Faery Lands Forlorn

by Dave Duncan

  "I was shipwrecked here!"

  "What vessel?"

  "Er . . . Icedrogon."

  "From?"

  "Krasnegar."

  "Master?"

  "Rranderbad."

  "Cargo?"

  "Er . . ."

  Gathmor laughed. "Nice try, halfman. You don't know a bight from a bowsprit. Go back to the taro patch, boy. It's safer." He rose and stretched like a sunwarmed cat.

  "Sir? Exchange me? Throw out an older man and take me? Then the count would still be all right!"

  Gathmor's smile faded into something blood-curdling. "And what do we say to his wife when we get home? You think she'd accept a mule in a man's place? Or what do we do when you manage to escape? You hinting we keep slaves, too?"

  "No, sir! Not at all, sir!"

  Gathmor looked disbelieving and stepped closer as if he had decided to crack a few bones on principle. Then he seemed to notice the purple eggplant that connected Rap's foot to the leg of his pants.

  He frowned. "You ever done any rowing?"

  "Not much, sir."

  The sailor nodded. "It needs legs as well as arms. You'll get beaten for that, you know, damaging your master's property?"

  Chuckling, he strutted to the edge of the dock and raised his arms. Then he lowered them and looked back. "I don't say I don't break laws, mongrel. I'm a jotunn and I've got standards to keep up. But I'm not such an idiot as to break them here. Not for a damaged half-breed." He hurled himself into the air, rolled up in a ball, and dropped out of sight. Rap heard no splash, but in a moment he saw the white head in the water, and brown arms thrusting against the sea as the sailor returned to his ship.

  So that was that. Rap took a deep breath and tried to relax. And yet . . . and yet that sailor had seemed oddly familiar. Just at the end there . . . the way he walked? Rap wished he'd asked the man if he'd ever been to Krasnegar.

  No, that was pure fancy. He was imagining it. His brains were all jangled by the bang on his head. Gathmor was just a very typical jotunn. Rap couldn't possibly have ever seen him before.

  2

  Zarkian etiquette frowned on women eating in the presence of men, so Inos sat facing the shrubbery, cross-legged on cushions on the grass. Free of her meal-sack burden, she wore a much cleaner and better quality chaddar, but she had defiantly left her hair uncovered and streaming loose. Honey cakes and sugared fruits, sweet coffee strong as horses, and pastries with heavenly centers . . . She was famished.

  Behind her, Azak and the sheik sipped coffee and conversed in measured tones, loud enough for her to listen. Bees and hummingbirds flitted to and fro below a canopy of branches that the wind was moving purposefully around, making light and shadow dance. A fountain played in a corner below a tree laden with rose-pink blossom, and the scent of flowers was heady.

  On one side the garden faded back to become a courtyard and then the interior of the house itself; the opposite side was bounded by a colonnade bearing flowered vines. Beyond that lay rooftops and a silver vista of the bay, shining in the sun. This haven of peace hidden amid the bustle of the city was one of the loveliest nooks Inos had ever seen. Even within the grandeur of the palace she had found nothing finer.

  Azak had been recounting everything he knew about Krasnegar and Rasha's interference in its affairs. Evidently he and the sheik had talked before, but not at such length. Once or twice the old man interposed a gentle question, but mostly he listened in silence.

  Then the story came to an end, and so did Inos's hunger. She gulped down a final glass of coffee and turned around to join the conversation, feeling equipped now to face the day.

  "Have I left out anything?" Azak demanded, with a dark look that dared her to belittle his efforts.

  "I don't think so," she said.

  Both men sat cross-legged, as she did, on cushions. They were dressed for the desert. In place of royal finery, Azak wore a loose kibr of rather dirty, rough material, tied at the waist with a length of rope and large enough to giftwrap a camel. Inos noted with astonishment how far apart his knees were.

