by Dave Duncan
Andor howled. “Ma’am, you do not understand!”
“I understand perfectly well, troll-lover!”
“No, no! I was-“
The sorceress was not interested in his denials. His voice stopped abruptly, half of a dirty washrag hanging from his mouth.
She turned to Rap, smirking up at him. “Well, you weren’t nearly the threat we were expecting. A pushover!” Her scraggly mouth puckered sulkily. “After all this time I wish I had a more worthy catch to report.”
Rap felt a faint surge of hope. She did not know who he was, obviously.
She shrugged. “I shall report the news in the morning. I expect his Omnipotence will drop by in a day or two. Until then, do try to enjoy the company. Just remember you chose it.”
“Your master is Zinixo?”
“Certainly not! If you mean the former West, he died years ago.”
“Olybino, then?”
“Of course!” She smirked again. “And yours is Bitch Grunth, I expect. His Omnipotence may well decide to keep you here as bait for a while, and see if she attempts to rescue you-or put you out of your misery, perhaps.”
“No!” Rap said. “Listen! You don’t understand! You haven’t talked with the warlock yet, have you?”
“That’s not your concern.”
“Don’t go away, ma’am! There’s something very important I must tell you. First, I’m not Witch Grunth’s votary! Second, I had nothing to do with any other trolls escaping. Third, IArrgh!” Rap’s elbows and shoulders moved closer together, bowing his back out from the wall like a cup handle. His arms and legs strained in their sockets. The pain increased tenfold.
“I have no wish to listen to your imaginative droolings,” the sorceress remarked. She was testing him, of course, in case he had been faking earlier. He could not ease his agony without using sorcery, which meant first ripping off his layer of shielding-and that was as immovable as the Mosweeps, or his hands.
His head was jammed against the wall, twisting his neck so tightly that he could barely speak. “Not lying!” he gasped. “You can see that!”
But of course she couldn’t. The shielding worked both ways, so she could not read his mind. Without that guidance, why would she believe a captured felon’s wild excuses?
Rap could not speak through the pain. Just as he thought he was about to faint, that strangely plastic wall adjusted itself again, easing some of the pressure on his head and spine. The sorceress had apparently decided that he was as feeble as he seemed.
“Ma’am, you are in danger…”
“Whatever you have to say can wait for your trial. I expect the Four will give you a hearing eventually, or the warlock may just decide to dispose of your case himself. Meanwhile, I shan’t wish you a good night. I disapprove of hypocrisy.” The door closed and locked itself. Ainopple vanished.
Gods! She had left him to endure this?
Andor said, “Unnnnnnnnng? Unnnnnnnnnnnnnng!”
“Thrugg, ” Rap said, forcing the word through clenched teeth. “The other man needs help.”
The trolls were bait, of course. Obviously, when the Four had turned down Olybino’s complaint, he had taken the law into his own hands. The warlock of the east should not be meddling here in Grunth’s sector, but he had set a trap for the culprits, perhaps several other traps also.
“Unnnng! Un-unnnng!”
“Thrugg!”
The male troll scratched dried blood out ,of his beard and smiled a bushel of ivory across at Rap. “Hot in … here, Master,” he growled. Apparently he saw nothing unusual in a man being fastened to a wall. Without rising, he began to strip off his shirt. The woman and girl followed his example.
Yes, it was still hot in the cell, but outside the temperature was dropping rapidly. Rap wondered if his feet would freeze before morning.
“Thrugg! The other man needs help. Go to him, Thrugg.” Thrugg clambered to his feet-but only so that he could take off his pants. Andor was becoming more and more urgent. “Thrugg! Come here!” Rap bellowed. Oh, to have his sorcery back!
How many votaries had Olybino posted around the fringes of the Mosweeps, waiting for the next slave-freeing attempt? Ainopple was no more Uoslope’s wife than Rap himself was. She was a substitute. Her glamour was a magnificent piece of sorcery, which had escaped his notice just as easily as it had deceived the tribune and his daughters and all the other inhabitants of Casfrel.
