Faery Lands Forlorn

by Dave Duncan

  But . . . something was wrong.

  He closed his eyes, and still his farsight said that there were wings there, and eagle beaks. The troop had drawn level with him in their stately progress, floating above their own inky shadows. The locals were going about their business unperturbed, accustomed to seeing these handsome wonders, but some visitors were conspicuously pointing and making appreciative noises. Some had pulled out sketchbooks.

  Rap opened his eyes again and still he felt confused. These lovelies looked like hippogriffs. Obviously they rode like horses, placid, well-trained horses. All mares, he saw. They were not the ugly hybrids he had imagined. Sunlight rippled on their plumage and their coats. They had beauty and grace. Why, then, was he so upset?

  The troop had gone by him before understanding came. He could not see inside a horse's mind exactly, but he had enough empathy to sense its emotions and understand its concerns. He could summon most horses, or send them away, or calm them. He could do the same with dogs and cattle —with almost anything on four legs. And they all felt different. Mules and jackasses did not think like horses, although more like them than sheep did. These hippogriffs had minds like horses. They thought like horses.

  They thought they were horses.

  And a drayman's ancient hack standing between its shafts thought they were horses, too. It was watching them quite placidly. It would not have reacted so calmly to a donkey.

  Again Rap reached out, and this time not with farsight. He stroked the lead mount's horsey mind, as he might have patted its neck, or it might have nuzzled his hand. He said a silent hello.

  The hippogriff swung its great raven head up to look for him.

  Hello, Rap said again. I'm over here.

  Claws scratching, rear feet clattering, the hippogriff turned toward him, wanting to be friendly, just as a horse would. The groom on its back swore and tugged at the reins and kicked.

  Rap said hello to all the hippogriffs.

  The rich visitors were not as skilled as the groom. Their mounts veered toward Rap. The daughters screamed, and the hippogriffs flinched at the noise as horses would, rolling their eyes and twisting their ears . . . What ears?

  They twisted their heads, too, as if the bits were hurting. How could bits hurt beaks like those?

  But Rap was making trouble. The three bays were coming to visit him, ignoring their frantic riders. The man on the gray was disciplining it so crudely that it was fretting, rolling yellow eyes in its milk-white head, and starting to fight against his kicking and rein-jerking. Why did hippogriffs not flap their wings when they were upset like that? The spectators were starting to notice.

  This was folly! Hastily Rap sent soothing farewells, adding his efforts to those of the furious guide. The hippogriffs calmed at once and set off along the road. Rap turned around and faced the harbor again. Peace returned to the waterfront. A fugitive was crazy to create such disturbances in his own vicinity, right under the eye of the Gazebo.

  So the hippogriffs were another deception? Undoubtedly all the other monsters in the zoo would be false, too, a fake threat to keep visitors from straying too far from town, perhaps. How long had this been going on, for Gods’ sake? More than just centuries, obviously—thousands of years! Emine and his Protocol had just regulated it, that was all, and perhaps one reason even then had been to save the fairy folk from being exterminated completely.

  Idiot! There was his answer! He had been forgetting his mastery over animals, and there were horses going by all the time. All he needed to do was find an unattended horse and call it over to him. Then he could unharness it, if it came with a wagon, and ride off to hide in the jungle until his ankle healed. Easy! And he could steal a dog from somewhere, just as he had once taken Fleabag from the goblins. The dog could catch food for him! Why hadn't he seen that sooner?

  "You're the one called Rap," said the woman. It was more a statement than a question.

  "Yes, ma'am." Rap had not noticed her before, sitting where Gathmor had, on the far end of the bench, but she was much more welcome company. Even if her gown was a simple white thing, sleeveless and plain, it was obviously well made, and she wore silver sandals. Clearly she was a lady of wealth, as well as no small beauty. She was shading herself with a parasol decorated in white, red, green, and blue, but otherwise she bore no color at all, no gems or flowers or embroidery. Just red lips, black eyes, brown skin, white damask, and silver sandals.

