A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  Inos knew four of the five words he knew — and she was destroying them.

  8

  A mundane could not travel as a sorcerer did, and his return took many hours.

  Long before dark he saw the storm clouds gathering; snow began to fall at sunset, out of a lurid, blood-soaked sky. He wondered if the Gods were about to level punishment for his defiance. He rode on without a pause, into the fury of an arctic storm.

  Inos had done what she planned. Four of his words of power were gone, and he was thrown back to where he had been before he became an adept.

  He still had farsight, a poor mockery of a sorcerer’s vision, but enough to follow the trail through the hills and lead him on to Krasnegar, even in driving snow and dense dark. That morning the world had been spread before him, all Pandemia; now his range was less than a league, a tiny patch of grass and scrub surrounded by nothing. He could not see what was happening in the town, and that was torture. He knew Inos had survived the destruction of three words, because he had felt them all go, but had she managed to survive the fourth? Even if she lived, what might such torment have done to her mind?

  He still had his mastery for animals, and he used it to coax every possible hoofbeat out of poor old Firedragon. The stallion was game and stout-hearted. His breath froze around his nostrils, his hooves thumped the hard earth, and he strained his utmost for his friend Rap. The younger, stronger Evil could have done no more.

  Somewhere on that long mad ride, Fleabag was lost. Probably the dog had just fallen from exhaustion, for Rap would have seen a wild pack pull him down. If so, he would recover. He would follow later if he chose, or else head south to the forest and survive in wolfish ways.

  Rap had no idea how far he must travel, but he knew he must catch the night ebb tide or die before dawn. He drove his mount as he had never believed he could treat a horse, but his plight was desperate. Now he had no power to keep himself warm, or shorten his journey, or deflect hunger and fatigue. He was not dressed for the climate; he had brought no food.

  Mostly he rode almost prone, leaning his face against his horse’s lathered neck, with one hand wrapped in his mane for warmth and the other covering his exposed ear. Every few minutes he would change sides. This was an ordeal to test a goblin, and it would have quickly killed a purebred faun. He especially cursed his inadequate boots, fearing he would lose his toes.

  Caked with snow, man and horse pressed onward.

  He was so battered and weary that he failed to register the shore cottages when they came within his range. At first his dulled wits tried to interpret them as strange rock formations. Then he recognized the sea beyond and saw that the flood was well underway. He was too late to cross the causeway before morning.

  He let Firedragon slow to a walk and headed numbly for shelter. The workers would have fled to town when they saw the storm coming, and there would be nothing there to sustain him. Then his farsight detected a fire, and a man dozing beside it. Furthermore, there were horses in one of the new stables.

  At the cottage door, Rap fell from the saddle and just lay. He could not rise, but the man inside had heard the hooves even over the noise of the wind. The door swung open in a blaze of firelight, and he came shuffling out to help. He dragged Rap inside and swathed him in a blanket by the hearth.

  Rap’s head spun giddily with the aftereffects of cold. His heart pumped nausea through every vein, and pain besides. He shivered so hard he could barely sip at the steaming mug the old hostler thrust into his hand.

  Hononin took Firedragon to the stable to rub him down and bed him with the other horses. One of those others was Evil, but he was well tethered, and Firedragon himself was much too weary to make trouble.

  Shadows leaped over the rough stone walls and the dirt floor. The wind howled around the slates, and blew puffs of eye-watering smoke into the little cottage. In the distance surf pounded the shingle.

  Then the old man returned to kneel at Rap’s feet and rub his toes with horny hands in exquisite torture. By then Rap was just able to speak.

  “How is she?” he croaked.

  “Don’t know,” the hostler said in his usual grumpy fashion. “I been here since afternoon. But she wasn’t in good shape when I left.” He took the mug from Rap’s shaking hand and refilled it with more soup from the pot on the hob.

  “She said you’d be coming,” he muttered. “Called me in while the bell was still ringing. Said you might be coming soon.” He shook his head wonderingly. “She’s got quite a way to her, for such a slip of a girl. She looks at a man with those green eyes! Suddenly whatever else he wants to do just don’t seem important any more. After, I wondered if she’d just gone crazy. Decided I’d better come see, anyhows. There was only one road you could come, and I figured you’d need a change of mount at the least.”

