by Dave Duncan
"Yes!" Inos said excitedly. "Yes, he was in the chamber when she came. It was she who showed me later that he had been killed!"
He chuckled. "Then she is playing tricks on you! Do you see?"
"Of course!" Relief surged through Inos like spring sunshine melting winter snow. "It was a sending from Rasha!" She looked to Azak, who grinned with a ferocious joy.
"Indeed!" he exclaimed. "This is most logical! Mayhap the harlot cannot find us herself, but is capable of sending evil spirits after us. They might take any form! Who knows the limitations of her power? I do think you have solved the mystery, Greatness!"
"I agree!" Inos said. "Aunt?"
Kade nodded, although she still seemed doubtful.
"Then I take it that you will not obey the commands of this abomination?" Elkarath inquired softly.
"Of course not!" Inos said. "Your wisdom has solved the mystery, your Greatness. We are relieved, and much in your debt."
"Let us hope that by nightfall we shall be out of her range, then."
The others exchanged smiles of agreement and relief. The sinister chill of the evil undead had been banished and replaced by indignation at the sorceress's spite. Feeling much warmer now and rather foolish under her blanket, Inos threw it off and laughed. How stupid to be frightened by an apparition so insubstantial that Azak's sword had passed right through it!
Rap must still be dead, but she need not worry that he had become a wraith. After all, death came to everyone. Rap's end had been tragic, but she was beginning to accept it, and her father's, also. They would both have gone to join the Good, and she would not let Rasha persuade her otherwise.
Elkarath chuckled and started to rise. Azak jumped up to help him. Even Kade was smiling.
There could be no thought now of leaving the sheik's caravan. Ahead lay the desert and adventure and the road to Ullacarn.
The emergency was over.
2
For some minutes, Rap just lay and tried to collect his spilled wits. The impact with the floor had left him winded and shaken, hurting at every protruding bone: knees, elbows, and hips. There had been a man in her tent. Two hard landings in one night were two too many. Counting the one the night before would make three, but a convenient sorcery had cured the effects of the first one. Even so, he ought to take better care of himself. Wouldn't always have sorcery around to help. His face still throbbed from Bright Water's first attack, and it was resting on a threadbare rug stinking of age and dust; his nose was dribbling blood on it. A man in her tent?
There were dead leaves all around him. A moment ago they had been casting shadows across the tattered landscape of carpet. Now they weren't. That meant that the magic mirror was no longer showing Zark; no more dawn sunshine and palms and sand and tents and Inos. He couldn't hear the camels, either.
No need to hurry, then. There had been a man in her tent. Bright Water was speaking. Then the dwarf. They both laughed. Zinixo must be feeling extremely sure of himself if he could laugh. Perhaps they were laughing at him, idiot stableboy spread out bleeding on the floor. What ever happened to the bold young hero who was going to go to Zark and find Inos because he'd told her he was coming and he wanted to keep his word? A few hard knocks and he shattered like a crystal goblet.
He raised his head, and it didn't fall off. It was none of his business if Inos had been sharing a tent with a man. The witch was babbling something to Oothiana, calling her by the wrong name. Then she spun around, warbling one of her fragments of song, and somehow arrived on the shiny magic mat. There might be a moral there: Bright Water goes round and round but she gets where she wants to be. With the dragon glowing amber, witch and fire chick faded away and vanished.
Had she bought him from the dwarf or not? Had Zinixo bought Inos? Would Inos heed Rap's pathetic warning? It had been all he could do, to shout to her like that. He hoped she had understood.
He pushed himself up, but didn't quite make it to a sitting position. He leaned on his arms instead and blinked to get his eyes working. It couldn't be any more than a month since Inos left Krasnegar, and probably not as much. His head ached.
"Right, Uncle," the warlock said. "Go and get 'em!"
The fake goblin stalked over to the magic portal. Rap caught a rank whiff of rancid grease as he went by. Of course Inos had always been popular and could probably make new friends very easily, but a month wasn't very long to make really close friends. Intimate friends.