  It was a long, long time since a pretty girl had smiled at him.

  His vision had cleared. The world was back in hard-edged focus. His head had stepped pounding, and the swelling on his ankle . . .

  May the Good preserve me!

  "You are feeling better?" Again, barely a question.

  Neat white teeth.

  "Yes, ma'am, thank you."

  She frowned very slightly. Her face was a lovely thing, slender and delicate. She had a glorious complexion, far better than most imps'. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun. Quite obviously, she was a sorceress.

  "You had a bad concussion, you know. And your ankle was broken. How on earth did you manage to walk this far?"

  "I don't know, ma'am."

  She shook her head reprovingly, but then she smiled again, a smile like a joyous carillon of bells. "Well, I want to hear the whole story."

  "Starting where, ma'am?" She had the same sort of calm, inoffensive authority he'd seen in King Holindarn or his sister; it assumed a right to command so natural and unarguable that somehow the person being ordered around was not diminished by it. Inos had been starting to show some of the same manner when he had last met her. The sorceress must do her duty, which included giving orders; Rap's duty required him to obey them. They were equals, both just doing their duty.

  "Start at the beginning, of course," she said. "No, you'll take that too literally—I'll try a few more questions first. You comfortable?"

  He nodded sadly. He thought he had been happier before she cleared his head for him. Oh, what a mess he was in now! But he did feel good physically. He would sing and dance if that was what she wanted.

  "I need to know about the imp," she said. "We've lost him, now he's stopped his pilfering. He's been using some other sort of power; very strong, but so brief that I can't locate it. Little Chicken I've met. He was badly shocked, but he'll be all right."

  "Shocked, ma'am?"

  "Would you like to be run through with a sword?"

  "No, my lady. Please not!" And Rap was astonished at his own reaction. "I'm glad! I am really glad! I thought the soldiers had killed him."

  She shrugged. "I arrived just before he ran out of blood. I was too late to save three of the legionaries, though."

  Tragic, maybe, but there was something almost funny about one young goblin killing three armed Imperial soldiers and maiming however many others the sorceress had healed. "I'm glad to hear he survived, ma'am. I shouldn't be, because he hates me, but I'll be happy to see his big ugly face again."

  "You will. Tell me about the imp."

  "Thinal, my lady? That's a long story!" Rap leaned his elbows on his knees and scowled fiercely at the harbor as he tried to recall everything he knew about Thinal's gang. He'd begin with Sagorn coming to visit the king, which meant explaining about Krasnegar, and then Jalon . . . and Andor . . . and Darad . . .

  Once he was started, he spoke very fast, faster than he ever had before, gabbling the words but never hesitating, pulling the story out of his memory in a smooth string, event after event in logical order, hardly having to think. He was vaguely grateful for the sunshade he was holding. It was similar to the lady's, but he had no idea where it had come from or when she had given it to him. He was even more grateful for the beaker of cold lemon cordial, although he did not remember getting that, either. Every few minutes he would pause and gulp some of it, and the beaker never seemed to run dry. He wondered in spare moments how it felt to do magic like that.

  But he had little time for thinking of anything but his story. Almost b
efore he stopped swallowing, his tongue would be racing off in full spate again, so fast that he wondered how she could comprehend a single word. She interrupted only once, though, asking for more details about the events in the fairy village.

  Finished! He took a long draft and waited hopefully to hear if he had pleased her. The shadows had moved. His jaw ached.

  And the lady did not look pleased. She was staring at her hands and biting her lip, her eyes shielded by long lashes. "You're a good man, Master Rap."

  Astonished, Rap took another drink.

  She blinked. "I would apologize, if it meant anything. I would make recompense if I could. I can only assure you that I would never have done this to you had I . . . had it not been necessary."

  "Done what, ma'am?"

  "Put you in truth trance. I'll let it wear off slowly, so I don't give you a seizure."

