property, apparently, and Warlock Olybino might very well attempt to steal her away from the sultana if he thought the asking price too high. So Rasha had hidden her treasure away in the desert until the deal had been made; then it would be safe to come and get her. Kadolan felt relieved at finding so logical a confirmation of her instincts.
“Then why do you …” But the answer was obvious. Azak wanted to leave because he could not bear to remain within reach of the sorceress, if he still was. It was another of these double or triple or quadruple gambits, like the enormously complicated ways he had used to extract Kadolan herself from the palace and smuggle Inosolan to Elkarath’s house from the state procession.
If Elkarath was Rasha’s agent, then this would be the real escape from her power. If he was genuine, then he became merely another false trail.
“We are going to double back to the coast,” Azak whispered.
“He has a boat waiting,” Inosolan added impatiently, “at some little fishing village. We can sail north to Shuggaran and catch a ship. You can forget about three months on a camel, Aunt! In three months we should be in Hub. Now, does that appeal or not?”
Well, yes, that was certainly tempting.
Before Kadolan could make up her mind, a voice called faintly outside the tent, barely audible over the rumpus the camels were making, “Queen Inosolan?”
They all heard it. They all froze, staring at the triangle of light that marked a corner of the doorway; dawn was close now. Dribbles of icy water ran down Kadolan’s back as she remembered the meeting in the forest, when Master Rap had appeared so mysteriously out of the shadows. He had called to Inosolan like that.
“What was that?” Azak demanded in louder tones than before.
“It sounded like somebody calling me!” Inosolan’s voice trembled. “A long way off.”
“Queen Inosolan!” Closer this time. No mistake this time.
It was not a man’s voice, though.
And Master Rap was dead, anyway, killed by the imps.
Inosolan uttered a strangled sort of gulp. “Nobody here knows me by that name!” she whispered.
Kadolan guessed what was about to happen and grabbed for her niece’s shoulder. Inosolan was always so impulsive!
She was too late. Inosolan went scrambling on hands and knees over the litter of bedding. For a moment her shape obscured the hint of gray glow of the entrance, and then she was outside.
Nothing particular happened. Kadolan relaxed. It
had perhaps been an illusion. A herdboy singing, or some such.
Azak was more visible than before, and he had indeed been stuffing things into a sack and was now roping it, with swift, jerky movements. “Are you ready, mistress?”
Kadolan sprang to wakefulness. She was far from ready, but she certainly did not intend to be left behind. She was too old for this, she thought, rummaging to find her shoes, but a swift ride to the coast and then a sea voyage was a far more pleasing prospect than a camel ride to Ullacarn, wherever that was.
Hub, the city of the Gods! Who would choose to remain in this ugly desert when offered a journey to Hub?
Dragging a bundle, Azak crawled over to the doorway, making the tent darker. Kadolan decided she would have to forget about brushing her hair, just this once.
And then Inos screamed.
7
“He’s a brave man!” Rap shouted, leaning into the wind. The seaward side of the headland was much steeper than the harbor side. A steady thunder of surf came drifting up from the darkness below. The air was cool and salty.
“Who is?” Raspnex was trudging solidly through the night, with one hand clasping his cap firmly on his head.
“Tribune Yodello.”
The dwarf grunted. “Hasn’t got much choice, has he?” he said indifferently.
But Yodello had very nearly succeeded in stealing from a dwarf, and a warlock dwarf at that. He had learned three words in the fairy village. It was a reasonable assumption that either the proconsul or the warlock had stopped him while he was trying to collect a fourth.
“How does a man get around a loyalty spell?”
That question earned no answer but an angry glare. Rap himself had evaded capture for half a day and then broken out of jail. Both times he had been more lucky than clever, but obviously sorcery and magic had limitations that could be exploited if one knew how. He wished he knew how.
The journey to the crest of the ridge had taken almost no time, so Raspnex must have used power. The Gazebo itself loomed dead ahead, larger than Rap had expected, overtopping the trees around it. It was a circular wooden structure, two levels surmounted by a conical roof. Lights were wavering strangely in the upper story, but that was cut off from his farsight by an opaque ceiling. The lower room seemed to be used mainly as storage: furniture and rolls of matting, metal tools and stone statuary, boxes of shells and glass cases full of butterflies, and much more that he had no time to make out, the accumulated junk of generations.
A line of armed legionaries encircled the building, all standing stiffly to attention in the salty wind. The centurion saluted the dwarf, who stumped by him without a word or glance.
“What need has a warlock for mundane guards?” Rap shouted.
“Curb your tongue, faun, or I’ll tie a knot in it.”
A wooden stair wound up the outside to connect with a wide observation gallery, silhouetted against the weirdly dancing light. Rap followed the thump of the dwarf’s boots up the steps, watching the occult barrier approach as he had done in Inisso’s Tower in Krasnegar. Then his head broke through, and the rest of the palace had gone.
The upper level was one large room, whose walls were merely widely spaced wooden panels; they held up the roof but made no clear distinction between the interior floor and the deck of the surrounding gallery. The wind blustered through unhindered. Sleeping bats hung within the high cone of the roof, and the rafters were heaped with ancient birds’ nests. Faded rugs and wicker furniture lay scattered around in no particular pattern, together with some other buzzing, twitching things that Rap preferred not to inspect.
The wavering light came from overhead lanterns on long chains, swinging wildly in the gale. Even very ordinary-seeming chairs were gifted with many sinister shadows, writhing like black spiders in the golden glow on the floor. Tree branches outside seemed to fade in and out of the night.