"Tell me exactly what I must do, Omnipotence," Raspnex. said.
"Being cautious. Uncle?"
"Nephew, you make anyone cautious."
The boy laughed, but his mirth had a mean ring to it. "Go north and stay close to the imps when they leave Krasnegar. If you detect power, mark who's using it. Don't reveal yourself. Serve my interests as you see them."
"To the death, of course?"
"Of course. Take the welcome mat with you."
The older dwarf shrugged and headed over to stand on the shiny rug. He shut his eyes, as if he were concentrating hard.
Rap struggled to his knees. The witch had shouted, Inos had come out of the tent. Rap had frightened her, she had screamed, and the man had come out. Big. Young. Can use a sword. Same tent.
Raspnex and magic carpet faded away together.
The warlock yelled in triumph and did a little dance like Bright Water's, his boots thumping loud on the planks. He held out a hand to Oothiana and spun her around roughly.
"Oh, I shall have East where I want him! He'll be ordering his legions about in a shrill soprano from now on!"
Rap scrambled to his feet and reeled out of the way as the two sorcerers went whirling by. Inos's tent had been quite large, hadn't it? Too big for just two people, maybe. There might have been other people in there, as well. Her aunt, perhaps.
Zinixo stopped dancing. He gripped Oothiana's face in both hands and pulled it down to kiss. Then he released her and spun around to face the oval glass, which had become a mirror again.
"Now, the girl!"
Alarms rang in Rap's aching head. This vile little monster was not going to get his hands on Inos! Except that there was no one who could stop him. Not Rap. Not that big man with the sword. He must have been a guard, and there would have been other people in that tent, as well. Queens did not travel alone in the desert.
But before Rap could force his muddled brains to work, someone or something did stop the warlock. He turned back to scowl at Oothiana. "You agree?" he demanded, although she had said nothing.
She shook her head.
Apparently the dwarf valued her judgment. He pouted up at her and said, "Explain!"
"The witch said that South had stolen her away from East—"
"From the sorceress, she said."
"Well, before East could steal her from the sorceress. South did. And in East's sector. Why?
"They're allies, you mean?"
"Yes, Omnipotence. And that so-convenient votary? It doesn't ring true, even for an elf."
"You think North was lying?" His stony face darkened.
The proconsul nodded. She seemed to have relaxed her magic, because she was looking drained and exhausted. Haggard, even. "She made friends with you tonight, but she may be trying to make trouble for you, too. If you snatch the girl from East's sector, he isn't going to like it."
Zinixo guffawed. "But I'm going to have him staked out on the anthill! And he tried to kill me," he added angrily. Getting no response, he said, "Tell me what you think!"
The sorceress ran fingers through her hair, pushing it back. She took a minute to gather her thoughts. Rap's head was clearing, too. Bright Water had apparently gained what she wanted, Little Chicken, and she had given up nothing of her own, merely a chance to spy on Warlock Olybino. She could spy on him herself at the same time, with her own votaries, so she hadn't lost anything very much, and the dwarf didn't seem to have thought of that. Had Oothiana?
"You've done North a favor," she said, "for what it's worth. The elf's your big troub
le. He always will be. I think you should woo East. You're going to know his votaries, or some of them. He's the weakest of the four of you, isn't he?" When the warlock nodded, she said, "Well, then he would value an alliance with you, because you're stronger than either of the others. Don't make him mad. Woo him!"
"Isolate South!" The dwarf showed his teeth. "Very good! And we still don't really know what the yellow whoreson was doing when he gave North that dragon. Tell East where the girl is, you think?"
"No, Sire. No yet, anyway. He's promised her to the imperor, so he must be hunting for her. But wait and see what happens. Find out who does control her. If South really does steal her away from East's sector, then their alliance will surely be over! Play a waiting game. Knowledge is power."
Zinixo thought about it, then nodded reluctantly. "All right. We'll wait and see." Abruptly he headed for the magic portal.