  Rap chuckled. "I should be worried, shouldn't I? You're a sorceress!"

  She sighed. "Yes, I confess it. And you have occult powers yourself, don't you?"

  You don't have to answer that, said a voice in his head. Deny it. She can't tell if you lie about that.

  She had cured his ankle and the bump on his head. And he didn't like lying. Especially not to pretty ladies.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Her eyes widened. "How many words?"

  "Just one."

  "One word and you have mastery over animals? And people?"

  "No, just animals. And I have farsight."

  "An occult genius, and in two manifestations?" She was surprised by something. "But words can't be detected with magic. The truth trance wouldn't have worked for that. Why did you tell me?"

  "I'd already given myself away, hadn't I? You could hear it, or feel it, or something?"

  "The mastery, not the farsight. Even the most powerful sorcerers have difficulty detecting the sights being used. As soon as you started meddling with the hippogriffs, though, we had you." She smiled quizzically, inviting comment.

  "That's what they're for? Sorcerer traps?"

  She nodded, amused. "I doubt if they ever caught a mere genius before, but mages and sorcerers can never resist the monsters. Even adepts give themselves away sometimes. I've never heard of one just admitting to it, though. Your honesty may get you into trouble."

  "I'm not in trouble now?"

  "Well, yes you are. By the way, I am Oothiana, his Imperial Majesty's trusty and faithful proconsul of Faerie."

  Rap jumped up and bowed. Then he felt very foolish, standing there holding a parasol, so he sat down again. A proconsul was a very important person, a deputy of the imperor. She seemed much too young to hold such a post. Of course she was several years older than Inos, who was a queen, but that was different.

  She raised her head and looked sadly at him with black eyes that took his breath away.

  "Your story is fascinating, Master Rap. The trouble is, it doesn't make sense. You and Thinal followed the goblin through the magic casement—but magic casements don't do that. It might have been combined with a magic portal, I suppose, but a magic portal has to be specific, I think." A small frown marred her perfect brow. She was amazingly flawless. Rap could not find a single freckle or mole to spoil her perfection. "I suppose it may be possible. I'll ask. But you have certainly told me the truth as you know it, so I must assume that someone has planted a falsehood in your mind." She bit her lip again. "And I'm afraid I know someone who will try to get it out."

  Rap was horrorstruck. "I haven't lied to you, my lady! I told you everything I know about Thinal and the sequentials."

  Her sudden smile was a fair dawn after a stormy night. "I didn't ask you the right question, did I? Well, do you know how you came to Faerie?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Bright Water sent me."

  Color drained from Oothiana's face as from a flower struck by killer frost. After a minute she said, "Tell me what you know of Bright Water!"

  "She's witch of the north, one of the wardens of the Four . . ."

  Rap's tongue started to gallop again. This tale was shorter because she now knew much that he could leave out. He finished and took another swallow from that inexhaustible, ever-cool beaker.

  The second story pleased the lady not at all. It seemed to worry her greatly. She laid the handle of her parasol across her lap and twirled it idly to and fro, using it as a toy instead of a sunshade, clearly not thinking of it at all.

  "I have not handled this well," she muttered.

  "My lady?"

  "I never guessed one of the three would have the impertinence—the sheer, brazen audacity . . . How could I have known?"

  She stopped and turned to look landward. Rap became aware that legionaries were coming, running along the harbor road, and the crowd was scattering to give them passage. He ought to be alarmed, he knew, but he stayed calm, either because of the lady's bewitchment, or just because he was with her and she was the imperor's deputy—so she said, anyway.

  The soldiers ran in columns of two, all laden with full armor and bulky packs topped by mattocks and axes; with three javelins apiece, and swords and shields. That must be a terrible load for a man and a terrible pace, too, in this heat, and Rap could almost hear the sweat splashing off them as they pounded by on the far side of the broad street. One or two were staggering, eyes bulging in scarlet faces.

  He turned to the lady, who was watching the procession with an expression of disgust.

