Faery Lands Forlorn

by Dave Duncan

  "Nordland doesn't seem a very practical solution," she said.

  "Fighting cholera with typhoid? No. So where do you go?"

  She had expected answers, not questions, but she could see that he was clearing out the undergrowth. There might be nothing left when he had finished, of course.

  "Hub?" she suggested.

  Azak grunted again. "All roads lead to Hub! But the journey will take months. It will be very dangerous, a hard, long journey. You may finish up somewhere else, in much worse straits than you are now. You might yet wish you had settled for a green husband. They are green, aren't they?"

  "Sort of. I know it would be long and hard. Is it possible?"

  "The imperor will certainly marry you off to an imp in short order." He hadn't answered the question.

  "Any imp would be better than a goblin! Well, almost any imp."

  For a moment she thought a smile rippled Azak's ribbon of beard. He bent his head and began sifting the hot sand through his fingers. Seabirds cried; waves broke and tumbled. He seemed to have run out of questions.

  "I thought I would appeal to the wardens," she said. "Rasha used magic against the Imperial troops in Krasnegar, and that's a violation of the Protocol."

  "But East is the offended party, and East already knows about it. He doesn't need you to remind him of it. Or mention it to the others. He may prefer to keep them uninformed.''

  When she was about to speak, Azak added, "And she did it to rescue you. You will seem very ungrateful."

  Manners were unimportant in politics—he was taunting her. "She's cast spells on you! That's more meddling in politics."

  She saw his eyes flash in the shadow as he glanced briefly up at her. "But not your business."

  "If the Four are as split as Rasha says—''

  "You can trust nothing the bitch said, nor the warlock either. Historically the wardens squabble like cats in a sack, but there is no way we can know what the current rivalries and alliances are."

  The conversation was not proving very helpful. "So advise me! Is it possible for me to escape from Rasha?"

  "It is always possible to try. Even sorceresses must sleep. At least this one does." He did not look at Inos as he said that, just trailed sand through fingers twice the size of hers. She felt a stir of hope.

  "And you will aid me?"

  "Why should I? It would annoy the harlot, and I suffer enough at her hands already.''

  "Because I am the enemy of your enemy.''

  "You can't harm her. It's a pretty problem, but immaterial to me. Why should I risk further hostility from the slut? I see no advantage in aiding you."

  In that case, Inos saw no advantage in further polite conversation. What would move Azak? Not conscience. Honor? This was politics, not a parlor game, so nerve was what was needed. She didn't feel very brave, but she had begun to feel angry.

  "Further hostility?" she snapped. "How much hostility will you endure before you try to fight back? She's already gelded you, you say. What else do you want?"

  His teeth flashed like daggers at that, but she rushed ahead regardless.

  "So the Sultan of Arakkaran is gigolo for a dockside harlot? You called her that. She denies you your title—what new outrage will she think up next? You come when she whistles. You reward your women with smiles. How many sons are they bearing now, your Majesty? What will the other princes say when they stop bearing altogether, your Majesty? Or is that already obvious? You prance around on your fancy horses all day and whore for the sorceress all night. What sort of a sultan are you? What sort of a man, to endure such treatment without even trying to put an end to it? How can you—"

  Azak rose to his knees. She stopped then, aghast at what she had said, wondering if he'd have her flogged.

  Silence.

  No one in the kingdom could speak to him like that. She felt her palms wet. Every nerve screamed at her to say "Sorry!"

  She didn't.

  He looked down at her, his face in shadow; but when he spoke, his voice was unchanged. “If you can have your kingdom only by marrying a goblin, will you?"

  The same hypothetical question again—and obviously this time she must not seek to escape it.

  Answer no and she didn't care enough. Answer yes and she was a whore like him. She would never outwit this man. Her face was visible to him, awash in moonlight. She must speak the truth—what was the truth?

  "You told me a kingdom is not buildings or scenery. If I can help my people by marrying a goblin, then I will do it."

  "And if it helps your people for you to stay away forever?''