  “You’re a good m-m-man. Master Hononin!” Rap said through his insanely chattering teeth. “How long t-t-till the t-tide?” His farsight showed the causeway, but the ink-dark sea ran swiftly over it, driven by the rising wind.

  “Near to noon. You’ve got lots of time to sleep. I ought to go check again on that old plug you were riding.”

  “He’s d-d-done me p-p-proud!” Rap agreed, his words almost lost in the clattering of ivory.

  “ ’Stonishingly like a stallion we’ve got up in the castle.”

  “That’s j-just your imagination. How’s that big black to ride?”

  “Murder. Just brought him along for the outing. Think you could handle him?”

  “Likely. Tell me about Inos.”

  “Well, she’s queen now. You know that?” The old man peered sourly at Rap with rheumy eyes. “Met a fellow once, couple a’ years ago, near enough. Came to my door one morning. Looked just like you, ’cept he had goblin tattoos around his eyes. Was running with a goblin, too.”

  “We fauns get around,” Rap said uneasily. The explanations he was going to need!

  Hononin grunted. “Sailors last summer …brought some odd tales of goings-on in Hub. Seems there was a faun sorcerer —”

  “I’m not a sorcerer!” Rap sniggered. Joy! The burden had gone. “I am not a sorcerer!” He grinned at the old man and caught a faint answering smile.

  “You don’t dress well for the climate, you know that? Meet many other travelers in the forest?”

  “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, I swear!” Rap mumbled. “Tell me about Inos!”

  The old man left off torturing Rap’s feet and threw more driftwood on the fire. “Today … No, yesterday. It’s morning now. She had the great bell rung, so everyone went running up to the castle to see …”

  It had happened much as Rap had feared. Typically, Inos must have acted at once, as soon as he had departed. Having summoned as many of her subjects as she could assemble in one place — not in the Great Hall, though, but out in the bailey which was larger — she had climbed on the wall by the armory steps and had shouted out her words of power for all to hear. She had fainted after the third and been rushed indoors by the housekeeper and the seneschal. But she had rallied before the people could disperse and had insisted on going out to them again and destroying her fourth word, as well. No one knew what gibberish she had been trying to say. Krasnegarians in general had no knowledge of the words of power, and if any of those present had any inkling, they had not explained to the others. She was assumed to have had a brainstorm.

  To tell a word weakened it. To broadcast it to hundreds or thousands of listeners would reduce it to nothing at all.

  Rap would not have believed it was physically possible. He was not surprised that Inos had collapsed completely at the end. The council had been summoned, but then Hononin had gone off to gather some horses and bedding; he had caught the morning tide with minutes to spare.

  And that was why there had been a fire and food and dry blankets waiting for the exhausted traveler. And until the tide allowed him to go to Inos, Rap had nothing better to do than enjoy them.

  As his eyelids began to dro
op, he realized that he was free of pain at last; he was actually going to sleep, for the first time since before Winterfest.

  He would never taste his mother’s chicken dumplings again.

  Hononin had undoubtedly saved Rap’s life by being at the cottages in the night; in the morning Rap returned the favor. A full winter blizzard howled over Krasnegar, and only his farsight let the two men find their way across the causeway. Rap’s mastery kept the horses under control, but as soon as the travelers reached the dock, Rap left his companion and rode hard to the castle.

  The first person he met in the stable was Lin. He had grown taller, but mostly plumper. Behind a misty mustache, Lin was a very typical imp.

  “Rap!” He stared as if seeing a ghost.

  Rap sprang from Evil’s saddle. “Where’s Inos?”

  “She’s not well. But, Rap, where in the world —”

  Rap took him by the throat. “Where’s Inos?”

  “In the P-p-presence Chamber,” Lin stuttered, eyes bulging.

  “Look after my horse!” Rap roared, and sprinted out the door.