  The old man was Sheik Elkarath ak'something ak'someone. He was short for a djinn but comfortably bulky in a robe of many colors, like clotted rainbows. His round, ruddy face was half hidden by a voluminous snowy beard and even bushier white mustache; he had the thickest, whitest eyebrows she had ever seen. Despite the presence of his sultan fleeing from a dangerous sorceress, Sheik Elkarath remained remarkably unperturbed. He was obviously a man of wealth and untroubled success, with fine gems glinting on his plump fingers and the hilt of a curved dagger tucked in his sash. His home was furnished with taste and riches, and Inos had been aware of many people busily employed there—she had been attended by two laughing granddaughters of remarkable beauty, and there had been efficient-looking young guards aplenty.

  The old man acknowledged Inos with a faint indirect smile and then returned to studying his hands, fingering his rings. The morning sun was behind him, and his face was farther shaded by a kaffiyeh so embroidered with gold and silver thread that it shone; the agal holding it in place bore four huge rubies. Azak's headdress, in contrast, resembled an old sack tied around by a strip of rag.

  "The aunt is a complication," Elkarath remarked gently.

  "A necessary one," Azak replied, with a reproachful glance at Inos.

  Pause—the sheik was a slow-spoken man. "Of course. But she provides another possible trail, and we did not have time to plan her escape as thoroughly." He moved a soft hand in a gesture of resignation.

  "And the delay is dangerous," Azak agreed, "If the harlot has noticed our absence already, then she may follow. But the addition was unavoidable, as I said."

  The old man nodded without looking up. "We may yet turn events to our advantage, I think."

  Inos knew she ought to be suspicious of this unexpected—and so far unexplained—ally, but there was something very grandfatherly about him. His solid calmness was reassuring, and obviously Azak trusted him—Azak, who trusted nobody!

  "On your side," the old man asked his hands, "those who helped are safely departed?"

  "There is only one who could tell anything of substance," Azak said. "She has relatives in Thrugg. Since her mother's death she has continued to send support. She will be made welcome."

  Elkarath nodded gently again.

  So Zana was only a half-sister, as Inos should have guessed from the great difference in age.

  "What about Kar?" she asked. "Does he know?"

  A frown flashed across Azak's face and was gone. "He knows nothing. I told him I was following Atharaz."

  Inos waited to let the sheik ask, but he merely smiled understandingly. "Is that difficult?" she inquired.

  "It may be dangerous for Kar," Azak said, "but it is our main hope. My brothers will likely believe, and mayhap even the slut herself will. Sultan Atharaz was a mighty ruler of yesteryear, conqueror of half of Zark, great even among my predecessors. Early in his reign he vanished, inexplicably."

  After a moment's thought and irritation, Inos said, "He returned equally unexpectedly just after a successor had come forward and gained support?"

  Azak's smile was as deadly as Kar's, even when it registered amusement. "Exactly. Since then the ploy has been used several times, frequently with success. Obviously it can turn against its user, but the ambitious will hesitate some time before volunteering to replace me."

  Silence fell. The two men stared at the grass, apparently lost in thought, neither seeming ready to inform Inos of all the things she wanted to know—where was Kade, why was this place safe, and whither the fugitives were bound.

  "I trust,'' she said, "that my aunt's journey will be less strenuous than my own?"

  "She will not be brought here," Azak said calmly. "Do not worry."

  If he thought snubs would stop Inosolan asking questions, he had much to learn.

  The sheik himself seemed as patient as a rock cultivating barnacles, but even Azak seemed unusually relaxed. She wondered which Azak
was present now—the madcap horseman who rode over the roughest terrain at full suicidal gallop, or the cautious ruler who palmed a single fig rather than trust his subjects not to poison him. She wondered, also, if he ever visited his city without disguise, and she could not help but compare his style of kingship with her father's. Had anyone suggested to Holindarn that he needed guards—or even a sword—when he wandered about his realm, he would have hurled a bolt of royal scorn. She knew she did not understand Azak and might have involved herself in something worse than what she expected. Whatever that was, exactly.

  "You had this expedition all planned before we had our talk last night?" she asked.

  Azak frowned. "Not in detail. Sheik Elkarath made himself known to me some time ago and offered his services. I had toyed with the thought of going, but I was leaning toward sending Kar." An ironic smile twisted his face, and she noticed that he had not shaved. "The prospect of your company proved an irresistible persuasion."