  The words froze in her mouth, but she spoke them. "Then I stay away forever."

  Azak reached down and hooked his fingers like claws in the silver sand. He stared at the backs of his hands. A wave fell. Another. Inos discovered she was holding her breath and couldn't any longer. Two more waves . . .

  "In very old treaties,'' Azak said, without looking up, "there was always an item called the 'Appeal Clause.' It shows up in any treaty the Impire ever made with anyone, including Arakkaran or its allies of the day. Until about the Twelfth Dynasty. After that it seems to have been dropped. Forgotten, or just found inconvenient. Or unnecessary, maybe. But it's never been revoked that I know of. In that clause, the Impire promises to maintain the Right of Appeal.''

  He paused, but she did not ask, knowing it would come. This was the sort of expert advice she had been hoping for.

  "Appeal by any state or ruler against illicit use of magic. You see, Emine's Protocol was supposedly designed to defend all peoples, all Pandemia. Not just the Impire. In theory, the Impire was going to do everyone a favor by suppressing the political use of magic. Even then, the Impire was the largest mundane power, so that was a very convenient altruism. But it did raise the question of whether the Four serve the Impire, or the Impire serves the Four. That's why for centuries the imperors have maintained that any ruler with a sorcery problem may appeal to the wardens. There isn't anyone else to appeal to, of course, since they've driven all lesser sorcerers into the bushes. Nowadays it may be nothing but a handy fiction; but if it still works, then you have an open-and-shut case."

  "I do?"

  "Rasha kidnapped a queen. That's meddling in politics."

  Of course! Brilliant! Inos clapped her hands and almost wished she could spot a very warm kiss on this big djinn. Quite the best-educated barbarian she had ever met!

  Except . . . "But of course we don't know what verdict they will come to," she said.

  "No. You have no guarantee at all. But it is a little like Zartha's ox, this morning." He sensed her incomprehension. "I don't give a turd for a peasant's ox. My gold bought respect."

  "You mean the Four don't care for Krasnegar . . ."

  "Arbitrary rule frightens people. Power tempered with justice is well loved." He shrugged. "It is a gamble, but I would much sooner trust the Four together, and in public, than any one of them alone, in private."

  Oh, he was a clever one, this sultan! Now that he had spelled it out, she understood the thinking. "Yes! Will you help me?"

  "I shall do better." He held out an arm. The green cotton was silver in the moonlight. "Touch me."

  "What?"

  "Gently, touch my sleeve. And be careful! Think of me as a hot stove."

  She tapped his arm cautiously with a fingertip.

  "A little harder," he said, and pulled the cloth taut.

  She tapped harder. Still nothing. She poked, and it was like poking a rock in there, and—ouch!

  She tucked her finger in her mouth and stared at him. There was a faint scorch mark on his sleeve, although he seemed to have felt nothing. She would have a blister. Gods! It hurt.

  "I was telling the truth.''

  "I never said—"

  "There is an old saying about the honesty of djinns. But you see you can trust me, at least in that way. You want to go to Hub. You have convinced me that I should go, also. I shall escort you, and we shall appeal to the Four together.
We shall both demand justice.''

  "You! What of your kingdom?"

  "My kingdom?'' he repeated harshly. "You said it yourself—the slut has gelded me. How long can a eunuch hold a kingdom in Zark?"

  She had won! "You are joking!"

  "I do not joke."

  Won! Won! Won! "And what did I say to persuade you?"

  He scrambled to his feet, a huge black shape among the wind-stroked dunes, dark against the moonlight. "That you would stay away if your duty required it. That hurt. Duties can usually be recognized by pain."

  "And your duty?"

  He laughed harshly. "To rescue my people from the rule of a woman, of course. Enjoy your swim now. I will send Zana."

  Slave and sultan:

  With me along some Strip of Herbage strown

  That just divides the desert from the sown,

  Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,

  And pity Sultan Mahmud on his throne.