  Now he dared not even try to cross the bailey on foot; he raced around the long way, staying indoors. He met dozens of people, in twos and threes. They backed out of his way with startling eyes. Shouts of “Rap!” pursued him. One or two tried to stop him, and he pushed them aside and kept on running.

  He crossed the Great Hall while many of the staff were sitting down to their lunch. Snow had coated the windows, the fires burned bright in the gloom, fogging the air with a haze of fragrant peat smoke. Nevertheless he was recognized, for he had been the only faun in the kingdom. Cheerful chatter died away, and heads turned. He ran to the Throne Room, heading for the stair. And there his way was blocked by Kratharkran, just descending. Tall and barley-haired, he was so like the young raider Vurjuk that Rap recoiled.

  “Krath!”

  “Rap!”

  Krath, Rap recalled, had been appointed a member of the Council — Inos had told him. “How is Inos?”

  A dark frown came over the big man’s boyish face. “Not good. Where did you come from, Rap?”

  “Never mind! I must see Inos!”

  The smith shifted his feet so that he blocked the doorway — all of the doorway. He folded his arms. Yesterday Rap could have blasted him to Zark. Today he could not force his way past Krath with a sledgehammer.

  “She’s resting!” the jotunn said, regarding the stranger with deep suspicion.

  “But is she conscious?”

  “No, she’s not. The doctors are planning to bleed her, if you must know.”

  “Bleed her?” God of Fools! Krasnegar had never been renowned for the quality of its medicine. Holindarn had sent to Hub for a doctor when he fell sick.

  There would be much better doctors in Kinvale.

  Rap took a deep breath and forced his wits to work. Guile was what was needed here. Fortunately, Krath had always been a trusting sort of fellow.

  “Krath,” he said, “she’s my wife.”

  9

  “He says he’s her husband,” Krath squeaked.

  Inos lay on a makeshift bed in the Presence Chamber, one floor above the Throne Room. Her face was pale, her eyes closed, her hair a flood of golden honey on the snowdrift pillow. Tall candelabra had been gathered around the bed to give light, and the medics were hunched around her like vultures. Six or eight others stood around watching, making the room dark and crowded, and the only one Rap recognized was Foronod — the strangely aged Foronod with the eye-patch, leaning stoop-shouldered on his cane.

  The covers were up to Inos’s chin, so the leeches had not started yet. Kinvale was beyond the magic portal, six floors higher up the tower.

  Foronod made a scoffing noise. “That’s the first I’ve heard of a husband. Can you prove it?”

  “Yes,” Rap said brashly, and strode forward with all the swagger and confidence he could muster. Why, oh, why had Inos not settled for nullifying three words and left him an adept?

  A portly black-clad doctor backed away reluctantly, and Rap went down on his knees by the bed.

  “Inos! It’s me. Rap!”

  No reaction.

  “We are waiting for your evidence, Master Rap,” Foronod snapped.

  Wits churning, Rap rose to his feet and glanced around. “If you will ask the others to leave for a moment, Factor, I shall be happy to explain.”

  The old man’s lip curled in a faint smile of contempt. “I don’t see why a certificate of marriage need be so private. Produce it.”

  “I liked you better in the blue doublet you wore at the Harvesthome Dance, Factor.” Rap turned to Krath. “You drink a lot for a member of council, lad. You were the one who threw up behind the awards table.”

  He had not made any friends with those remarks, but he had obviously sown some doubts. Their faces were infuriatingly opaque to him now, but even without insight he could see the hesitation and the old fear of sorcery. He had transformed Andor into Darad, he had guided wagons, he had mysteriously vanished from a locked room — now he had mysteriously reappeared. He had an uncanny reputation.

  A sudden odor of scorched hair caused him to move away from the nearest candlestick. He would not be a very convincing sorcerer if he set himself on fire.

  “The last time we met, you were all marked up as a goblin,” Foronod said, his one eye glinting angrily. He thumped his cane on the floor.

  “And you accused me of stealing horses. I made some improbable statements on that occasion also, did I not? And I delivered my evidence. I showed you what Andor really was.” Rap put on the most stubborn expression he could manage.