  "Punishment?"

  "Partly. Is it fair? No, of course not. But two hundred men failing to arrest three juvenile vagrants must naturally be punished." She grimaced even more strongly and looked away. Gradually the sound of boots and clanking armor faded into the distance. Rap felt uneasy and puzzled.

  "You arrived before dawn," Oothiana said, smiling again as if nothing had interrupted their talk. "That explains why none of us felt the ripples." She paused, and Rap had a strange feeling that she was not really speaking to him, that she was rehearsing excuses. What could possible frighten a sorceress who was also proconsul of an Imperial province?

  Oothiana might be a very nice person when she wasn't governing or ensorceling. Maybe she wasn't as young or graceful as she seemed, in her simple white robe and silver sandals, but somehow he felt that much of her was genuine. Her manners certainly were. The Rasha sorceress had appeared far more beautiful, and carnal. She had almost driven him out of his mind. Consumed by love for her—all right, lust—he would have done anything to please her, but he'd never for a moment thought he'd like her.

  "The first we knew of you," the lady said, "was the fairy death cry. Then there were a couple of those fast clicks. Those would have been the sequential spell in use, I see now, but they were too brief to track down. That must be how your group friend has stayed independent for so long. The spell must be a beautiful piece of work. When I finally did locate you, you looked fairly harmless. Three young smugglers been shipwrecked, I thought, but he was suspicious—he always is—and said just to watch and see what you did. You just came here, to Milflor."

  "Who . . ." A young dwarf, of course! Rap failed to finish the question, not wanting to have his guess confirmed. O Gods!

  Oothiana sighed. "We didn't know which one of you had been blessed by the fairy, but we picked up the thievery when you got close to town. That really was very funny to watch."

  Rap held his breath, expecting to hear about trolls next. But apparently not.

  "We never guessed that all three of you would turn out to have power! But we got the goblin, and now I have you. That only leaves the group, and he—they—can't evade us for long. An elderly scholar, or a handsome, apparently rich young playboy?"

  "Or a minstrel, ma'am, but I don't think he's very likely, because the others don't trust his judgment. Or a giant jotunn warrior, but he'll need a doctor, because—"

  "Rap," she said sadly, "do stop! You'll hate yourself terribly when you sober up. Let's go now." She rose and laid her parasol on the bench.

  Sober? Rap had never felt more clear-headed
in his life. And he had been trying to help! Feeling a little hurt, he stood up, also, laying his parasol beside hers, near the beaker of lemonade. After a moment he glanced back and saw that the bench was empty.

  2

  She was tall for an imp, but he was taller. He walked on her right, staying a handsbreadth back because that felt respectful, and all the time wondering if he was doing this because he wanted to or because she had made him want to, and what the difference was. What did the expression "changed his mind" ever really mean, anyway?

  Oothiana seemed miraculously cool and fresh as she walked along the waterfront, where everyone else was slouching under the whip of the tropic sun. No one seemed to notice her go by, yet she was never crowded or jostled. Rap wondered if she wore a sort of low-grade sorcerous aura. Or something.

  The column of loaded legionaries came running back, still in double time, but with a new centurion in command now. There did not seem to be as many of them as before, and more had the unsteady gait of men about to drop. The bystanders stared after them with expressions of contempt and bewilderment.

  "What happens to the ones who fall down?" Rap asked brashly.

  Oothiana kept her eyes on the cobbles. "That is the punishment. The first twenty to fall will be executed."

  "What! That's barbaric! Weren't they just ordinary, mundane soldiers trying to do their best? Against magic?" What then would be the penalty for thieves, vagabonds, and murderers? "Dwarves enjoy cruelty, like goblins?" He was being foolish, but he couldn't have very much to lose.

  She shook her head without looking up. "No. The punishment is incidental. What counts is the example."

  Example? Somehow that coldblooded logic seemed to make the cruelty even more horrible, but obviously the proconsul did not approve either.