  Fitzgerald, The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (§10, 1859)

  SIX

  Beset the road

  1

  A bath in warm surf was a new experience for Inos, but it soon impressed her as a facility much needed back home in Krasnegar, where the Winter Ocean stayed homicidal all year long. She had partied on beaches often enough in her youth, with friends—with Rap, especially—but the sea had been no more than something to look at. Just this once, she would admit that Zark held the advantage.

  Occupied with learning how not to drown or be skinned against the sand, she could not dwell on the prospect of the coming escape, or what Kade would say, or how Azak thought he could arrange that miracle. Under the pumpkin moon, she romped and rolled like a kitten, barely conscious of time passing. Suddenly Zana's tall blackness stood on the beach, waiting for her, and she was exhausted and almost numb with the pounding.

  "That was marvelous!'' Inos said, toweling her tingling skin. "I wish I could carry the Spring Sea around in a bag, for use when needed."

  Zana chuckled. "A large bag.''

  "Yes. But sea is much more fun to be in than on. I'm a rotten sailor." There were two ways from Arakkaran to the Impire—west to Qoble, or north to the Morning Sea and the Winnipango River. Which way would Azak choose? And Inos had let slip a careless remark in front of Zana—she must guard her tongue.

  "I am sure your Majesty is a very capable traveler, well able to withstand the rigors of a long journey."

  Inos had just wriggled into a clean robe. She sat down to wipe sand off her feet, and then Zana's odd comment registered. "Oh?"

  The tall woman knelt to fumble in the bag she had brought. "I have some paper here, ma'am. You need to write to your aunt—that is, if you wish her to accompany you."

  Drying ceased at the third toe. When in doubt, be stupid—that was one of Kade's rules, although she would never have admitted it.

  "What?" Inos wished faces were easier to read in moonlight; Zana was smiling, but no more was visible; the dusky, wrinkled complexion was an enigma under the smile.

  "You do wish your aunt to go with you to Hub? That was what I told the Big Man. He argued against it, but I said you would insist. Was I wrong?"

  "No . . . No, of course not. I couldn't abandon her." Kade was a good sailor, and she had always yearned to visit Hub. "But . . . tonight?"

  "Very soon. Cubslayer never wastes time."

  Cubslayer? Inos tried to imagine a much younger Zana with a little brother, a very much younger little brother—precocious, ferocious, ungovernable. She had never heard the name before, but it sounded so genuine and so obviously appropriate that it somehow banished the small suspicions starting to sprout in her mind.

  "I am the only man he trusts," Kar had boasted. He hadn't mentioned women. Zana was loyal. That was why she had been put in charge of the suspect royal visitors in the first place.

  And Inos knew Azak was a man of instant decisions; his deadly archery alone proved that. Escape from the palace might be tricky, and here they were leagues from it already, a chance not to be missed. He might just haul her onto a passing ship with him and be gone before the sorceress could find out what was happening. And Kade was still back home in the palace . . . it was astonishing that Azak would ever agree to include Kade.

  "What do I write?"

  "Just that she must trust the bearer."

  It was an added risk, obviously. Rasha might well be holding Kade as hostage for Inos's return and be keeping close watch on her, or might perhaps have cast some sort of spell to raise an alarm if she tried to leave, or . . . but how could one outwit a sorceress at all? Kade would be horrified, but she was much less inclined to put her trust in the sorceress since she had heard about the meeting with Olybino.

  Inos leaned the paper on a knee and wrote, hoping the words would be legible.

  "What now?" she asked, giving both feet a quick dust and then stuffing them into sandals.

  "We carry on as if nothing had changed," Zana said, gathering up clothes and towels.

  Hunch suddenly became certainty. "He was planning this all the time! That was why he wouldn't talk to me sooner?"

  Zana straightened, jiggling her bundle into a comfortable position under her arm. She turned an unreadable gaze on Inos. "A wise sultan always has a variety of plans in store, and rarely tells anyone what they are. I suggest we go to the meal now, ma'am, and talk of other things.''