Raspnex headed for Oothiana, who stood before one of the larger wall panels, apparently examining a picture. She had unfastened her hair, and it surged and rippled in the wind, like a black flag. So did her white gown. Rap tried not to stare at that as he followed the dwarf across to her. He was foolish to be so scrupulous, really, for no one’s clothes held secrets from his farsight; yet he found those delicate curves sketched out in white fabric far more enticing and disturbing than crude certainty could ever be. He was learning how to control his power when he needed to, by diverting it to other things and away from places he should not pry, but that wasn’t always easy.
Little Chicken stood at the proconsul’s side, bare-chested, arms crossed, and greener in the dim gold light than Rap had ever seen him. He was probably enjoying the cold. His angular eyes narrowed when he saw Rap, his lip curled in silent contempt.
“Any luck?” Raspnex demanded.
Oothiana turned. She looked weary. “Some. The palace is shielded.” She glanced at Rap, but her face gave away nothing.
The thing she had been studying was not a picture but a large mirror in an intricate silver frame. It had a dark, oily look to it that Rap disliked, but it seemed no more sinister than some of the other odd things, such as the potted plant that kept making finger-snapping noises, or the fairy statue that farsight said wasn’t there at all.
Raspnex pulled off his ugly cap and stuffed it inside his flannel shirt. He rolled down his sleeves, meanwhile glancing thoughtfully around the room. Rap wondered what he was studying.
“Votaries don’t put up shielding, usually,” the dwarf said.
“Of course not.”
No love lost there.
Rap bowed to her. “Your Highness.”
Her face remained expressionless. “I’m only an excellency, Master Rap.”
“Beg pardon, your Excellency.” He bowed again. “May I congratulate your Excellency on the quality of your jail?”
This time he earned a faint smile. “Are you an expert?”
“I have seen enough jails that I never need see another.” Rap bowed again.
“But you tried to leave.”
“I hope you understand that I meant no discourtesy, ma’am.”
She turned away from him and glanced around the room.
He shrugged. Well, he had tried. At least she knew now that he bore her no grudge, and he thought she would care about that.
“I’ll tell him we’re ready,” Raspnex said. He marched across to another section of wall, which surprisingly contained a completely unnecessary door. It was massive, embellished with intricate carvings and inset with golden hieroglyphics. The dwarf pulled it open, walked through, and thumped it heavily behind him.
He did not appear on the balcony beyond.
Feeling an unpleasant shiver run down his back, Rap said, “Huh?”
“Magic portal.” Oothiana took a deep breath. “Leads to Hub. Rap, all I can tell you is to be polite, very polite. He takes offense easily. Come.”
She walked over to a couch and sat down. Something about the way she did it prompted Rap to go and sit beside her, surprised by his own presumption. It was ages since he had sat close to a beautiful woman. He could not remember doing so since he had held hands with Inos, the night Jalon had sung in the castle hall, back home in Krasnegar. There must have been others in the early winter, when he had been factor’s clerk eating in the castle commons. He could not recall them, though. Only Inos, long ago.
In a manner suggestive of a cat staking out a mousehole, Little Chicken selected a chair close to Rap. He leaned back, smiling hungrily. Rap ignored him and inspected the room again, wondering what the two sorcerers had been studying so oddly. His farsight was starting to pick up odd shimmers that his eyes could not explain.
“Dwarfs don’t like luxury,” Oothiana said.
“What? I mean, I beg your—”
“Warlock Zinixo can have anything he wants. He can make sand into gold, or sugar lumps into diamonds. But he grew up with shabby, old things, like most dwarves do. It’s just their way. He’s not comfortable with … with comfort. He like
s dead leaves around.”
She must have thought Rap was inspecting the furniture, which was lumpish but comfy. Only now did he notice spots where the wicker was worn and stuffing protruded from cushions; it had all seemed fine to him. And of course there were low heaps of dead leaves in every cranny; this place was more outdoors than in. Bird droppings aplenty, too.
“There were no dead leaves where I grew up, no leaves at all.” He started to smile at her, but she was close, and he found himself too much aware of her smooth round breasts. Angry, he looked away and struggled to keep his farsight under control.
Oothiana did not seem to mind. “And not much else but leaves where you grew up, Master Goblin? Or pine needles, I suppose?”
“Who’s coming?” asked Little Chicken, looking surly.
“Warlock Zinixo, warden of the west. Address him as ‘your Omnipotence.’ Don’t lip him, or he’ll make your guts rot.”
The goblin’s eyes widened, becoming more triangular in the process.
Rap’s nerves were too taut to stand the ensuing silence. “I met Legate Yodello, ma’am,” he said, blurting out the words and regretting them at once.
Oothiana seemed to glance around the room again, inspecting …
He gulped. “I’m sorry. I mean, I don’t think he deserves—that.”
She regarded him coldly. “He was the one who killed the fairies.”
Rap nodded. “But I think he did it for … for a good reason, ma’am.”
“What reason could justify torture and murder?”
“I—I don’t know,” Rap said miserably.
“He did it for me, is what you mean. Yes, he did.” She sighed and looked away. “And maybe he wanted to save the other fairyfolk. He says he did, and I believe him.” She paused, picking at the fabric of her dress where it curved over her knee. “You’ve guessed what happened? The warlock had been hunting for wild fairies. They’re very rare now, but eventually he discovered that village. He ordered me to have the inhabitants brought in. I told the legate, of course. Except I didn’t—didn’t give him quite the right orders. That was my second mistake. I hadn’t put the right loyalty spell on him when I appointed him, and I didn’t tell him to do the job himself. I told him to send someone to do it.”
A Man of His Word Page 69