by Dave Duncan
The audience muttered again. The bishop spluttered and for a moment seemed about to argue. Then he changed his mind. “Are there any here among you present who know cause why this man and this woman should not be united in sacred matrimony?” Mercifully he did not pause for answers, “Then do you, er . . .”
“Andor.”
“Andor, take this . .”
His voice trailed off. His gaze went past Inos. The door creaked, and she swung around in terror.
Slowly it swung open.
In came . . .
Impossible!
That was the second worst shock of that terrible day.
He bowed stiffly in her direction, across the whole width of the room. He swallowed, hesitated. “Sorry about your father, Inos—your Majesty,” he said hoarsely. “Very sorry.”
He was holding Yggingi's sword of office.
3
Foronod said, “The horse thief!” and it was certainly Rap.
He was no longer the filthy goblin of the forest. He was shaved and clean. His tangle of brown hair might have been cut with a saw, but it was as tidy as it could ever be. He wore an ancient, ill-fitting brown doublet and very patched gray wool hose. Only the sword he was holding and the ludicrous raccoon tattoos around his eyes marked him as anything other than some commonplace flunky in the quaintly rustic palace of Krasnegar. But he did have a nervous, rather sick expression on his very plain face.
And he did have the proconsul's sword.
Inos felt supernatural fingers stroking her scalp—a wraith? Why would Rap's ghost haunt her, of all people?
Everyone else in the room seemed to have been turned to stone.
“Where is Proconsul Yggingi?” Foronod demanded.
Rap glanced down at the inexplicable sword. “Was that his name?” He coughed, as if feeling nauseated. “He's dead.”
No, he was no ghost. Inos gasped with relief. It was Rap.
A mutter of shock was followed by a flickering of eyes as everyone tried to work out what his news meant—two thousand Imperial soldiers in town and their leader murdered?
“Rap!” Inos said. “You didn't!”
He shook his head angrily. “But I helped!”
And another youth stepped through the door behind Rap, a young goblin, shorter and heavyset, with dark khaki skin and short black hair, big ears and a long nose. He wore boots, hose, and pants, but from the waist up he was bare, and the company hissed in disgust at this vulgarity.
He grinned widely, showing long white teeth. He held up a stone dagger—proudly, like a child bragging. Hand and blade glistened with fresh blood.
“This is Little Chicken of Raven Totem,” Rap said. “He just avenged that village your proconsul slaughtered.”
“I thought goblins preferred their victims tied up,” Andor remarked coldly.
Rap seemed to notice Andor for the first time, and his gaze slid down to where Andor and Inos were holding hands, and back again. “This one made an exception. And I don't blame him.”
Foronod moved to the downstairs door.
“Stop!” Rap shouted, lifting his sword slightly.
Inos glanced around the room. Only Andor had a weapon. The imps had disarmed the city.
The factor did stop. He turned to glare at Rap, who blushed.
“Sir . . . Sir, I guided your wagons for you once, didn't I? And that messed up my life. I need your help now . . . Sir?”
Foronod's blue eyes were chips of polar ice. “A horse thief? A murderer?”
“Sir!” Rap hesitated. “Sir, when you heard I was the one who'd stolen the horses . . . were you at all surprised?”
The ice-blue eyes stared hard at him for a long minute. “Maybe I was at that.”
“Then grant me a chance to explain,” Rap pleaded. “It must be done now. There is another horse thief—and another murderer.” He pointed his sword at Andor. “Ask him what he did with Doctor Sagorn.”
Stunned silence. Then Andor squeezed Inos's hand and led her over to the table and a sofa, near Aunt Kade. “I think you had better stay here a moment, ladies,” he said coldly. “There may be some danger.”
“Danger?” Inos repeated. From Rap?
Then her missing wits seemed to fall back into place. “Rap!” she said. “How did you get here from Pondague?”
Rap looked surprised at the question, then a wisp of a grin crossed his face. “I ran.”
