by Dave Duncan
Rap flushed. “Yes, I do. Andor!”
“You were still at least an accomplice!”
“He used occult power on me!”
Foronod grunted, sounding skeptical. The gangling jotunn could look down on Rap and was doing so now. There were very few men in Krasnegar who could withstand the factor's authority when he was in that mood, but Rap thrust out his jaw and scowled around the circle of other men, who were all listening intently.
“And on you!” he shouted. “You were going to accept him as king!”
He had struck a nerve there, the factor flinched. “In any case you now must answer a murder charge—you cannot blame Andor for that.” He paused, suspicious. “How did you get up there, anyway? Either you've got a lot more occult power than you ever admitted, or you had accomplices.”
“Accomplices?”' Rap could look extraordinarily stupid when he wanted to. He turned his idiot expression on Inos. “Your Majesty? Do I answer this man's questions?”
Foronod spun on his heel. He was already at the door before Inos had scrambled to her feet.
“Factor! We did not hear your request for permission to withdraw.” Was that her, really her?
The tall man swung around and returned her glare. “Good night, miss!” He bowed perfunctorily.
“That is not sufficient!” But she was too shrill, and she had almost stamped her foot.
Foronod was not intimidated by juvenile females. “It will have to do for now, miss. I shall inform the soldiers that their leader is dead. I expect they will wish to take suitable action.”
Rap! He had tried to help her, and Inos would have to defend him somehow. She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak calmly. “You will do no such thing!”
Foronod's bony face was well suited for registering disdain. He paused with the door already open. “Indeed? And what do I say when I am asked where the proconsul is?”
Now there was a very good question! Inos looked at Rap, who shrugged; at Mother Unonini, who frowned; even at the goblin, who scratched his disgustingly bare chest and grinned all over his ugly, bristled face.
Aunt Kade sighed resignedly. “Tell them he is in conference in the queen's bedroom and must not be disturbed.”
That suggestion was greeted with shock and silent outrage.
“What is this tale of Thane Kalkor?” Inos inquired.
The factor smiled, thin-lipped. “He has been informed of the situation. We expect him as soon as the pack ice clears the shore. How many men he is bringing I am not sure, but I expect they will suffice. A ratio of one jotunn to four imps is usually ample.”
She noted the scowls on the faces of the imps present, a few grins from the other jotnar. But the door was still open and she must buy time to think before they all started pouring down the stairs and everything got out of hand.
Not that things were very well in hand at the moment.
“Kalkor is coming at your invitation?”
“An invitation of which I was one signatory, miss. Jotnar will not accept rule by a woman.”
Half the population of Krasnegar were jotnar.
“That may be the law in Nordland, but there is no such law here. Chancellor Yaltauri, how do you feel about this treason?”
“You needn't appeal to him,” Foronod said. “Months ago he sent off a letter to the imperor, petitioning for a protectorate status.”
Inos wavered on the edge of despair. What use now was Kinvale? What use dancing and elocution and scales on the spinnet? What use embroidery and sketching? Why had her father not taught her some statecraft while there was still time —given her fencing lessons, even, or explained politics and what made men act like beasts?
Somehow she managed to step back from the abyss. “Very well!” she said. “You may withdraw, but you will not mention the proconsul unless you are asked. In that case you may follow my aunt's recommendation, and I shall worry later about my reputation. All those of you willing to accept me as your rightful queen please remain behind. The rest of you may leave.”
Then she stood there and watched her hopes dribble out the door, one by one, defiant or apologetic or shamefaced. The last one to go was Mother Unonini, who stood by the door and hesitated.
“I offer you a blessing, child.”
“If you were a loyal friend you would not be leaving,” Inos replied waspishly. “If you are leaving I don't want it.”
The door thunked closed.
