by Dave Duncan
Yggingi's eyes had narrowed to slits. “I never met any forest demons. Old wives' tales!” He cupped his hands to shout. “Come out and show yourself!”
“Tell your men to lower their bows!” The voice was much closer, although there was nothing in sight. “I am alone and unarmed.”
“I think it must be a demon!” Andor insisted. “They can look like anyone—very dangerous to trust a demon.” He appeared more upset than anyone. He sounded almost shrill, and that was surprising, somehow.
Yggingi seemed to think so. He eyed Andor curiously, then called to his men to lower their bows. “Come out!” he bellowed, more loudly than seemed necessary.
And a man stepped from behind a tree right in front of them. How he had come so close without her seeing, Inos could not guess, but there he was – a slim young man in soiled leather garments, holding out empty hands to show his lack of weapons. He was panting.
“Inos!” he said.
Rap!
He had grown—taller and wider. His clothes were incredibly filthy and his face impossibly grimy, especially around the eyes. It seemed greasy, with the rain running down it in droplets, and it looked much thinner than she remembered, making his jaw look bigger than ever, his nose wider. He had a youth's thin moustache and patchy beard. He was bareheaded, his brown hair matted in slimy tangles. Ugly! But it was Rap.
She began to tremble, stupidly.
“He's no goblin, certainly,” Yggingi said to no one in particular. “That's close enough! Who are you?”
“The princess knows me.”
“Do you?” the proconsul asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He's one of my father's stablehands. Rap? What are you doing here? And what's that on your face?”
Then she caught a whiff of an unbearable stench. “What's that smell?” Her stomach churned.
“That's goblin stink!” Yggingi said grimly. “Stand back from the ladies, you!”
Rap did not move, except to put his hands on his hips. He had obviously been running and he spoke in short bursts. “Sorry about the perfume. No bathtubs in the forest. I came to warn you that your father is dying, Inos. But I see that you already know,”
Had Rap also come all this way to warn her? She glanced up at Andor, who had his jaw clenched and was scowling. “Sir Andor told me.”
“Oh, it's Sir Andor, is it?” Rap frowned fiercely. “I have another warning for you, then.” He raised a hand and pointed. “Don't trust that man! He's a—”
“Rap!” she shouted. “What do you know of Sir Andor?”
“He sold me to the goblins, that's what I know about him.”
Sold him to . . . Again Inos caught a whiff of that terrible smell.
Andor raised his sword and took a step. She laid a hand on his arm to detain him. “Andor, do you know Rap?”
“This is not whoever you think it is, my darling. It's a forest demon. They can take many shapes. Don't trust a word it says. They are very evil.”
“Andor! Rap, how did you get here? Aunt Kade, it is Rap, isn't it?”
“I don't know, dear. I never met him.”
“What are you?” Yggingi demanded. “You're not imp and you're not goblin.”
“It's a demon!” Andor insisted. “Or a wraith!”
A wraith? Inos shuddered convulsively. Surely not?
“I'm a faun.” Rap was still watching Inos. “A jotunn-faun mongrel, and goblin by adoption. But not by choice—that was his doing.” And again he pointed at Andor.
Inos wondered why she could not just quietly faint, as ladies of quality were supposed to do in moments of stress. Rap had always been so dependable! Others might make up fantastic stories or play elaborate jokes, but Rap never had. And it certainly seemed to be Rap, an older version of the boy she had known—except for the moustache, and those barbaric tattoos.
“Rap,” she said, forcing her voice down from the squeaks it wanted to use, “what are those marks round your eyes?”
Rap gaped for a moment, raising his hand to his face as if he had forgotten the tattoos were there. “These?”
Andor stepped back with a laugh. He sheathed his sword. “I did meet him!” he said. “I didn't recognize him in that goblin disguise. I met him in Krasnegar. Tell her Highness how a goblin earns his tattoos, lad.”
“I didn't!” Rap shouted.
“Didn't what?” Inos asked.
“You tell her, Proconsul,” Andor said.