“Inos, my darling,” Andor said, “I don't think this is truly the boy you used to know.” He made a scoffing sound. “Ran? That's quite impossible, obviously. Chaplain, Holiness—I think we may have a demon here. It appeared to us in the mountains on our way here. I'm quite sure that no one could have passed us on the trail.”
Inos was looking at Rap's legs. He had grown taller since last summer and his face was thin, but she could not recall ever seeing hose filled more authoritatively than his were now. Ran?
Everyone else seemed to be leaving the situation to Andor. He strode forward a few steps. “Now, you—boy or demon or whatever you are—put the sword on that table. You'll be given a fair trial. Isn't that so, Chancellor?”
There was a silence, while nothing happened. Rap seemed to set his jaw more tightly, but he did not speak. The goblin grinned, eyes flickering around the faces.
Foronod was scowling. “Out with it! What are you implying about Doctor Sagorn?”
Rap answered without taking his eyes off Andor. “Only two of us left here, sir. You know that by the gear we took—saddles and bedrolls. I was never up in this part of the palace, but Andor was. What did he do with Doctor Sagorn?”
The factor looked at Andor, who said simply, “I know nothing about Doctor Sagorn. I left alone, on two horses I had purchased in good faith. As I told you, I had no idea that they were stolen. I got them from this boy, or whatever he is.”
Foronod considered and then said, “There will have to be a trial. The proconsul is apparently dead and the Imperial forces will demand that we hand over the perpetrators.”
Again he turned toward the door, and again Rap said, “Stop!” He looked to Inos and said stiffly, “Sorry, Inos. I have to do this. Factor, you owe me a little more time. Bolt the door please, so he can't escape. That man is a sorcerer.”
Inos had to shout over the sudden babble. “Rap, stop that! You insulted Sir Andor before and I won't have it! He's a fine gentleman and I am going to marry him.”
Rap shook his head, looking miserable. “I am truly sorry, your Majesty, truly sorry, but I have to. I wish it could wait until longer after . . . Well, it has to be done now.”
“What exactly has to be done?” Andor inquired softly.
Again Rap appealed to Foronod. “Sir, if I ever did anything for you, will you please bolt that door?”
The factor frowned, shrugged, and went over to the downstairs door, picking up a massive pewter candlestick on the way. He shot the bolt, turned, and stood with his back to the door, holding the candlestick like a club.
Inos caught a pained look from Andor and said, “Rap!” angrily.
“Please, everyone stand back,” Rap said, and there was a stampede away from Andor, leaving him in isolation. With studied unconcern he unclipped his cloak and tossed it gracefully over a chair. He was showing how a gentleman should treat such rudeness, and Inos felt proud of him.
“Inos—your Majesty, I mean.” Rap blushed at his error. “When that Andor is in danger, he turns into something else. It's the only way I know to show him up. I'm sorry.”
Inos gasped at such insanity and the audience muttered. She felt very sad. “Oh, Rap! What happened to the old Rap I used to know? He was a sane, solid boy, not given to mad suspicions and delusions. I depended on that Rap! I . . . I liked him.”
Rap turned very pale. He licked white lips and said, “Sorry, Inos,” so quietly she could hardly hear him.
The calmest person in the room was Andor.
“Are you planning to challenge me to a duel, young man?”
“Sort of
,” Rap said.
“Just you, or your goblin friend as well?”
Rap shook his head. “Not Little Chicken.” He turned his head and snapped something in goblin dialect. Little Chicken shrugged and moved away. That put him closer to old Kondoral, who became alarmed and edged sideways, out of reach.
“Well, go ahead!” Andor said. “If you won't drop that sword I shall have to make you drop it, as I am the only one armed.”
“You know you're a much better swordsman than I am.”
Andor shrugged. “A reasonable assumption, but we shall see.”
Rap looked disgusted. “But you already know. You gave me lessons. Didn't you tell her Majesty that?”
Inos knew that Andor had felt confident of beating Yggingi, a professional soldier. “Darling,” she muttered, “please try not to hurt him any more than you must.”
Andor might not have heard that quiet appeal. His blade hissed out, flashing gold flame back at the sconces. “Last chance! Drop that weapon.”