Inos stalked across in a most unregal fashion and slammed the bolt. Then she turned to survey the wreckage of the room, chairs awry or shattered, one rug bejeweled with smashed china and a sea of tea stain, another a charred mess stinking of burned oil, another bearing a prostrate giant in shredded green garments, glaring death wishes at her. The fire had gone out and many of the candles, also. The stench of burning hung in the shadows, and the place looked like the aftermath of a riotous party. She wondered what the time was—it felt like the small hours of tomorrow.
Kade and a goblin . . . and Rap.
“I seem to have inherited a very small kingdom,” she said bitterly.
Still standing guard over the prisoner, looking absurd in his tattoos, Rap sent her a very faint, wry little smile. “Then I can be master-of-horse and sergeant-at-arms both?”
“Oh, Rap!” He thought he had been helpful, and certainly he had meant well, but he had cost her any chance she might have had of winning her kingdom. By exposing Andor he had made her seem a fool and had also made the members of the council feel duped. They all resented that and they were blaming her. Obviously in their eyes she was not fit to be a queen. Without their support she had nothing. Had Rap not intervened, she would have been married to Andor by now and in a better position to face down the terrible Kalkor.
Or perhaps she would have been Yggingi's prisoner.
Or wedded to that horrid Darad ogre, also? She shuddered.
So Rap had helped and apparently he was the only one loyal to her. At the same time as she wanted to scream at him, she also wanted to run and hug him.
And for a moment their eyes passed that message. But it would not be fair. They were not children anymore. Don't smile too much at the servants, her aunt had taught her. She managed to walk over to him calmly, and she took his hands in hers. Big, strong hands. Man's hands. “Thank you, Rap! I am sorry I ever doubted you. I was horrid to you in the forest—”
“It was Andor did that! He made me steal horses, too!”
“Well, I'm very grateful for all your help and your loyalty.”
For a moment he just stood there, staring dumbly at her, and she actually saw the shiny gems of perspiration appear on his forehead. Then he blushed scarlet and looked down at his feet.
“My duty, Majesty.”
So the danger was past. Oh, poor Rap!
“The first thing we have to do is to think how to get you out of here,” she said. “You hid in the top chamber, I suppose? Rap, I do so want to hear how you worked all these miracles! But first we must get you to a safe place.”
“There isn't one,” he said somberly. “That bolt won't stop a couple of thousand imps, and they'll be coming soon. I'd better just turn us in, me and Little Chicken. If they put off the execution until the jotnar get here, then Kalkor may pardon us. Maybe.”
Inos clenched her fists. “There has to be a better idea than that! Aunt Kade?”
“I don't know, dear.” Her aunt was leaning back on the sofa, looking old and bedraggled and utterly weary. “I managed to ruin your reputation, but I think I agree with Master Rap—it won't hold for very long.”
“Rap, who is Little Chicken? A friend?”
“He's my slave.” Rap was turning pink again. “And he won't let me free him.”
Slave? Torture? “How did you . . . Why not, for Gods' sake?”
Rap had never been much of a man for smiles, but once in a while he had been known to indulge a sort of shy grin, and momentarily that showed now. Strangely she discovered that it was the most welcome thing sh
e had seen all day.
“Because he wants to kill me. It's quite a complicated story.”
“It must be!” But it would have to wait. Inos looked down at the prisoner, Darad. Had she been going to marry this? She shuddered again. “And this horror is Andor?”
“I don't know. He changes into Andor, or Andor into him. And I think they're Sagorn and Jalon the minstrel, too.”
“Sagorn?” she said. “That must be what Father meant! He said I could trust Sagorn, but not the others, except maybe Thinal. Who's Thinal?”
Rap looked surprised. “No idea. But we can try to call up Sagorn, if you think we can trust him. I'm frightened of this monster getting loose.”
“How can you do that?”
“Let's find out.” Rap dropped on one knee and said politely to Darad, “Please will you turn into Doctor Sagorn?”
The absurdity of the request made Inos want to giggle, and she must not start down that slippery slope. The giant's ruined face twisted in anger. He growled an obscenity and strained against his bonds and the goblin's weight. He was obviously in pain, sweat mingling with the blood on his forehead.