"Master!" Oothiana said. "What do I do with the prisoners?"
Faun and goblin caught each other's eyes. They, also, were interested in the answer to that question.
The warlock scowled at Little Chicken, then at Rap. "We have to send them back to the mainland."
"Buy passage for them, then?"
He shook his big head vehemently. "Why waste money? They're healthy-looking types. Send them down to the docks in the morning and sell them to a galley master. Be sure you get at least ten gold imperials for each of them. What happens after is their problem."
And with that. Warlock Zinixo hauled open the magic portal and went back to Hub. The door slammed behind him.
The others all relaxed with audible sighs.
A load of weariness fell on Rap like an avalanche. It had been a very hard night!
So he was going to be a galley slave after all?
Back to the mainland. Then what? A lifetime chained to an oar? Or Raven Totem and a terrible death? Or Zark and Inos?
There had been a man in her tent.
3
For once the cool sea breeze had failed in Milflor. Muggy air stuffed throats like wool and although the sun was barely above the spiky roof of the Gazebo, it was brutally roasting the docks already. Noontime was going to be hell. Sailors and slaves, merchants and porters—all dragged their feet as they slouched about their business. All cursed and sweated and wiped and panted. Even the sea gulls seemed to have deserted their usual hunting grounds. No one was moving fast.
Rap certainly wasn't. Fettered at ankle and wrist and neck, all chained together so that he was doubled over, he walked with his hands between his knees. He was very close to being naked. The sun scorched his bare back, flagstones broiled his bare feet, and the anklets took more skin with every step. He would not have Oothiana around to mend him any more. She had repaired his bruises when she put him back in the jail, and that had not been very long before dawn. She had also put a compulsion on him so he could make no more escape attempts, but he could hardly blame her for doing that. He had liked Oothiana. She deserved better than to be slave and plaything for the warlock.
And she had talked Zinixo out of kidnapping Inos.
At last Rap had a chance to inspect the ships tied up in Milflor. He had shuffled half the length of the docks and would likely have to shuffle all the way to the end, and then partway back. If he went too fast he lost more skin; if he went too slow he got hit with a sword, and even the flat of a sword could hurt.
He was doing better than Little Chicken, though. The legionaries had comrades to commemorate, and they knew of only one goblin in Faerie. Every few minutes their victim would be pushed too hard, or just tripped up, and would crash to the roadway in a wild jangle of chains. Then two men would kick him until he scrambled up again. The dull-faced young tesserary was not merely encouraging his men in this entertainment, he was taking his turn with the others. Rap's heart jumped into his mouth every time, for if Little Chicken lost his temper, he would tear those chains off like spiderwebs and hold another massacre. Fortunately he was very eager to be put on a ship and was therefore willing to endure the indignity. The physical pain he would be accepting as an honor.
There were galleys and there were sailing ships. The latter were impressive, for the tide was in and their freeboard put their decks high above the roadway. Some were large as floating castles, grander than anything Rap had ever seen in Krasnegar—vast ornamental wooden palaces, colorful, intricate, and strange. Their luxury cabins would have honored monarchs. In most of them the lesser passengers' deck was an overcrowded slum, while the crew's quarters below them were a prospect to nauseate maggots.
But the galleys interested him more at the moment. They were much smaller, narrow and low, and generally cleaner, because galleys were entirely reserved to the rich. A galley needed an enormous crew for its size, all of whom would have good appetites. Galleys could carry very little paying cargo, but they were the safest vessels in the doldrums of the Nogids.
Most of the galleys he saw were little more than open boats with a row of cramped passenger cabins standing along the centerline. They looked top-heavy and would be unmanageable in any sort of crosswind. The rowers must sleep on their benches, or on bare planks.
Letting his farsight roam the harbor was much more entertaining than staring down at the flags or his own dusty, blood-streaked feet, or Little Chicken's, or the soldiers' boots. Whatever the future held, he would not regret leaving the baleful land of Faerie. Even slavery could be accepted for a while, if it moved him closer to Inos.