Rap shook his head. “This is what you told me once, Andor—do you remember? No more wooden swords, you said. And something about earning the prizes or taking the punishment. So we play for real—showdown! Those are the rules. Ready?”
“Yes!” Andor started forward. A huge gray dog slunk in through the door at Rap's side, a dog as big as a wolf. It fixed yellow eyes on Andor and bristled menacingly. Inos heard herself cry out. She tried to move forward and Aunt Kade grabbed her wrist. The palace dogs had always followed Rap around . . .
Andor froze. Then he raised his left hand to his right shoulder, covering his neck with his arm.
Rap pointed, but the monster was already creeping forward toward Andor, who now began to back away, holding his sword stiffly in front of him.
Then his hip met the table and he could retreat no farther. As if that were a signal, the dog streaked across the room and flew for his throat like a silver arrow. Andor's sword stroke was hopelessly late, but his left arm was still high enough to catch the fangs. Man and beast fell back across the table amid a chorus of screams. Table toppled; china and silver and sword rattled down; the combatants rolled over and crashed to the floor. Aunt Kade released Inos, took one step, and expertly snatched the burner from below the tea urn as the urn itself toppled. Inos jumped aside hurriedly to escape a great explosion of tea—most of which seemed to head for Bishop Havyili—noting with relief that the castle would not burn down this time, either, and then both she and Kade backed off from the roaring, tangled scrimmage rolling toward their feet. Mother Unonini seemed to be screaming the loudest. The combatants writhed and thrashed. The wolf was growling, clothes ripping. Then Rap shouted, “Fleabag!”
The dog broke loose and backed off, snarling and showing teeth.
The man on the floor was not Andor.
More screaming.
The romances told of unfortunate women who went mad with grief. Inos wondered now if this was how such insanity felt, for surely what she saw could not all be really happening?
He was huge. Andor's elegant green doublet and hose had split in places and been ripped in others, revealing skin and a pelt of yellow hair. His left arm was dribbling blood, his chest was ripped and bleeding, also, but he was already sitting up, seeming unaware of his injuries.
“This is Darad!” Rap said sadly.
He was much bigger than Andor, and at least twenty years older. A jotunn, not an imp. He glared around the room with the ugliest, most battered face imaginable. Inos shrank back until a chair blocked her. Everyone else seemed to be pressed against the wall, staring wide-eyed.
Then the giant snatched up the sword and bounced to his feet.
Foronod turned to unbolt the downstairs door.
“Stop that!” the giant roared, and the factor froze.
Darad looked to Rap. “Call off your pet, or I kill it.”
Rap snapped his fingers and the great dog withdrew unwillingly, teeth bare, yellow eyes fixed on its former opponent.
Rap said, “Fleabag!” very loudly. With obvious reluctance, the dog slunk to his side. “Inos, I'm sorry about this. I had to warn you.”
She found her voice. “Who are you? Where is Andor?”
The mangled face looked at her—cruel blue eyes, cruel. “Come here, Princess.”
“No!” She tried to edge around the chair, and the monster moved like a striking snake, taking two huge strides, catching her arm, twisting her round and crushing her against him, her face in his chest, all in one blur of motion.
He chuckled gutturally. “Now we have a little security! Any trouble and the girl dies.”
His strength was unbelievable—that one huge arm bound her immovably against a chest like a cliff. The icy touch against the back of her neck must be his sword. Andor! Andor! There was none of the faint odor of rosewater that she had noticed on Andor. This man stank of sweat, and faintly of goblin.
Then she made the mistake of trying to struggle—to bite and kick. Instantly the ogre twisted her arm up her back and squeezed all the air out of her, as if to show how easily he could snap her if he wished. Her ribs would collapse, her spine crack, she could not cry out, there was blackness and a roaring in her head, agony. Then suddenly he eased off, and she could suck in blessed air and her brain no longer seemed about to burst.
“Don't try that again!” he muttered.
No—Inos gasped, feeling her heart yammering like a mad bird inside her head, and also hearing the slower, level thump of the man's. He did not seem very worried by his predicament.
