The tribune turned his patient smile on Azak. He was a short man, and middle aged; surprisingly old for a soldier. His face and arms were swarthy, weatherbeaten, but he could afford an expensive uniform, the bronze inlaid with gold. His dark eyes glinted brighter than his helmet. “Now the truth?”
“You have the truth,” Azak replied evenly.
“The persons named in that forgery have never heard of you.”
“Of course not. I’m coming, not going.” Azak had not blinked, but Inos felt her heart sink another notch. Obviously every spy and every doubting official along the Great South Way had sent in a report. A tidal wave of reports must have hit Hub, all at about the same time. The authorities had merely let the suspect strangers complete their Journey, right to the gates of the capital. Now they would be examined to find out what they were; taken apart in the process if necessary.
The tribune looked Inos up and down. “Uncover your face!”
For ladies to wear riding veils was not unusual, but normally they removed them indoors. Inos took off her hat and pulled the veil free of her collar. She was so filthy she could barely live with herself. I am the long-lost Queen of Krasnegar, in the far northwest of Pandemia, and my large, equally evil-smelling companion is my husband, sultan of a powerful state in Zark, in the extreme southeast. We are here to meet with a prominent member of the senatorial order. What else would you like to hear?
The tribune nodded, as if he had just confirmed what had been reported. “Not djinn, not pure anything. Part elf and part what?”
“No elf. Imp and jotunn.”
“Who branded you, and why?”
“That is my business.”
He shrugged, as if the point were of no import. “You are consorting with djinn spies, traveling under forged papers. Worse may befall you than that.”
“It is not yet noon,” Azak remarked calmly.
“What of it?” asked the tribune.
“We are to be met here by an important person at noon. I suggest you restrain your curiosity until then, Tribune.”
The tribune folded his arms. “Do I really look so gullible? You can gain nothing by insulting me.”
“If you truly believed that our credentials were false, you would have dragged us away in chains long since. My authority is unusual, I admit, but that is not your concern. Just wait until noon. I cannot guarantee that your questions will be answered, but you will be stopped from asking any more of us.” Azak folded his arms also.
He was filthy and travel-worn, and a red-hairy thigh was visible through a tear in his breeches, but the Sultan of Arakkaran knew all there was to know about intrigue. He was probably right — the tribune was still not quite certain. Djinns were fair game at the moment, or very soon would be, but the war was not yet official. There could be diplomatic moves underway still, and the man was smart enough to know that.
It felt like already past noon to Inos, although the weeping gray sky made the point debatable. It felt like past time for the senator to show up if he was coming. He might be out of town, and her letter still on its way to wherever he was. He might have thrown it in the fire as a fake. He might have turned it over to the secret police, and this tribune might be just playing with her by not mentioning it.
Had she not persuaded Azak to let her send that letter, then their case would be hopeless. If someone did not answer the letter very soon, then their case was hopeless anyway.
“Any doubts. Scrivener?” the tribune asked.
“Oh, none at all,” said the young man. He tossed the roll of vellum on the table.
“Right.” The tribune spoke to the centurion. “Search them.”
The centurion sheathed his sword and signed to two men to do likewise. They advanced on Azak, who glared but offered no resistance while the men poked and peered. They clinked his bags of gold on the table, they relieved him of two daggers and a couple of thin knives Inos had not known about.
Then Char, Varrun, and Jarkim were given the same treatment.
The tribune eyed Inos thoughtfully. “Are you carrying any weapons or documents?”
“None.”
“You swear this by the God of Truth?”
“I do.”
“Very well. Now, we’ll start with that one.” He nodded at Char.
The two legionaries grabbed Char’s hands, spun him around, and slammed his face into the wall. Then they held him there. Azak took a step forward and was stopped by a hedge of swords. The centurion threw a heavy punch at Char’s kidneys and kicked his ankle. Inos shut her eyes.
Char took two more blows in silence, then he began to cry out. Azak growled wordlessly.
“Ready to talk?” asked the tribune.
“You will regret this!”