“No, you tell her.” Yggingi was scowling.
“He tortured a boy to death.”
And Inos said, “No!” just as Rap repeated, “I didn't!”
“He must have done,” Yggingi said. “It's their custom.”
Then Andor put his arm around Inos, and she was very grateful for it. “And he's the one who sold me the horses.”
“Sold you the horses?” she repeated idiotically.
He nodded, still staring at the apparition from the woods. “I asked some people where I could acquire horses, and I was directed to that boy. We met in a bar and he sold me two horses.”
Rap! They must have been her father's horses. There were no others in Krasnegar. Of course Andor would not have known that. Rap, selling the royal horses? In bars?
“Liar!” Rap shouted. “He's lying, Inos! We left Krasnegar together and he sold me to the goblins. He bought safe passage for himself by selling—”
“Rap! No! I won't listen to—”
“Inos, he's a sorcerer!”
She had rather liked Rap once, she remembered, when she was younger. Of course in those days she had known very little about men and almost nothing about gentlemen. Fortunately she knew better now, after Kinvale, and she could appreciate the way Andor was keeping his temper in spite of the insults being shouted by this filthy derelict. Rap had obviously reverted to some sort of savage state—his faun ancestry coming out, probably.
“If you were sold to the goblins, you're in remarkably good shape!” Yggingi said. “Spying for them, are you? Come forward here with your hands high.”
“No!” Rap said. “Inos, you know I wouldn't lie to you!”
Oh, Rap! Her heart lurched. Then Inos looked up at Andor again. He smiled sadly and shook his head. She saw how foolishly juvenile her momentary doubts must seem to him—and how mature he was not to lose his temper at the insults or at her silly wavering. She must not listen to any more nonsense, and that stench was making her feel nauseated. Inos lifted her chin disdainfully and turned, letting Andor lead her away.
“Inos!” Rap shrieked. “He's a mage, or a demon, or something—”
Yggingi waved his men forward. “Bring him in! Tie him up.”
Then all the horses reared and screamed in inexplicable panic. Hooves flailed. Men were hauled off their feet, or dragged through the mud. It seemed to be Inos who was the source of terror-plunging mounts fled from her in both directions along the road and even off into the undergrowth. Enormous animals bowled over whole groups of soldiers. The officers' roars were drowned in oaths and whinnyings, splashings and thuds. Amid this instant chaos, she found herself, with Kade and Andor, isolated on the trail as the whole cohort fought to regain control of its frenzied livestock. The goblin apparition had vanished away into drippy shadow under the ancient trees.
Andor hurried Inos back to the coach. “Take cover in here!” he shouted over the racket. “This may be an ambush.” Then he thrust her inside and Aunt Kade, as well, while the troopers were struggling to restore order to their mounts. Inos was glad to obey.
With the carriage still canted at an absurd angle, she found herself being half crushed by Aunt Kade, and yet she did not mind. The human contact was very comforting.
“It was Rap,” she whispered, fighting tears and a heart as panic-stricken as the horses.
“Yes, dear.”
“But selling Father's horses? In bars?”
“If he really did steal two of the palace horses,” Kade said, “then he would have been found out, wouldn't he?”
; “Of course!” There were not so many horses in the stables that two could go missing undetected, and not so many hands that the thief could long remain unknown. Stupid Rap! “So he was found out and ran away!”
“And he must have taken refuge with the goblins,” her aunt agreed. “I don't know why he followed you south, dear. Perhaps he hoped to spin you some fantastic story . . .”
“Perhaps. That must be it.” Young men did tend to behave oddly at that age, she knew. That was when the bad apples showed up—she had heard plenty of stories at Kinvale and been given plenty warnings. Oh, Rap! “It wasn't a wraith, was it?”
When a soul came before the Gods for weighing, the Evil was canceled out by the Good, and the balance went to join the Good, and live evermore as part of the Good. But in bad souls the residue was evil, and the Evil might reject it, to leave it wandering as a wraith, haunting the night.
Kade started. “Oh, I think it—he—was alive.”