Rap smirked meanly at him. “I shall let Little Chicken try to persuade you, then. That would be fair, wouldn't it? After all, you introduced us.”
Little Chicken, still sitting on the man's chest, started to grin again, obviously understanding at least some of the talk.
“You wouldn't!” Darad growled from the floor.
“I would!” Rap said.
Little Chicken was certainly following the conversation. With no further ado, he cold-bloodedly poked a finger in Darad's eye.
He howled. “Tell him to get off, then!”
Rap motioned for the goblin to rise. He stood up, and the man on the floor was Sagorn.
Little Chicken hissed loudly and jumped back.
Rap said, “Gods! That's quite a trick, isn't it?”
Again Inos remembered the ladies in the romances who went mad with grief; she wondered how many of them could have had this much fun first.
“Doctor Sagorn!” Aunt Kade beamed, and Inos half expected her to add, How nice that you can join us.
The old man smiled up at them bitterly. “If you trust me, then you won't mind if I remove these bonds?” Despite his undignified position, his sparse white hair was tidy, and he seemed calm and composed. He slipped his wrists free easily, for the tethers had been fitted to Darad's mightier limbs.
Rap cut his ankles free, also, and then helped him to rise. “Let's see if we can find something better for you to wear, sir.”
Darad's huge body had ripped Andor's garments open, and the shreds were barely decent on Sagorn. They were also soaked in tea and blood. Rap turned to Little Chicken and spoke in goblin. The reply was brief.
“What did he say?” Inos asked.
Rap sighed. “He told me to get it myself. He has very exact ideas of a slave's duties.”
So Rap ran upstairs and came down with a brown woolen robe. Fleabag, now released, indulged himself in a tour of the room, sniffing vigorously and cleaning up the remains of the food.
The lanky old man stepped into the stairwell for a moment and returned wearing the gown, his dignity restored. He bowed to Aunt Kade and then to Inos. She remembered how he had terrified her at their first meeting, but the glittery eyes and eagle nose held no threat for her now, although she had just witnessed a very obvious sorcery. She wondered if that was because she was older, or whether she was just numb from the daylong battering.
“My sympathies, ma'am,” he said. “Your father was a good friend to me in years past, and I grieve his sad end. I did everything within my skill.”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Sagorn made himself comfortable on a chair next to Kade's sofa and everyone else sat down, also, with Little Chicken cross-legged on the floor, scowling deeply as he struggled to follow the impish tongue.
“You will want an explanation, I suppose?” the old man asked.
“Please,” Inos said. “That was an unconventional entrance.”
He smiled his thin-lipped grimace at her for a moment. “You are no longer the young lady who panicked at the mention of yellow dragons. Kinvale has done wonders for you. Can Andor claim some of the credit, I wonder?”
He was seeking to dominate her. “The explanation, please?”
“Very well.” He turned to Rap. “Your guess was remarkably close, young man. There are five of us—myself, Andor, Jalon, Darad, and Thinal, whom you have not met. Many, many years ago, we together gave cause for annoyance to a powerful sorcerer. He placed a spell on us, a curse. Only one of us can exist at a time. That is the whole of the matter.”
“But you are different persons?” Rap had always frowned ferociously when thinking hard.
“Quite different. Andor and Thinal were brothers, the rest of us merely friends. We have never met since that terrible evening long ago. We share a single existence and we also share the same memories. How did you escape from the goblins, by the way?”
Rap did not answer that. “A very convenient curse! You appear and disappear at will—”
“No! A terrible curse!” Sagorn glared. “We have been seeking release from it for longer than you would believe. Take Darad, for example. Would you like to be burdened with that man's memories? Murder and rape? He is a mad dog, crueler than a goblin. And we do not come and go at will, only when called. None of the rest of us likes to call Darad, so it may be years before he exists again—but when he does appear, he will still have a burned back and a cracked head and a sore eye and a ripped arm. I hope none of you is within his reach at that moment.”
“And of course he will not be bound?”