“Carry on. Centurion. Don’t be so squeamish.”
“Look!” the ineffectual little civilian said.
Inos looked. The man was still standing by the window, and must have been staring out of it for the same reason she had been keeping her eyes closed.
“A carriage with armorial bearings has just driven in, Tribune. And its outriders are Praetorian Hussars.”
“God of Torment!” the tribune said.
It still wasn’t quite settled. The hussar who exchanged salutes with the tribune was several ranks lower, but he was young and glamorous and supremely satisfied with himself and the status that came with his plumed helmet. He was very tall and almost chinless, but any man who could win his way into the Praetorians had great influence to start with, and just being a Praetorian gave him much more — he was almost certainly a future lictor, at least. There was very little fight left in the tribune.
But the passenger in the coach was no senator, merely a portly, well-dressed lady who looked astonishingly like a younger version of Aunt Kade. Swathed in warm, soft furs, she directed a cold, hard stare at the rain-soaked waif standing in the mud beside the carriage, surrounded by troops.
“You know this woman, ma’am?” the tribune asked glumly.
“No.”
He brightened. “No?”
“She wrote to my father, claiming to be related to us, but neither of us has ever met her. Moreover, the person she claims to be has been reported on unimpeachable authority to be dead.”
The tribune beamed.
The chinless young hussar frowned silently. He had obviously decided that he approved of Inos, despite her disgustingly bedraggled condition. “Can you prove who you are, miss?”
Azak burned in silence in the background.
“I am Inosolan of Krasnegar, and this must be Lady Eigaze.”
In the coach, the dumpy lady lowered her eyebrows skeptically. “My name is hardly a secret.”
“Kade has told me much about you.”
“For example?”
“You spent a summer at Kinvale, and won the heart of a young hussar by the name of … Ionfer, I think.”
“My husband is Praetor Ionfeu. You will have to do better than that.”
“Well, she also mentioned a certain spinet recital where the spinet would not stay in tune, possibly because of a hedgehog crawling around its insides. And a covered soup tureen, which, when the footman lifted the lid in front of Ekka —”
“Inosolan!” the woman shrilled. “Whatever happened to your face, child!” She came stumbling down the steps in the rain and threw her arms around Inos.
“May the Gods be with you next time, Tribune,” the brash young hussar remarked in a pleased voice.
3
Kade habitually made pretense of being scatterbrained. Her former protégé, Lady Eigaze, carried imitation to the point of parody; she maundered and sniggered and prattled. But she was a senator’s daughter and had a will of her own when she chose to show it. One glimpse of the battered and bleeding Char was enough to slide the velvet hand into the iron glove. Her flabby form seemed to stiffen into muscle, and she glanced up meaningfully at her bold escort.
“Tiffy, darling?” she murmured dangerously. “Do something?”
He beamed at the tribune. “Sir,” he said …
Then the full weight of the Imperial establishment came crashing down on that unfortunate officer. He found himself requisitioning a coach and rushing off in person with his victim to the finest military hospital in Hub, with Varrun along as a witness, and under strict orders to report in person to the Lady Eigaze before the sun set, lest his career be permanently blighted.
The lady was tough. When Inos presented a gigantic barbarian as her husband, Sultan Azak of Arakkaran, Eigaze smiled without a blink and offered her fingers to be kissed. Azak excused himself on the grounds that he was too travel-soiled to touch her.
And when Inos protested that she also was unfit even to enter the senator’s grand coach with its fine poplin upholstery, Eigaze again snapped her fingers to bring forth a miracle. The Number One Post Inn produced hot tubs and soft towels and clean raiment. Inos felt her head swim at the sudden release of tension. The ensuing meal was the finest she had eaten in weeks, and yet all she could register was the unending stream of babbling nonsense proceeding from her distant cousin, and the expression of astonishment and reluctant respect on Azak’s shiny-clean, fresh-shaven features.
