It was acceptance. Despite the danger she brought, the quiet little man was saying he would not throw her out in the street, and he had made the decision on behalf of the whole clan. That showed real power, she thought. A faint shimmer ran through the audience, a shifting of feet, a drawing of breath, as the minds worked over the problem.
And the senator now looked to Azak. “My house is honored to have such a guest, your Majesty.”
Azak released a very long sigh and seemed to sink lower in the sofa. “The honor is entirely mine, your Eminence.”
Inos glanced sideways at him. He was a very astonished djinn.
“Your position is difficult,” Epoxague said. “Both your positions! The King and Queen of Arakkaran and Krasnegar? I have heard of far-flung realms, but never one so far-flung as that.”
The audience smiled uneasily. He had identified the ultimate impossibility: Azak and Inos could not rule both kingdoms. One or the other must be dispossessed.
“Boji,” the senator said, without turning, “how long since the Right of Appeal was invoked?”
“Last dynasty,” a grizzled, heavyset man grunted. “Hundred years or more.”
“Tomorrow,” the senator told Azak, “I must present you to the regent. Until that is done, you are in some danger — and my own position is ambivalent.”
Azak nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“And the best excuse for your presence in Hub is an Appeal to the Four.”
The sultan squirmed — Inos had never seen him so discomfited. “I had hoped that a private approach to one of the wardens —”
Epoxague shook his head. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Which one? Obviously Olybino is unthinkable. He is not only the power behind the legions, he is already involved in this affair somehow. Bright Water is … unpredictable; and she also must be involved, for East certainly tried to protect the troops on that disastrous retreat from Krasnegar, and he was blocked. Only the witch of the north could have done that, up there. What she wants, I do not know. Maybe she worries only about Krasnegar, and not Arakkaran. Lith’rian, also, has been meddling in your realm, and I cannot guess what his interest is, except that warlocks sometimes play games with us mundane mortals. And elves do not think like other people,” he added sourly.
Inos was enthralled. Here, at last, was a man who knew something about the shadowy wardens and their secret ways. Some of what he was saying she had heard before, but for months she had wanted to hear it from someone who could speak with authority.
“West?” Azak muttered when the senator did not continue.
The caution became more marked. “Ah! We know very little about Warlock Zinixo. He is no older than Tiffy here, and new to his office. So far he has been very inconspicuous. When he succeeded, he refused the traditional address of welcome from the Senate. He did not appear at the regent’s confirmation.”
After a pause for thought, Epoxague added, “All dwarves tend to be distrustful; he seems to have that caginess to an unusual degree. There is no doubt that South hates him. Elves cannot abide dwarves, and vice versa. When Zinixo struck down Ag-an, then Lith’rian and Olybino together tried to blast him on the spot.”
Someone coughed warningly.
The little man did not turn. “I have that on the highest authority,” he said calmly.
That was news to some of his audience, at least. Bland faces registered surprise. Lips pursed and glances flickered. The little man ignored them.
“So West has good reasons to fear the others. Bright Water may be his ally — at times, but who would rely on such an ally?
“Besides,” he concluded, “you have a very beautiful young wife, your Majesty. I recommend that you do not ask favors of Warlock Zinixo.”
Azak flushed and scowled at Inos.
Epoxague glanced over his shoulder, as if to include the other listeners. “Can anyone fault my logic? I can’t see a private appeal working at all. Anyone disagree?”
No one disagreed.
Azak scowled. “Why should an appeal to the Four be any better, then? My case is hopeless!”
Was he only concerned by the thought of his curse being discussed in public, or did he fear that the wardens might give Krasnegar precedence over Arakkaran and order him off there to be husband to the queen? Inos could not ignore a tiny shoot of hope sprouting in her heart. She was stuck with Azak until death, and she would make the best of him; but Azak in Krasnegar would be a sight easier to live with than Azak in Arakkaran.