  Foronod glanced around the group, but he evidently decided that there was no one there he wished to consult. “Very well, I shall humor you.” He limped to the stair that led up to the Robing Room and opened the door. “Come with me and I shall listen to whatever weird tale you have to recount this time. Mastersmith, you had better accompany —”

  “I am staying here,” Rap said stolidly, “with my wife. You and Krath may remain. Everybody else — out!”

  “You have no authority —”

  “I have every authority. I am the queen’s husband!”

  “A clerk? A herdboy?”

  “Krath,” Rap said without turning, “who was Inos’s closest friend?”

  A pause, and then Krath’s high voice said, “You were, Rap. Always.”

  “Close friend does not mean king!” Foronod snarled.

  “It does now.”

  For a moment the issue swung like a weathercock. Perhaps it was because the factor had only one eye to glare with, or perhaps Rap still retained traces of a sorcerer’s self-confidence, but he won the confrontation.

  “Excuse us a moment, ladies and gentlemen, please,” the old man said, scowling mightily.

  The doctors scowled back, then trooped obediently to the door. The others reluctantly followed — most of them. One plump lady folded her arms and set her chins obstinately.

  “I do not leave her Majesty unchaperoned!” she proclaimed.

  “Mistress Meolorne,” Rap said, gripping her elbow. “You did a splendid job up here on the night Inos returned to claim her kingdom. I saw how you comforted all those unfortunate girls, finding clothes and —”

  “You saw?” The haberdasher reluctantly moved her feet as Rap urged her to the door.

  “I saw. Now allow us a moment here and everything will be explained, I promise.”

  She stopped and would budge no farther. “I shall not leave her Majesty with three men!”

  “Even when one of them is her husband?”

  “Prove it!” The flabby face stiffened, the deep-set eyes glowered at him.

  It would have to do, but he hoped she would not join in the violence. “All right,” he said. He closed the door, surreptitiously sliding the bolt. “Now, come and see this, gentlemen.”

  He moved back to the bed and lifted candelabra aside to make room. He bent over Inos, as if looking for
something. Foronod hobbled forward on his cane, Krath lurched over with long strides, coming close.

  To fight any jotunn was foolhardy, and a jotunn blacksmith was a nightmare opponent. The matter must be settled with the first blow, for there would be no second. It was a despicable thing to do to a friend.

  “I love her, Krath,” Rap said sadly. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

  “Do what, Rap?”

  Rap swung around and put his fist with all the strength he could muster into the young giant’s most vulnerable spot. Doubled over, Krath hit the floor with a howl of agony and a clamor of many candlesticks, even as Rap turned the other way and slammed a blow on the factor’s jaw, pulling the punch more than he had intended — to strike a cripple was even worse. Foronod went down over a table, in a shattering of glasses. Mistress Meolorne’s scream shattered others. Rap ripped the bedclothes away from Inos and stooped.

  He had lifted her and was heading for the far door before Meolorne reacted. She charged at him, claws out, and he rammed into her with Inos. The fat woman recoiled and sat down heavily on the rug. Foronod was yelling and struggling to rise. Krath was retching.

  Rap staggered up the stairs with Inos a dead weight in his arms. He fumbled awkwardly with the handle and stumbled into the Robing Room. He kicked the door shut, reeled off balance for a moment, then managed to turn around and grope for the bolt with hands he could not see below his burden. It slid with a satisfying click.

  Thereafter he felt as if he were enacting a bizarre replay of another flight up this same tower, when he and Inos and the others had been pursued by the impish army. He was dismayed at how weak he felt and how heavy Inos soon became. He could feel the warmth of her through her nightgown; should have brought blankets in this cold. His heart was pounding as if about to explode, his breath was coming in harsh gasps, making white clouds in the icy air. His body streamed with sweat and there was a bitter taste in his mouth.

  Antechamber …

  All the doors had long since been repaired and fitted with shiny new bolts. The metal was so cold it stuck to his sweaty fingers. He had time, though, because it would take a while for the pursuers to find axes and enough strong men — Krath at least would not be participating.