“And Rap wasn't evil!” Yet if he'd descended to selling horses in bars, what else might he had done before he died? Inos shivered.
“I don't think it was a wraith,” Kade said firmly. “I don't think wraiths would smell that bad!”
Inos managed to chuckle and nod. She was relieved to find that she agreed. It had been Rap. Rap alive.
She glanced around. The soldiers were recovering and restoring order, but there was no one close to the coach. Not even Andor . . . “Aunt, how did Yggingi know about Father? Why was he waiting at Kinvale when Andor arrived? This must have been planned!”
Kade flinched. “It was my fault, my dear.”
“Yours?”
“Yes. I let slip to Ekka that I was worried about your father's health. Chancellor Yaltauri was supposed to send me bulletins. He didn't.”
“Then Ekka's behind this?” Now Inos began to understand.
“I fear so.”
“So when—if—Father dies . . .”
“The proconsul will proclaim the duke as king, I think. I have been very foolish, darling. I did not see—”
Inos pecked a kiss on her cheek. “But it was not Andor?'.”
“No! I don't think so.”
“I trust Andor!” Inos said firmly. “Don't you?”
“I . . .” Just for an instant Kade hesitated, and then she smiled. “You're asking me to choose between him and that very smelly boy?”
Inos laughed and hugged her. Invisible birds burst into glorious inaudible symphonies of song—no one had betrayed her except the odious dowager duchess! Kade had been foolish, but not evil. Andor was innocent—Inos would doubt him no more. Seeing Rap again beside him had somehow shown her how vastly inferior any other man must be. Andor, oh, Andor!
5
A wolf, a goblin, and a faun who had farsight—there had never been any danger that the troopers would find them.
After an hour or so, the expedition moved off along the mountain trail. Inos and her aunt were riding, and the coach had been left where it was. Inos's mount was staying very close to Andor's, but Rap could not tell at that distance whether or not it was secured there by a tether. He could not have summoned it anyway, because he did not know which horse it was. Andor might not know that; but, in any case, Rap had already discarded that plan as being too dangerous for Inos. It would also bring the whole imp army after him, and obviously his fantastic story was not going to be believed.
In thick woods on the hill above the road, he used his farsight to watch them all go. He was soaking wet and miserable, hunched on the ground, savagely digging holes in the moss with a stick—jab . . . jab . . . Fleabag was sleeping, but he alone of the three of them heard the hooves through the muffling timber. He lifted his head to listen. Little Chicken was sitting on a fallen log, elbows on knees, waiting as patiently as the trees themselves.
Jab . . . jab . . .
Rain was dribbling down Rap's neck, and he perversely left his hood down and let it. Almost he wished that the meeting had not happened, that he had missed Inos and gone on to lose himself in the Impire. But unlikely things happened to those who knew words of power—so Andor had taught him. And there was only this one pass through the mountains.
Spurned! Jab!
Rejected, even by Inos!
Jab!
But Andor had a word of power and he would be believed over anyone else. Trust was his talent.
Jab! The stick broke.
Rap rose to his feet.
“Now we do what?” Little Chicken asked.
Rap sighed. “You still my trash, goblin?”
This show of caution seemed to amuse the burly young woodsman. He nodded.
Despairingly Rap thought of the hard weeks ahead.
“Now we run back,” he said, “back to Krasnegar.”
Damsel met:
Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since
Of faery damsels met in forest wide
By knights of Logres, or of Lyones,
Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore.
Milton, Paradise Regained
EIGHT
Casement high
1
Even to Krasnegar, spring came eventually. The hills were white and uninhabited yet, and the causeway still poulticed with crumpled ice floes and drifts, but brave men had trodden a footpath across it already, and a few more weeks would see the horses and cattle staggering back to the mainland.
There was no moon. Pale auroras danced in the sky like giant ghosts as Rap and Little Chicken emerged from one of the shore cottages, yawning and shivering in the dregs of sleep. A man could barely see his feet in that uncertain glimmer.