“Shaky, but not quite hopeless, perhaps,” Epoxague said. “Put them all together, as the Council of Four, and they may remember their responsibilities. They have a duty to suppress political use of sorcery. They will wish to uphold the Protocol, for it also guards them from one another. So they may well agree to cure your curse, heal your wife, and spirit you back to your realm. It would be an easy demonstration of their powers. Ashlo, what do you think?”
“It is possible, your Eminence,” said the one who Inos thought was a marquis. “The best bet under the circumstances, I should say. Collectively they often cancel out one another’s petty schemes.”
The heavy man addressed as Boji cleared his throat. “The regent will have a vote if they split.”
Epoxague and some of the others chuckled, sharing some political thought they preferred to leave unspoken. The senator turned his bright eyes on Inos.
“You also must be presented, and as soon as possible. You realize that you are in extreme danger, even here, now?”
“Er … no!” Inos said, shocked. She had been feeling more relaxed than she had in months, euphoric almost.
Epoxague smiled grimly. “A warlock reported you were dead. If you appear in public, he will be shown up as either a liar or a fool.”
She nodded dumbly, deeply shaken. She should have seen that!
“So we must make you appear in public, and as soon as possible! Can you think of any way in which Kalkor can have learned of the vision you saw in the casement?”
“No, your Eminence.”
“Mmm. But I think he must have.” The little man rubbed his chin. “Something he said today … He did not expect that duel to be fought against a troll, nor against Angilki. Perhaps Bright Water told him. He is one of hers, you know — a jotunn raider. She has always had a goblin fascination with death and suffering. You are certain that the Rap man is dead?” His eyes were sharp as rapiers.
Inos looked to Azak. Let him answer this one!
“I saw him the night we left, Eminence. Gangrene had set in. It was incredible that he was still alive at all. I am sure he could not have survived another day.”
At least he had not been hypocritical enough to express regret, but the senator was studying him closely.
He must be able to guess how Azak had felt toward the man who had disrupted his wedding.
And now he was frowning. “Well, you must be presented at court, Inos. Tomorrow.”
The Boji man coughed. “I hope you’ll warn him — send a note to let the regent know what you’re going to spring on him.”
“I daren’t!” Obviously worried now, Epoxague uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. “If East finds out that Inosolan is in Hub, then she will not be in Hub, and Gods know where she may be, alive or dead. Ashlo, you’ll see Ythbane before any of us. Could you drop him a warning that I’m going to dump a load of garden grower on him, but without being specific? At least he’ll know to have a smile handy.”
The marquis muttered his compliance, not looking very happy at the prospect. Again Inos felt impressed by the senator’s power.
He sighed. “Olybino’s not the only one who’s going to be embarrassed. Ythbane will have to withdraw recognition of our unfortunate cousin as King of Krasnegar. Of course Kalkor will then withdraw his challenge to Angilki and that is good, with this scent of sorcery in the air … except that Kalkor …”
His frown twinkled into a smile. “How fast can you run, Inos? I wonder what it costs to hire Mord? Co
usin Azak, in the interests of economy, would you consider taking on the thane as your wife’s champion?”
He wielded humor with a sharp edge. It isolated Azak as the stranger, the barbarian warrior in a room full of urbane politicos — and it raised again the ultimate impossibility of uniting two kingdoms at the opposite ends of the world; it asked Azak to decide between them.
The barbarian was subtle enough to see all that. He clenched his jaw, and the room waited.
Inos knew what was coming. It was inevitable — and it was also horribly logical and reasonable. Who could choose the barren arctic rock over the jewel on the Spring Sea?
“I think my wife must relinquish her claim.”
Everyone looked to Inos. Abdication? That would solve the regent’s problem and might therefore save Epoxague himself considerable trouble. Abdication was implicit in her marriage to Azak. She had promised her father — but then she had promised Azak later, and the God of Wedlock, also. And she did not know if her kingdom would accept her, or if Nordland ever would, or even how much kingdom the imps had left for her.