“Not unless whoever calls him is bound.”
They all thought about that for a moment.
“Father said I could trust you,” Inos said, “or sometimes Thinal. Who is Thinal?”
“Thinal? He was our leader.” The old man stretched his bloodless lips in a smile. “Yes, he is trustworthy after a fashion, as long as you have nothing precious around—like a ruby brooch, for example.”
“He stole my brooch?”
“He can climb a blank wall like a fly. He also lifted the hostler's keys off his belt for Andor. He will oblige in such matters, but he will also steal for sport. As well as being light-fingered, he has a peculiar taste in practical jokes, but he does have a personal rule that he will always call back the one who called him, and we trust him in that sense. I can call any of the others at any time, but I have no control over what that one may do then, or whom he will call next.”
“I find this idea rather confusing, Doctor.” Aunt Kade could always be relied on for a massive understatement when needed. “Tell us how you came and went. My brother sent for you last summer?”
He spoke more respectfully to her, gazing blandly across the debris and ruin. “He did, ma'am, and it was Jalon who received the message. He decided to answer the call and caught a ship for Krasnegar. That was a remarkable success for Jalon—in the past he has been known to take the wrong boat because he thought it had a prettier name. But he managed to reach Krasnegar, went to the king, and called me.”
“But I don't see how you knew about my dragon silk,” Inos complained.
“Jalon saw it at the gate. I told you, we share memories.” The old man waited a moment, as if she were a slow child, then addressed himself again to Kade. “As soon as I examined Holindarn, I saw that he was not likely to live long. I think he had already guessed that. I needed medicines, so Jalon had to go south again. I am old, you see, and the others are growing concerned about me, so they do the traveling. Jalon decided it would be more romantic to go overland.”
“And that was where I got involved,” Rap said, remembering the picnic in the hills.
Sagorn nodded. “You revealed occult powers to Jalon, and so to all of us. I told you that we have been trying to escape from our curse. We had two ways to try—either we could persuade an
other sorcerer to lift the spell, or we could seek to learn enough words of power to do it ourselves. I have spent my life in studies to that end, striving to know more of those elusive words.” He smiled his thin, cynical smile. “I was the youngest, once. I was ten. Darad was twelve, I think.”
“But . . .”
He shrugged. “But I was smart, and Darad was already big, so Thinal let us join his gang. We broke into houses—even then, he was a skilled cat burglar—until we happened to choose the house of a sorcerer. That was not a wise thing to do! I have not seen them since.” He paused, seeming lost in memory for a moment. “Always one of us is, four are not. To live is to age, of course . . . I have spent so many years in libraries and archives that now I am by far the oldest. Darad almost never gets into trouble he can't handle, so he rarely has to call for help. He is starting to feel his years, too. Jalon is easily bored, so he soon calls someone else—usually Andor, for some reason. Thinal . . . Thinal never stays for long. He has hardly changed at all.”
“But you have occult powers of your own,” Inos said. “Did the sorcerer give you those?”
He laughed scornfully. “If you had ever met a sorcerer, you would not ask! No. I doubt that you wish to hear that tale.”
“Please do go on, Doctor,” Aunt Kade said brightly. “This is a most interesting narrative.”
He flashed her a calculating glance. “Very well, your Highness. In Fal Dornin I found a woman of middle years who knew a word of power—a single word. I called Andor.”
“And he charmed it out of her?” Inos asked acidly.
Sagorn smiled his sinister smile, “Seduced it out of her. Of course it affected each of us in turn. I became a better scholar, Jalon a finer singer, and Darad a more deadly fighter. The next time he existed, he went back to Fal Dornin, sought out the woman, and strangled her.”
Inos shuddered. “No! Why?”
“God of Fools!” Rap jumped up and rushed to the door. He pulled the bolt and went racing off down the stairs. Fleabag loped in pursuit.
“Rap!” Inos yelled, too late. Sagorn smiled grimly. “He has gone to bolt the lower doors, I imagine. Master Rap has farsight, you know.”