  Inos bowed her head in mocking acknowledgment of the compliment, thinking that she would not have dared entrust herself to Kar as protector—nor probably to Azak either, were he not defanged by the sorceress's curse.

  "You told me outside," she asked him, "that here I should be secure from the sorceress?"

  The big man scowled mightily. "I let my tongue run away like a woman's."

  "Too late to call it back," she said. "What did you mean?"

  Azak merely glanced at the sheik, who fingered his rings for a moment.

  "Sorcery is a great evil," the old man said at last. "But it is merely the strongest form of occult power. There is also magic, which is a lesser form, and—"

  "I know of the words of power. Four make a sorcerer, and three make a mage, and . . ." Inos caught a fiery glare from Azak, telling her that she was not supposed to interrupt a sheik. "I beg your pardon, er . . . your Honor." What was the correct honorific for a sheik? There had been no sheiks around Kinvale. "Do please forgive my presumption and continue."

  He frowned at his hands for a while, snowy brows hooding his eyes, but then he went on in a very soft voice. "If you already know of the words, then my task is simpler. You may not know that occult power is all about us. In my house in Ullacarn I have an actuary who is a genius with numbers. He can total a page of them at a single glance. His father served my father and was the finest doctor of sick camels in all Zark. Obviously their family cherishes a word of power."

  As hers did! Inos had not told Azak of that and she did not think it had been mentioned during her shouting match with Rasha when she first arrived.

  "In fact, I am certain of this," Elkarath said. He stretched out a hand, glittering in the sunlight. "This ring?" He pointed with a plump finger that shone just as bright.

  Inos peered at the treasures. "Opal, is it not?" The stone was large, but it had a milky sheen, with little of the variegated fire for which opal was valued. The setting was of plain silver, and worn smooth. In a double handful of rubies and diamonds and sapphires, that seemed the least interesting gem by far. "It is magic?"

  "Sorcerous!" the old man said dramatically. "It belonged to my great-grandfather. Where or how he acquired it I do not know."

  "It detects sorcery?"

  She was probably not supposed to have guessed that—Elkarath sighed crossly. "Yes, it does. When the actuary of whom I told you performs his wonders of ciphering, this stone will shine with green fire—and on the side closest to him."

  "I thought the words of power could not be detected by magic?" Inos felt suddenly very uneasy. She wondered when—or how—she would provoke a green flame from this occult device, or whether she already had done so. Since she had yet to gain as much as one copper groat of benefit from the word her father had told her, it seemed unfair that it should constantly be throwing her into danger.

  "Words can not be detected even by sorcery," Elkarath agreed, "so 'tis said. But their use can certainly be detected."

  "Tell her of my grandfather. Greatness?" Azak suggested. "My grandfather of blessed memory." He turned a blandly hypocritical gaze on Inos, as if daring her to comment.

  "Blessed indeed." The sheik signed. "An increaser of the Good, deeply mourned . . . I speak with all due respect, your Majesty."

  "No offense. But should we not practice the relationships we agreed upon?"

  "True, Lionslayer, then. He was a man of great powers. Your familiarity with the occult extends to comprehending the abilities of an adept?" The question appeared to be directed at Inos's knees, which was as close as the sheik had yet come to meeting her eye.

  "An expert at anything?" Inos recalled Rasha saying that.

  "So it seems. The late Sultan Zorazak was an adept. Oftentimes have I strolled past the palace of an evening and seen my ring flame yellow."

  Azak chuckled coarsely. "Late in the evening, I presume?"

  The sheik seemed to smile in his general direction. "Sometimes. His strengths were legendary. But even when he rode by on a horse, I could see the evidence of his adepthood."

  "A flawless horseman," Azak agreed sadly.

  "And Rasha?" Inos demanded.

  Another exasperating pause told her that she was again misbehaving. The fountain tinkled, the leaves overhead rustled busily. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying. Inos persisted. "What color does Rasha turn your ring, Greatness?"

  "Red," the old man said grumpily. "And very bright. Even here, so far from the palace, I can oftentimes tell when she is enchanting. You can understand my alarm when I first learned that there was sorcery loose in Arakkaran!"