And yet that tiny sprout of hope had not withered yet. This was certainly her last chance to see Krasnegar again, and she was not going to throw it away until she must.
“I should prefer to wait until my husband has made his appeal to the Four,” she said.
Epoxague nodded and seemed to relax slightly. “A good response! So Kalkor must delay his challenge until the Four have heard the case. I must say I dislike the thought of our cousin of Kinvale being axed to death on his sickbed, and I am sure the thane is capable of that.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, we can block this outrageous contest tomorrow. The regent will like that. That is the nugget in the rockpile!”
The little man rose and turned to face the company. “I shall present Inos at the Campus Abnila tomorrow — it must be done in public. Do any of you have any questions or comments or advice?” He studied the silent faces. “Speak up! I know this affair could harm us.” Still there was no response. He was pleased. “No? Well, then I suggest an early night. Mord of Grool fighting Kalkor the raider? That news must have gone through the city like a tornado, and the streets will be chaos in the morning.”
Everyone rose then. The company broke up into groups. The doors were opened, people began drifting away.
Some came forward to greet Inos and shake Azak’s hand. He was obviously astonished at this generous friendship being extended to him through his wife. Inos could see the doubts and suspicions struggling below the surface — in their own fashion, djinns were every bit as untrusting as dwarves — but he was being as gracious as he knew how to be in mixed company. The men’s reaction to him was so guarded that she mostly could not read it.
The few women present were all eyeing the sultan in a way she ought to be finding very pleasing.
Not a man in the room looked more handsome in doublet and hose. He towered over them all, even young Tiffy, who had departed and now returned, glumly waving a note.
“I am ordered to the Campus by dawn, Grandfather. You’ll have to trust yourselves to Drummer, I’m afraid. Are your affairs in order, your will up to date?”
“Think you’ll recognize a dawn when you see one?” the senator countered. Then his smile faded. “Don’t take this lightly, lad. Half the city is going to turn out to see the pirate fight the troll. There are going to be crowds like you’ve never known. And if Inos’s arrival stops the battle — as it should — then there may very well be a riot!”
Trysting day:
By the nine gods he swore it,
And named a trysting-day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.
Macaulay, Horatius at the Bridge
SIX
Pilgrim soul
1
At the same time as he had outlawed gladiatorial contests, Emthar II had also dismantled the arenas. The greatest of them all, Agraine’s Amphitheater, he had renamed the Campus Abnila, in honor of his mother. All the stonework had been torn down and removed, and a great oval of grass installed over sand where multitudes had bled and died for centuries to amuse the populace.
Being situated midway between the Opal and Gold palaces, the Campus Abnila was convenient for martial displays and sports events, but neither of them compared in popularity with its former glories. A grassy bank enclosed it for the convenience of spectators, but there were no facilities for handling crowds.
The regent had chosen the Campus as the site of the Reckoning, and it was a very logical choice, but the day happened to coincide with the festival of the God of Commerce, a holiday for most of the populace. The news of the planned spectacle had rippled out across the city the previous evening. By daybreak, vast mobs were surging through the streets, bound for the Campus Abnila.
The weather was cool, the skies drab and threatening. Recalling her prophecy in the magic casement, Inos had been confident of rain, but so far the showers had held off. She sat in the great carriage beside Eigaze. Azak occupied two-thirds of the opposing seat; the senator had the rest. Their escort comprised a mere four of the Praetorian Hussars, and they could do little to speed the coach’s passage through the teeming throngs.
Downgraded from absolute monarch to guest and tourist, Azak was tense and surly. Eigaze prattled, but her nervousness showed. Inos felt gloomy, unable to keep memories of Rap out of her mind. Things had gone awry, and the fault was hers, for not heeding the divine warning she had been given. Today’s Reckoning had been preordained, either here or on remote Nintor, but Kalkor should have been matched against an occultly endowed Rap, not some brutal professional killer. Mord of Grool, indeed! The very name degraded the battle to a sordid public spectacle.