The trolls trudged over to the pegs and hung up their clothes. They must have been trained to do that, because clothes were not part of their culture.
Rap tried again, as loud as he could. “Thrugg!”
This time the monster shambled across to him and stopped with his muzzle almost in Rap’s face. “Master … hurt? Stuck?”
The huge hands closed on Rap’s waist, giving him a vivid image of himself being torn in pieces as the troll pulled him loose.
“No! No! Let go! The other man. Over there.”
Thrugg turned. “Other … master stuck?” Being native to the dense rain forests, trolls had excellent night sight, of course. “Just the cloth in his mouth, Thrugg. Bring me the cloth in his mouth.”
Thrugg crossed to Andor, removed the dirty rag, shuffled back to Rap, and inserted it in his mouth instead. It tasted unimaginably vile. Andor laughed shrilly.
Without warning, Thrugg cuffed the child. It was apparently a playful blow, although it would have stunned a nontroll. “Go!” he boomed. Norp headed obediently for the nearest pile of bedding and lay down. Thrugg put his arms around Urg. “Mate?” He kissed her.
“Unnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng!” Rap said desperately. Andor yelled, “Thrugg!”
Thrugg paid no attention. He was not much older than Urg was, and apparently neither of them knew that trolls almost never bred in captivity. From the way the embrace was proceeding, this was going to be one of the rare occasions when they did.
Rap solved one of his problems by vomiting violently, rag and all. He coughed and choked and spat, then puked again. “Rap!” Andor begged. “Do something! Help!”
“Oh, I’m sure he can manage on his own.” The agony in Rap’s joints was becoming excruciating. He could hardly see for tears, and he was afraid he would start screaming soon. He did not think Andor was in anything like as much pain as he was, at least not yet.
Thrugg had Urg down on the floor now, right in the middle of the cell. He really should have taken her over to the straw, but probably trolls did not worry much about finesse. She seemed enthusiastic enough.
Andor cursed fluently.
“I can’t do anything, ” Rap said. “She’s gelded me. I’m helpless.” If he tried to ease his shoulders, his knees burned, and vice versa.
Bitch!
“Can you call Jalon?”
No, that wouldn’t work. Jalon was much slighter than Andor, and might be able to work his legs loose, but if Andor’s arms were bent as Rap’s were, then even Jalon could not wriggle out of the stone bonds. The transformation might tear him apart anyway; he was shorter than the imp.
“The magic isn’t there!”
“Nor mine.” Rap’s attempts not to groan were making his voice as guttural as a dwarf’s. If Ainopple could blank out Andor’s spell, then she was extraordinarily powerful.
“How long is she going to leave us here?” Andor wailed. “Not as long as she thinks. The Covin must have sensed her use of power. They’ll be here shortly, I think. “
That did not seem like much of a rescue. “We’re dead!”
“Let’s hope it’s quick. “
That did not seem much like Zinixo.
Thrugg and Urg were grunting and roaring in their joint frenzy. Rap dared not try to speak-if he opened his mouth now he would scream. Andor was weeping. Minute followed agonizing minute. Down on the dirt, the earth-shaking passion came to an end. The dust began to settle.
How much pain could a man stand before he fainted? Rap tried to think of other things. Such as, how long had the fake Ainopple been living at Casfre
l? Months, surely. She had not yet heard of Zinixo’s usurpation of the Four. She had been lying in wait for a sorcerer, so she had deliberately refrained from using power, just as Rap had done. He had given himself away when he cured Thrugg’s injuries. Only a very puny sorcerer would have rattled the ambience so much for a minor healing.
And because she had been staying out of touch, she did not know that Olybino had disappeared. She would discover that when she tried to report to him in the morning, for Zinixo had control of the Gold Palace. It was astonishing that the Covin was not already investigating the use of power at Casfrel.
The situation seemed completely hopeless.