Rap took a few deep breaths of the frigid air, welcoming the familiar salty tang of the sea and the distant crackling of the tide wrestling ice. Then he turned to his companion. He had made this offer at the end of the forest, but he would try once more.
“I release you, Little Chicken. You have paid any debt you owe me many times over. Go back to your people.”
“I am your trash,” said the stubborn whisper from the darkness. “I look after you.”
“You can't help me here! I am in grave danger, but you cannot help, and you will be in danger, also. Go, with my gratitude.”
“I look after you. Later I kill you.”
So the Gods had still not given the signal. Rap shrugged unseen. “You may have to be quick, if you want to be the first. Come on, then.”
He began to run. When they reached the causeway itself, though, he was forced down to a walk, steering entirely with his farsight, and at times Little Chicken had to hold his shoulder to stay with him in a heavy, dense dark-like blankets. They were halfway across before Rap remembered bears. This was a bad time for them, but now he had so much trust in his farsight that he was certain none lurked in the vicinity.
It had been a bad winter. Below the ice there had been much damage to the stonework, although no one else could have known.
Somewhere behind them in the moors, the imp army was camped. Rap had stayed a couple of days ahead of it all the way, and the journey had been far, far worse than his trip south. While the cold had been less severe, the snow had been deeper and stickier, the winds stronger. Worse yet, Rap and Little Chicken had traveled as heralds of disaster, croaking ravens prophesying war. The imps had burned every goblin village within reach of the road. Had the warnings not flown ahead of them, they would undoubtedly have massacred the inhabitants, also. The people of the first village had died, all of them, from patriarch to newborn. Inos' journey back to her homeland had been marked by pillars of smoke, by women and children fleeing out into the wasteland, by precious foodstocks pillaged, by unprovoked and unnecessary rampage. The leader of the imps, the one with the fancy helmet, was certainly an utter madman. What he sought to gain, Rap could not guess, nor why Inos had allowed it. He could only assume that she had been powerless to stop the destruction.
The wagon road to Pondague had been sealed behind her, for in future the goblins would brook no travel on it. No force less than a
full army could traverse the taiga now. No more would trains amble north in summer with supplies. Krasnegar would suffer and its way of life become harder even than before. Madness!
Only once had Rap and Little Chicken departed from the trail. They had made a wide detour around Raven Totem, sending the words of warning by goblin messengers, running double shifts to catch the army again on the far side.
And now he was home. Rap emerged from the travail of the causeway onto the dock road, dark and deserted, swept clean by the wind. He swung up the bar on the gate. Those gates would stop white bears, but not impish legionaries. Once inside he began to trot again, out of old habit, with Little Chicken and Fleabag at his heels. Dawn would come in an hour or so. Soon the town would be stirring. He headed for the nearest stairway.
What did the imp army want of Krasnegar? Did it come to put Inos on her throne and defend her against the jotnar, or did it come to loot? Would it treat the town as it had treated the goblin villages? Certainly it could not be stopped short of the castle itself, and there would not be enough food in the castle to withstand a siege. Indeed, a former factor's clerk could guess that there would not be even enough food in the city for an additional two thousand hungry men. The crops and the grain ships were months away yet, the wagon road impassable.
Rap scanned each corner and branching carefully. In Krasnegar the law said that horse thieves were to be hanged.
He had planned to bring the horses back. He had expected to return with a grateful Inos, heir presumptive or already queen. Most of all, he had been mesmerized by Andor.
Andor! Rap could not think of Andor without baring his teeth. What that sorcerer had done to Rap was bad enough, but he had also used his power on Inos, and that was unforgivable. She would have been as helpless to resist Andor as Fleabag was to refuse Rap himself.
An early riser emerged from a doorway two corners ahead. Rap took cover in a doorway and waited, puffing gently, hearing Little Chicken doing the same beside him, and Fleabag's noisy pant.
“You run good, forest boy,” Rap whispered. Little Chicken grunted quietly, but angrily. Rap smiled into the darkness. Goblins were not accustomed to stairs.