And it should have been her regality at stake, not the fatuous Angilki puppet show.
Somewhere garments had been found to fit Azak; perhaps they had been specially made in the night. Inos also had been gifted with suitable clothes. She did not know whose they were — obviously not Eigaze’s — but for the first time since her marriage she was traveling unveiled. Her hostess and her maids had done the best they could to mask the burns with cosmetics, but the swellings and suppuration could not be hidden. The paint was probably wearing off already. Inos was going to meet the regent and his court looking like a monster.
Epoxague was calm, but uncommunicative. He was a man of power, a confident of imperor and regent, yet he was obviously risking Imperial anger for Inos’s sake. Without his support, she would now be in some ghastly jail. She ought to feel grateful, and happy. Why could she not quash her regrets? Why, too, this strange foreboding? Suppose the horrid Kalkor actually won! Suppose the match was called off and the crowd rioted, as the senator had predicted! The day held potential for infinite disaster.
She was about to be presented at court. Even Kade had never achieved that great honor. For Kade’s sake, also, Inos mourned — poor Kade! Stranded in far-off Arakkaran, again denied her lifelong ambition to visit Hub … had she been present, she would have been gawking at all the great buildings and chattering like an excited starling.
Even Eigaze had fallen silent.
“Eminence,” Inos said suddenly, “tell me about the regent?”
Epoxague raised his eyebrows. “Ythbane? He has only held the position for four or five weeks …”
He thought for a moment, and then spoke with even greater care than he had used when talking of the wardens the previous evening.
“These are troubled times for the Impire, Inos. It would be treason to say so, of course, but there is a school of thought that says we may soon see the end of a dynasty. Agraine’s line has given us many great imperors, and perhaps the greatest impress of them all, Abnila. Emshandar was — is — a great man, but his reign has been cursed with much bad fortune. His wife and his son both died young, and now he has been taken with a great sickness.”
He sighed, and shook his head. “His gran
dson seems to be a weakling. His daughter, Orosea, is a kindly person, but it is hard to see her rivaling her great-grandmother.”
“The regent?” Inos asked again.
Epoxague smiled faintly at being thus cornered.
“You will probably find him charming. He is charming! His origins are obscure, and he keeps them that way, but it is a common belief that he has merfolk blood in him. That is rare. Some merfolk boat was storm-wracked on a coast somewhere — it happens often, and the results are always bloody. If a merboy is washed ashore, then the local women pursue him and the men knife him in consequence. The opposite is true of a mermaid, of course. Rarely one of the resulting children will survive and be reared. When it reaches adulthood, the same results inevitably follow …”
He caught her eye and saw that she was not to be distracted. “Ythbane, then. In his case, apparently, there was a second generation. The story is that his father died at fifteen at the hands of a lynch mob, having already impregnated some man’s wife. That is only rumor, of course. Quarter merfolk are very rare! Or perhaps his remarkable success with women created the legend.”
Eigaze tutted. “Father, I really don’t think you should repeat such scandal.”
“Perhaps not. But if it is true, then Ythbane inherited only part of the merfolk curse — he can charm women, but men do not react badly to him. And he is undoubtedly gifted. Emshandar always preferred commoners as his confidential aides, because the great families are constantly feuding and that muddles aristocrats’ loyalties. He noted Ythbane’s talents early and used them well. The Senate was horrified when he made the man a consul — Emshandar always enjoyed shaking us up. When the fever took Emthoro, though, Ythbane went after his widow.”
“Father!”
“It’s quite true, dear. Orosea was happily married, Uomaya was mother of the heir. Ythbane knew what he was doing. He is shrewd. He is a skilled politician. Who better to be regent and guardian of the prince than his mother’s husband? Of course the imperor wasn’t expected to last quite so long …” The senator veered smoothly to another topic. “And today’s events … he may be planning to reinstate gladiatorial contests. That would be a very shrewd move!” He glanced up at Azak beside him. “You know how unpopular regents always are?”
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