Thrugg heaved himself to his feet. Puffing and mumbling, he shuffled over to Andor and took hold of him. “Master still … stuck. “
Andor screamed in terror. “No! No! You’ll tear me apart! Stop! ” His voice choked off as he fainted dead away. Rap opened his mouth to yell at the well-meaning lummox also. Then he realized that-first-his pain had stopped, and-second-that he had his power back. And third, Thrugg’s very solid image in the ambience was grinning at him hugely.
He relaxed with a gasp of stunned relief.
“Sorry if we embarrassed you, sir. ” A troll sorcerer could communicate without interference from equine teeth and shoe-size tongue. “The mistress is a narrow-minded old bag, and I thought that would be the best way to stop her spying on us. She’s gone to bed now. I’ve put her to sleep, so it’s safe. “
Thrugg lifted Andor out of the wall. He set him down gently in an untidy heap of limbs.
“I’m afraid I need help, too,” Rap admitted. He could make no impression on the sorceress’s spell. Feeling almost lightheaded with relief, he stared at the two Thruggs-the potent young sorcerer in the ambience and the lumbering barrel of muscle that came shuffling over to help him like a wellintentioned bullock, making the big room seem crowded. “It was you all the time?”
“Yes, just me. Urg really is my mate. ” The troll lifted Rap out of the wall, also, with no apparent effort, either physical or occult. “She got caught when 1 was of doing a job near Drimush. 1 came to help, and then discovered there was a sorceress on guard. I’m fraid I frightened your friend. “
Andor was spread out on the floor like a corpse.
Rap leaned against the wall, easing his aching joints and shivering. “No surprise. He needs the rest.” And Andor would try to disappear at the first opportunity, but he was still the cabal’s best horseman. “It might be a good idea if you left the shielding on him for the time being.”
“If you say so, sir. ” Thrugg seemed shocked, though. “Please. And please call me Rap.”
“Then that was a sequential spell I saw on him earlier? ” “Yes, it was. ” Rap wondered how many sorcerers were powerful enough-and hence wise enough-to make a snap diagnosis of something as rare as a sequential spell. Thrugg sensed the thought and grinned bashfully.
A laughing Urg handed her man his shirt for the second time that evening. Norp had stopped pretending to be asleep and was sitting up. “Get … clothes … on now,” Thrugg growled at them. “You the Rap who turned down the Red Palace?”
“Er, yes. That wasn’t yesterday, though. ” Thrugg could not have been more than a toddler.
“Mother’s told me about you. “
Mother? Gods! No wonder Grunth had protected the sorcerer who was rescuing slaves-her own son! And while Rap had been hiding his power from Zinixo, Ainopple had been hiding hers from Rap, and Thrugg had been hiding his from Ainopple! “How long have you been here at Casfrel?”
Thrugg’s wolfish face became oddly sheepish. “Couple months. ” He climbed into his pants.
“Two months as a slave?”
If a hyena could look embarrassed, it might look like Thrugg did then. He scuffed a great horny foot in the dirt. “It wasn’t that bad. Urg was here. Food’s quite good. Lots of fresh air and heavy lifting.”
Trolls were notoriously placid, but that was ridiculous. “You’re obviously far more powerful than that Ainoppli woman!” Rap exclaimed, straightening up. He was disgustingly shaky. “Why didn’t you just swat her, and leave?”
“Well … I dunno. Just don’t like doing things like that to people. “
For the first time, Rap had met a sorcerer who felt as he did about the evils of sorcery-even more so, for he would not have endured what this gentle colossus had.
“You let them beat you?”
Thrugg chortled, a sound like a tree falling. “Oh, I turned of the pain if it got too bad. ” Dressed now, he stooped and lifted Andor like a baby. “I kept hoping she d get tired waiting, and go away. I appreciate what you did for me, sir. Now,I suggest we leave her here for the Covin to find. ” The door clicked open before him. “Mate … girl … come! Sir, I think we ought to get out of here smartish and head for the hills. “
“I’ll go for that,” Rap said.
Minds innocent:
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for a hermitage.
— Lovelace, To Althea from Prison
ELEVEN
Day will end
1
“Another piece of cake, Lord Umpily?”
“Most kind of you, ma’am.”