But when those formalities where over, when Inos and Azak had been installed on the green poplin upholstery and space found on the back for Jarkim between the footmen — then Lady Eigaze settled down to some ladylike chatter that concealed more serious purpose. The Praetorian Hussars cleared a path through the traffic, the carriage rumbled smoothly along, and Inos made a desperate effort to pull her soaring wits back to earth. She was euphoric with a newfound sense of freedom and escape; Azak must be feeling even more trapped than before. She could tell that he was reviving all his dark suspicions of her motives. Now, even more, it was Inos who held the cards, and he did not trust her not to betray him.
“It is, obviously, a very long and unlikely story, my lady —”
“Eigaze, dear.”
“Eigaze. It might be easier if you just told me how much you know first, and then I can add the rest.”
“Inos, dear, now I think I know almost nothing. The first thing we heard was that there was trouble in northwest Julgistro last spring, with goblins raiding. Father came back from the Senate one night absolutely livid! And then we heard that your father had died. That much is true?”
“Yes,” Inos agreed, that much was true.
Eigaze muttered condolences. “And that you and Kade had gone off back to Krasnegar with a military escort. Then the escort was ambushed on its return, and there were terrible stories of atrocities. The Senate … You can imagine! Goblins! Worse than gnomes, even! The Impire has never, ever, had trouble with goblins before. Of course Father and I were concerned, and we wrote to Ekka. And then came word that you and your aunt were dead!”
“Who,” Inos asked intently, “said so?”
“The imperor, dear. It was in his report to the Senate. Of course he’d told Father earlier, being a relative of sorts — usual courtesy. He told him he got it from Warlock Olybino.”
“Aha!” Inos said, and exchanged glances with Azak. Suddenly things began to seem much clearer. Olybino had failed to purchase Inos from Rasha — or steal her, perhaps, if he had tried that also. So he had just made the problem disappear by reporting that she had died. Who would question the word of a warlock? So then, when Inos had turned up in Ullacarn, she could no longer be of any use to him, and he had just sent her back to Rasha. Aha indeed!
“And what did the imperor decide to do about Krasnegar?” Inos asked, before her hostess could fire another round of questions. The carriage was racing along a wide avenue lined with glorious buildings, and Inos knew vaguely that she wanted to gape at them like a tourist, but she also knew that this was not the time to indulge in sightseeing.
Eigaze frowned. “I think that was after his Majesty’s health began to fail. Consul Ythbane … he’s regent now, of course … he proposed that since the direct line had died out — for Kadolan would have been next in line to you, of course — Angilki had the best claim. But Krasnegar didn’t seem worth a war with Nordland, and the Zark campaign was already scheduled, and the dwarves were starting to get difficult, not to mention goblins. By that time we had received a reply from Ekka, and Father was able to report that the duke would have no interest in becoming a real ruler. So the compromise was that Angilki would have the nominal title, and rule though a viceroy chosen by the thanes. The Nordland ambassador agreed, and a memorandum was initialed.”
Lady Eigaze’s wits were no dimmer than Kade’s, obviously.
“Very convenient!” Inos muttered. “Except for the citizens of Krasnegar.”
“They’re not the imperor’s responsibility, dear, unless you wish to declare that you hold the kingdom in fief from him?”
“Certainly not!” Inos said hurriedly. “Well, obviously the warlock was lying.”
Lady Eigaze seemed to pale slightly, and coughed. “Even warlocks may make mistakes, dear, sometimes, I suppose. And Kade, you say, is safe and sound, back in … er …”
“Arakkaran,” said Azak.
“Thank you.” She eyed this inexplicable savage with obvious bewilderment and then chose a safer subject. “This is all quite extraordinary! Angilki knew nothing of this at all!”
Inos felt a quiver of premonition. “Angilki?”
“Oh … of course you won’t know! He’s here in Hub, dear! He showed up two nights ago in a terrible state.”
“Angilki? The duke is here?”
“Why, yes, dear. The regent summoned him when — but you can’t know that, either, I suppose.” Lady Eigaze was starting to look worried. She reached in a locker and produced a box of chocolates. “He has a broken ankle. Angilki, I mean. He had a dreadful journey, poor man. And he’s not a duke, now, he’s King of … Oh, dear!”