  "You said it was all around us."

  "No!" the sheik snapped. "I said the occult was all around us, not sorcery. I had never detected a sorcerer before, although my father claimed to have done so. In Ullacarn my ring flashes often—there must be several mages there, and I know of an adept or two in the interior, as well as geniuses. Even here in Arakkaran, I estimate at least three geniuses."

  Was this devious old rogue threatening her or wasn't he? Inos wasn't sure. He still hadn't looked at her, so he could not have noticed her uneasiness. She said, "Then why do you not start collecting them and become a sorcerer?"

  "Why do you not become a whore and grow rich?"

  She stammered out her apology, annoyed by the twinkle of joy in Azak's red eyes. Apparently her words mollified Elkarath, or else he was content with having bested her, for he chuckled. Sunlight danced in the rubies on his headband.

  "The theft would be not only immoral, but also difficult. A brief flash is not enough to locate a man exactly. When I said I knew of adepts in the interior, for example, I meant only that in certain villages I often see my ring shine yellow. Who the geniuses are in Arakkaran, I do not know. There! Did you see?"

  "No, I didn't, your Greatness."

  Azak frowned and shook his head, also.

  "It was subtle," Ellcarath said, "and likely distant, therefore, but a definite green flash. Downhill, toward the harbor." He poured himself another glass of coffee in celebration.

  Downhill was not toward Inos, so she had not caused the signal, if there had been one. She decided she did not like this fusty old man and his stupid magic detector. It might endanger her, if her word of power ever started to do its job. It might alienate her from Azak, who would be happier not knowing about her supposed word. She had begun to have serious doubts about the sultan and his overly complex intriguing.

  "So when you told me that here I would be safe from the sorceress, then all you meant was his Greatness's ring?"

  Azak scowled and nodded. "I may have overstated the situation in my overweening joy at seeing you safely arrived, your Majesty."

  Well! "But that's all?" Inos repeated. "A magic detector!"

  What sort of idiocy had she got herself into? She wondered if Kade had successfully fled the palace. She might have already boarded some foul-smelling tub in the harbor. Had Rasha yet thought to inspect the spurious royal procession jogging northward from the bay?

  Or
was the sorceress even now rolling on the floor in merriment at the antics of these half-witted mundane conspirators?

  "You don't also have a magic umbrella, do you, your Greatness?" Inos said. "Because I think that's what we need. I can see how your ring would help in a bazaar, or bargaining in the horse market. If it flashes for you every time your opponent opens his mouth, then you will be well advised to deal elsewhere. But that's not my—our—problem at the moment!" She caught herself starting to shout and forced some queenly dignity back into her voice. "At the moment we're attempting to escape, to hide from the sorceress. I fail to see how your ring can help at all. Suppose we get to the ship and set sail, and then your ring flashes red? That'll mean she's found us, won't it, and all the good it'll have done us will—"

  "No ship," Azak said, pouring coffee from silver pot to crystal glass.

  "No ship?"

  "Too obvious. Too easy to search."

  "Then how?" Inos could think of only one alternative, and she immediately didn't want to think about it.

  "Camels, of course." Mockery tugged at the corners of Azak's mouth. "Not a dozen ships a day leave the harbor, half going north, half south. On the other hand, there are scores of camel trains and mule trains and wagons trekking around Arakkaran in a hundred different directions. We shall vanish into this web."

  He was assuming that Rasha would need to inspect every traveler individually, but of course the alternative was to credit her with such power that nothing the fugitives could do would be any use at all. Doing nothing achieves nothing. That had been another of Rap's little mottoes.

  Elkarath laughed softly. "I am a merchant. My caravan is even now being prepared. Every spring since long before you were born, child, I have made my annual journey to Ullacarn."

  Spring? Summer was unpleasantly close. "Why not go in the winter?"

  A sigh of patience. "Bulls come into season in winter. They become dangerous and unmanageable." If the sheik was smiling, she could not tell. The lack of eye contact was annoying her intensely. It wasn't just her—the old man never seemed to look directly at Azak, either.