The cake was delicious. It could hardly be otherwise at the residence of Senator Ishipole, who was celebrated for her exquisite taste. She was reported to have originated the epigram “Only quality is necessary.” She was also rumored to be the third richest woman in the Impire, but Umpily rather doubted that-she spent too lavishly to be that rich. It was possible, though. Her family owned a couple of toll gates on the Great South Way, and she had been a marquise before she blackmailed her way into the Senate. So there was never any shortage of anything around Ishipole, and everything was always of the finest quality.
He sat on a quality silk divan and sipped quality tea from a quality china cup. The salon was a sumptuous room. Winter sunshine gleamed through high windows and was warmed by the ivories and yellows of the quality decor and the russet fire of her gown. In summer she would be surrounded by cool blues and greens. He hoped she would soon offer him yet another piece of that mouth-watering almond cake. Or even the chocolate one, which was almost as good.
The lady herself was no longer of the quality she must have been fifty years ago, when she had reportedly valued quantity as well as quality, at least in affairs of the heart-both Emshandar and his father had been mentioned in the same whispers. She was rumored to have been the model for the famous masked nude that hung in the Throne Room, although whatever likeness there might have been once would no longer be detectable. Now all the flesh had faded from her bones, except on her face, where it had sagged in soft folds like wax on a candle. Her mouth drooped in a permanent disagreeable pout and the bags under her eyes would hold the Julgistro apple harvest. No quantity of paint and diamonds could hide the ugly truth that Ishipole was truly ugly. Perhaps even the third ugliest woman in the Impire, he wouldn’t wonder.
“And who is to be the new mistress of the robes?” he asked, adopting an expression of false innocence that would not deceive the old crone for one second even if he wanted it to, which he didn’t.
Ishipole and he were old, er … sparring partners might be a better term than friends.
Some of his earliest memories were of eating cakes at Aunt Ishi’s. His skill in gossipmongering had been learned at her knee. For years the two of them had sought to outdo each other in the pursuit of scandal, the tearing down of hypocrisy, the savaging of reputation. This private little chat was quite like old times, just the two of them in her private salon, except that now it was extremely dangerous for him.
“She has made a complete about-face, you know!”
Ishipole was commenting on the size of the impress’s clothing bill. She pursed eggshell lips in silent stricture. “When she was only a princess, she spent hardly a groat on dressing herself! Her ladie
s were driven to despair! You must know that! And now? Ha! They say if the numbers were known, she outspends the Imperial navy. Another piece of cake? And she can’t wear any of them with the court in mourning. “
“Have you heard any word of her sister, ma’am?”
The senator shrugged with distaste. “Why should I want to?” The reaction was not surprising. Umpily had already established that the impress’s sister had vanished from the memory of the court. No one recalled seeing her for months. She was assumed to have returned to rural obscurity. Even household servants’ minds had been wiped. Zinixo himself might not be so thorough, but his votaries would further his cause scrupulously.
Official mourning would continue for many months yet. This season the social scene was bereft of the great functions at which the gentry normally displayed their finery and tattled gossip. In some ways that had been a help to Umpily. The social espionage he had achieved in the last couple of months would not have been possible in normal times. Even under present conditions it was a miracle that he had remained at large so long.
And now he was growing reckless. He had scavenged as much information as he could about the court and its imposter imperor, but he had uncovered no trace whatsoever of Olybino. The problem of the missing warlock had become almost an obsession with him. If any mundane knew the answer, it would be this old hag. He dared not put the question directly; he must lead up to it with great caution.
Meanwhile, he had confirmed that the fake impress was lavishing state funds on clothes. That sounded exactly like Ashia, and she would undoubtedly display Eshiala’s gorgeous face and body magnificently. Shandie had already been informed of the clothes rumor via the magic scroll, but it was nice to have Senator Ishipole’s testimony, which added mass. It was no trivial matter, for if Ashia had enough freedom of will to indulge her own personality like that, then how much did Emthoro have? Who was running the government-the fake imperor Emthoro, or the sinister dwarf Zinixo? How long a string was the puppet allowed?