There had been a man in her tent. He had thought about that when he should have been catching some sleep in the fag end of the night. He had concluded that there were so many possible explanations for what he might possibly have seen that he must just forget the whole incident. It was none of his business anyway. Inos was his queen, and he was merely her loyal subject, nothing more. Even if she chose to create a public scandal, it would be none of his business. He could not imagine Inos creating a public scandal—not, at least, that sort of public scandal—but she was certainly entitled to do so if she chose.
The big man with the sword might even have been the mage Bright Water had mentioned, assuming that the witch had spoken any truth at all. Inos could no more keep a mage out of her tent than Lady Oothiana could refuse to serve the disgusting warlock.
Forget about the man in the tent.
Rap had escaped from goblins, from imps, and now from a warlock. That was the most surprising escape of all. And why should sailors be any different? Once on the mainland, he would escape again and start walking.
There was no such thing as slavery in the Impire. The legionaries were seeking a ship's captain willing to transport two convicts back to the mainland. It was an interesting fable, but in practice the sailors inspected the alleged convicts as carefully as old Hononin scrutinized a horse—poking, pinching, peering in their mouths and eyes, lifting their slaves' loincloths to check for disease or mutilation. The ship's destination was irrelevant and never mentioned. These convicts would sail to the ends of their lives, or until they reached a land where marketing of people was less overregulated.
The bidding was a farce. How much to ship them, then? the bored tesserary would ask. The sailor would name a price. The soldier would automatically tell him it was too low, he must charge more.
He would write down the final offer, and then move on to the next berth to offer his wares again. In time the parade would return to the highest bidder. It was going to take all day, likely.
But suddenly Rap's chin was grabbed in a horny hand and twisted up until he was staring into pallid blue eyes above a silver floor-brush mustache.
"You heal quickly, halfman." Gathmor was wearing more than he had done the previous day, but he was still bare-chested, crude and dangerous as a white bear.
"I had help, thir." Of necessity, Rap spoke through clenched teeth.
"Still want to be a rower?"
"Yeth, thir."
"How many fingers am I holding out on my other hand?"
The jotunn's voice wa
s low, his other hand was behind his back, but when Rap hesitated, his thumb found the pressure point below Rap's ear and squeezed mercilessly.
"Three, thir," Rap said as tears of pain sprang unbidden into his eyes.
"Now?"
"Two, thir." He was released.
"What was all that about?" the tesserary asked, not caring much.
"That goblin really mess up half a century coupla days ago?"
Rap could not see the speakers' faces, but he heard the change in tone. "Where did you hear that lie, sailor?"
"Saloon gossip. Did he?"
"There was a riot."
"I heard otherwise. How much for them both?"
"You bid on a contract to—"
"Come with me." The jotunn led the tesserary aside for serious talk. Gathmor's eyes would have told him that Rap's injuries had been cured by sorcery, but how had he learned that Rap had farsight? A sailor with occult farsight would be invaluable. And he seemingly knew that this goblin could outrow anyone—if he chose to, of course. Gathmor was remarkably well informed.
Rap edged his feet around and twisted his head sideways to see how the bribery was coming along. Another man was blocking his view. He was dashingly dressed in the loose clothes that the rich affected in such warm climes, but they were superbly cut and were being worn with supreme élan. A broad-brimmed hat shadowed his handsome bronzed face, a rapier dangled rakishly at his hip. He flashed Rap a smile of snow-white teeth.
In the first surge of his fury. Rap tried to straighten. He paid for his error with more skin from wrists and ankles. Had he not been chained, he would have attacked, for this was the monster who had used foul occult mastery to deceive Inos. Hatred made Rap tremble. He could imagine nothing in the world more pleasurable than grinding that pretty face into the street.
His second emotion was a stab of fear. Where there was Andor, there could be Darad.
"Hello again, Rap."