  Full moon hung over the Spring Sea, so bright that even the distant snowy peaks of the Agonistes glimmered. From the bustling encampment drifted smoke and mouth-watering scents and much laughter. Half of the people there were women, many of them sounding very young, all paired off with the brown-clad family men.

  Neither Kar nor Azak was in sight. Inos, as befitted her rank, was served her meal in solitary magnificence on a rug under a canopy, although everyone else was sprawled on the sand at the edge of the firelight. Undoubtedly there were guards posted, but she could detect no activity more sinister than merrymaking and good humor.

  Gradually eating gave way to singing and the uncanny twanging of citherns. Palace women would rarely have the chance for an outing such as this and they were making the most of it. Inos could not help wondering how many of them had been gifts from the sultan, girls snatched from poverty in childhood to stock the royal seraglio. It was, of course, none of her business.

  Nor was it her business if the sultan chose to provide a holiday for his guards, and his disappearance was probably a tactful way of letting the company relax. He had unpredictable corners, did Azak. She was confident now that an escape from Arakkaran had been in his mind even before she spoke to him. Her arguments might have convinced him to put his plans into effect, or perhaps just to include her in them . . . or she might have had no influence on him at all. He might be already gone, and she was merely part of the camouflage. Time would tell.

  She decided to follow his example and disappear. She withdrew into her tent, dismissing Zana and the other women who expected to attend her. Anything that she could possibly require had been brought and was already set up, including a soft and commodious bed.

  She was exhausted by a wearying day, yet for a long while sleep evaded her. She lay and studied the centipede tracks on the tent roof, where moonlight peeked through needleholes. It was not the festive sounds from the shore that kept her awake, nor the distant boom of the surf beyond the headland. The flapping of a tent was a familiar lullaby.

  Strangely, she did not even feel like gloating over her victory. If she had indeed won an ally, it was because in the end Azak had proved to be very vulnerable. Rasha had shattered his mystique as a sultan when she flaunted him before Inos as her plaything. Rasha had erred there, and she had certainly erred earlier in placing that fiendish second curse on him. More than anything else, that intolerable burden must be driving him to seek out the Four, even if he would not admit it. So Rasha had overreached herself, but Inos had learned of the second curse through sheer folly, not by any great triumph of wits. She was happy to believe
that she had won, but she felt no need to celebrate yet.

  The greater battle lay ahead. Her new ally must prove his worth by organizing their escape, and obviously Azak usually lost matches with the sorceress. The whole mad idea might vanish like a soap bubble before the hard edges of reality. Inos did not dwell much on that, either.

  From time to time she would hear some particularly rousing chorus from the fireside, or an especially loud peal of laughter, but those disturbances were too filled with joy to be annoying, and in a way they were even reassuring. If what she had been told was true, then at least some of those women had come from the same poverty that had so shocked her that day. There could be happiness in Arakkaran, for some.

  No, it was the faces of children that haunted her tent. She kept remembering the shameful poverty of the villages she had seen that day, and contrasting it with the luxury of the palace—like the luxury of silk sheets and soft bed she was enjoying at the moment.

  Krasnegar was a humble place. In bad years there could be real hunger in Krasnegar, but then the king's household ate sparingly, also. She suspected that a famine in Arakkaran would fill the ditches with peasant corpses before it ever curtailed the princes' diet. As a native of the subarctic she had always believed that life would be easier in a warm climate. Obviously that was not the case, not for those so-forlorn children.

  The fire died, the moon rose higher, the singing faded. Discourse became quieter and more intimate.

  She had just drifted off to sleep when she jerked awake again, hearing a baby crying. A baby? Why would there be a baby? She had seen no children earlier, yet there could be absolutely no doubt that Azak himself had planned and approved every detail of this expedition. Why would he have ordered a baby? She had failed to think of even one logical reason before she was asleep again.

  2

  Although the sun had departed from Zark, it still beat down upon the sugarcane fields of Faerie, where Rap and his companions had been striding brazenly along a red-dirt track for what felt like a long and unmemorable lifetime. Now and then they passed scattered bands of peddlers, herders, and farmhands.