“What else don’t I know?” Inos demanded.
“Have a chocolate? No? Your Majesty?”
Azak declined. “Please just call me Azak,” he added, “as we are all family now.”
“Gods bless my soul!” Eigaze muttered, and ate three chocolates in quick succession without taking her eyes off him. Djinn relatives would not be welcome news in Hub at the moment.
“Why did the regent summon Angilki?” Inos asked determinedly.
“Because of Kalkor, dear. He’s a Nordland thane —”
“I know of Kalkor. He is another distant relation, extremely distant.” Inos remembered the vision in the magic casement and grimaced. “In fact, I saw him once. The more distant the better with that one! What of Kalkor?”
“He is — Oh, Holy Balance!” Eigaze took another chocolate, and her eyes grew very wide. “Darling, I may have made a serious error!”
“What error?” Only years of dealing with Kade kept Inos from grabbing the woman by her fat throat and shaking her.
“Well, your letter arrived this morning, after Father had left for the palace. I didn’t really believe that it was genuine, of course, so I didn’t send word to him. I nearly didn’t come at all. I had to cancel a dress fitting. Oh, dear!”
Azak was scowling. Inos could feel her heart pounding.
“What about Kalkor, Eigaze?”
Two more chocolates … “He is in Hub also! That’s what today’s court is all about! He requested a safe conduct, and of course the regent granted it, because he’ll never manage to escape again afterward, and he arrived a couple of days ago, and that’s what today’s business is — Krasnegar! When Angilki arrived at our house, Father sent word to the palace right away, and they came and dragged the poor man out of bed in the middle of the night and hustled him off …”
“Krasnegar? Today?” Inos cried, feeling Azak’s eyes burning into her. “Should we go and —”
“Oh, it’s too late now, dear! They’ll have started, and even I couldn’t get you in, or even get word to Father now.”
“But what does Kalkor want? Recognition of his claim?”
“Sure you don’t want a
chocolate? Nobody knows! The belief is that he’s totally insane and wants to fight Angilki for the throne.”
“Fight Angilki!” Inos remembered the deadly, muscled warrior she had seen in the casement and the overweight, ineffectual duke. She started to laugh. The idea of those two locked in battle was absurd.
“That’s the only theory anyone’s come up with, darling!” Eigaze wailed softly and popped the final chocolate in her mouth. “The jotnar have some ancient savage ceremony to solve such disputes among themselves. They call it a Reckoning, Father says.”
“A fight with axes!” Inos sobered suddenly.
The casement had prophesied a duel with axes.
But obviously, somewhere, the course of events had gone awry. Now it was not she whom Kalkor was challenging, but Angilki.
And Rap, who had been destined to be her champion, was dead.
Azak was smiling.
4
Moms had cut down Shandie’s medicine. She’d also found the spare bottle he’d hidden under the dresser. He was starting to feel scratchy-twitchy already, and the ceremony had barely started. Perspiration was running down his face, and it was awesomely hard not to shiver. He tried to concentrate on what was going on, to take his mind off his medicine.
The King of Krasnegar had a cast on his foot, and he was fat. Managing a toga and a crutch at the same time must be pukey difficult, but he looked as if he’d have enough trouble managing either one by itself. Shandie didn’t think much of the King of Krasnegar.
Shandie didn’t approve of imps being kings, anyway. Imps owed their loyalty to the imperor. Maybe dwarves or anthropophagi or people like that could have kings — he hadn’t decided — but not imps. Still, this king was really only a duke, and he’d just done homage for Kinvale to the regent, so that there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings, and he’d looked very funny when two heralds had to help him kneel down with his cast and his toga and his crutch.
He’d had to read his speech, tool Disgusting! And he’d mumbled it so badly that no one had heard him.
If that was the King of Krasnegar, then Krasnegar had very low standards. The fat man didn’t know a thing about court behavior. He’d been given Consul Humaise as a sort of keeper, to stay close and whisper instructions.
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