“Now—the dog behind the door!” he demanded.
Stupid Rap! Rap had called up this Darad-monster in place of Andor, but what could he possibly do to get rid of it? The reverse transformation would not be so easy.
And Rap was evidently trying to reason. She could not see, but she heard his voice, harsh and stubborn. “What are you going to do, Darad? You can't escape from here. Let her go. Give up!”
She felt a low growl rising inside the man before any sound came out. “The dog!” Cold steel touched the back of her neck again.
The door clicked as Rap obeyed. She felt the giant relax slightly. “Now drop the sword!”
With her head so awkwardly twisted, all Inos could see was Aunt Kade's horrified face, screwed up in terror. What was Rap doing?
“Drop it!” roared the giant.
She heard a thump that might be a sword falling. What were all the men doing? But they must be all hopelessly frozen. Again she felt that cold touch of steel at the nape of her neck.
“Now make your friend throw down his dagger!”
There was a pause, and she supposed Rap was obeying that order, also. She heard the goblin argue, then stop.
“That's much better!” the giant said. He spoke poorly and was probably slow-witted, although he could move faster than anyone she had ever seen. Blood from his arm was soaking through her doublet—she could feel it, like hot soup. “Away from the door, all of you!”
“You can't escape!” That was Foronod.
“Can't I? Then the girl dies first.”
“No, you can't!” Rap again. “Call Sagorn. He's better at thinking, isn't he?”
But the men must have cleared the doorway, because Darad began to edge around the room, half carrying, half dragging Inos, keeping his sword arm toward the men.
She saw Aunt Kade and Mother Unonini, side by side, eyes wide with horror, mouths open. Darad went right by them, no doubt assuming that women were harmless.
But Kade was still holding the burner from the tea urn, and as soon as Inos was safely shielded by the giant's body, she removed the cover, took two fast steps forward, and threw burning oil all over his back.
4
Darad's agonized scream exploded against Inos's eardrums. She was hurled aside and fell headlong to the rug, hearing the sword clatter on floorboards nearby. She caught a glimpse of Rap and the goblin leaping forward as Rap seized a chair and swung it two-handed, shattering it on the giant's head. Even th
en, Darad seemed to throw himself down, rather than fall. He rolled over on his back to extinguish the flaming cloth, and Little Chicken landed on him with both feet. He jackknifed, throwing off the goblin, and had already started to rise when Rap disassembled more of Aunt Kade's rosewood furniture over his head. Then Rap reached for a third chair, but it was not needed.
Kade and the chaplain hurried to help Inos. The goblin bounced to his feet, lunged across the room, grabbed up Andor's discarded cloak, and was already ripping it into strips as he raced back to the prostrate jotunn. With astonishing speed, as if they had been practicing as a team, he and Rap bound the man's hands and feet, and suddenly the emergency was over.
Inos allowed Mother Unonini to lead her to the sofa, but then she pushed the chaplain away, not wanting anyone very close at the moment, for she was trembling, and queens must not tremble. She sat down and folded her hands in her lap and tried to concentrate on being regal. She was covered in cold tea and Darad's blood, of course, which did not help.
The older men were gathered around Kade, congratulating her on her quick-wittedness. Kade was preening, enjoying it. Not one of those men had done a damned thing of any use that Inos had seen, except stamp out a smoldering rug. It had all been Kade and Rap and Little Chicken.
The monster lay on the floor, tightly bound and reeking of burned hair. His back must be very painful, and his arm and head were still oozing blood, but he was staying silent, just glaring up furiously at the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged on his chest, leering triumphantly at him and playfully drawing little patterns in front of his face with the bloodstained dagger.
Rap was standing guard there, too, with the proconsul's sword in his hand. He was worried and seemed to be watching the goblin as much as the jotunn.
And now what was going to happen? Surely she could not take any more shocks this night? And she did not have Andor to lean on any more. Oh, Andor! She felt a great emptiness in her life—first Father, and then Andor . . .
Foronod stepped out of the group, accosting Rap. “You said you had an excuse for your horse thievery?”