by Dave Duncan
“Greatness, you are a welcome sight,” Inos said weakly. She could feel herself floating in strange surges of emotion, like long ocean swells, up and down and up . . . There was pain and terror and screaming—horrible-hair-tearing hysterics inside her somewhere, there was a broken ankle and worry about Kade and Azak, but all those were overlain by the silken web of calm that she had recognized as Elkarath’s. It was an intensification of the spell he had used on her every day from their first meeting until she had fled from him at Tall Cranes. It was magnified now to soothe her after what she had endured. The slow ups and downs must be variations in the intensity of the magic as he sought to adjust it to her needs.
He nodded calmly from the eminence of horseback. “I regret that I did not arrive sooner, Majesty. However, it would seem that you have suffered no harm I cannot heal.”
Her ankle had stopped throbbing already. She fingered the swelling absently. ”My aunt?”
Elkarath glanced across the clearing to the body of the felled horse. ”She has been stunned, but she is in no danger. I shall attend to her when we have meted justice here.”
“And Azak?”
“He also will survive. I was just in time for him, also.”
A wave of relief burst through the emotional blanket, and Inos muttered a swift prayer to the Gods. “This is good news indeed, Greatness!”
“Humph!” The white brows came down in a scowl, and Elkarath turned his regard on the four frozen youths. They twitched slightly and mumbled. Harmless as flies in amber, they drooled and rolled their eyes in their efforts to move lips and tongues.
“These vermin,” the sheik said icily, “shot down a man from ambush and then did not have the grace to kill him. He might have lain there suffering for days so far as they knew, or cared. As it was, he had almost drowned in his own blood when I arrived. Else I had been here sooner.”
He swung a leg and dropped as nimbly as an adolescent, although the stallion stood at least seventeen hands. Then it didn’t. The great horse shrank and faded and in moments had become merely another shaggy mountain pony like many Inos had seen in the foothills on the far side of the Progistes. Its occult glow dimmed and vanished. Even through the euphoria spell, Inos felt prickles of shock, and she heard the four immobilized pixies mumble gutturally.
The least surprised seemed to be the pony itself. It flickered ears and swished tail in a sort of equine shrug, then lowered its head to crop the lush grass.
The sheik knelt to examine Inos’s ankle. Inos had no clothes on. He chuckled softly. “Do not be shy. No woman has secrets from me.” He laid a cool hand on the swelling and it subsided. Her other scrapes and bruises were healing also.
“There! That will do for now.” The old man rose, with none of the stiffness he displayed when there were others around to tend him. He held down a courtly hand to help Inos rise also. Silver sandals appeared on her feet and, as she came erect, a silken robe enveloped her. A filmy shawl materialized over her filthy, tangled hair. He had either forgotten underwear or was too tactful to use magic so intimately.
She mumbled thanks and bobbed a shaky curtsy. He bowed in response and laughed softly, as if he were enjoying this rare opportunity to exert powers he normally concealed. He did not look straight at her, though. He never did. Being a sorcerer, he could see without looking, she supposed, and that had become a habit to him. But she always found it irritating.
The prisoners moaned and slobbered and twitched in their efforts to move. Lighted by Elkarath’s awesome light, they all seemed younger and slighter than they had before—unusually broad, perhaps, and with a curl to their hair that she had rarely seen on men before, and only by artifice on women. Their eyes were large and angled like elves’, stretched wide now in terror. The irises were pale hazel, almost gold. But they were no hideous monsters, merely youths little older or taller than herself. How could they have behaved so?
“Scum!” said the sheik. “Who are they?” Inos asked.
He shrugged. “Not formal guards at their age. Just a hunting party, I fancy.”
“They are well groomed, civilized-looking. Their clothes are well made.”
“Ha! Their behavior was not civilized. They had been stalking you for some time. Their lives are forfeit, so it matters not who they are, nor whence they came.”
The amber eyes rolled in their sockets. Curiously, Inos was discovering that she felt very little hatred toward her attackers. Perhaps it was because they looked so helpless and she could remember how it felt to be pinned down by sorcery, or perhaps because she had escaped without permanent hurt. Maybe it was only the sorcerer’s spell working on her emotions, but they seemed very young to die.
The sheik was stroking his shining white beard in dignified consideration. ”They did not actually consummate their violation of your person, Queen Inosolan, but the intent was manifest. Your escape was narrow enough to justify granting you the traditional satisfaction.” He drew his dagger and offered it to her with a flourish, hilt first.
Inos stared at it in bewilderment. “What am I supposed to do with that? ”
“Take what they were so eager to give.” She recoiled a step and turned to meet the horrified gaze of the immobilized youths. “No!” she said. “I am not a public executioner! And I would not stoop to barbarity like that.”
“Indeed?” Elkarath murmured, and snatched away the occult blanket he had laid upon her emotions.
A thunderbolt of rage and hate struck her, followed at once by a shivery wild joy at having the tables turned. Again her heart thundered in her ears. She tasted bile burning her throat as she recalled what these four moral cripples had done to her and what they had intended. The gloating, the mockery, the actual pain, and above all the planned degradation . . . four men against one woman . . . her hand trembled as she reached for the dagger. Revenge would feel very good.
And she heard her father’s voice. “Do what is good,” he had told her once, “not just what feels good.” When? Why? She could not recall the occasion—perhaps something very trivial in her childhood. But the precept was not trivial. With a great effort she mastered her fury and turned to face the old man.
“No! They deserve punishment, I agree. But not by me.” The sheik raised his snowbank eyebrows in disbelief and for once looked at her squarely.
“Punishment and vengeance are not the same,” Inos shouted. ”You are judge here. Yours is the power. They are your captives. Judge then, and execute your judgment.” She took a deep breath, steadied her voice, and added, “And if it please your Greatness—I prefer the world this way. I want to take life as it is and as I am, not a painted replica seen through the eyes of a drunkard.”
He frowned. “You are trembling.”
“I am not ashamed of that under the circumstances. I would rather tremble than be a puppet.”
A faint smile rumpled the folds of his chubby red face. “Spoken like a queen! So be it.” He replaced the dagger in his sash and turned to the four captives. “You are judged unfit to live. Die, then, and may the Gods find more good in you than I can.”
They jerked into motion, turning on their heels and starting to walk. Inos stuffed knuckles into her mouth as she saw the nature of the sentence. Of course the old man would be watching her, but if he expected her to have a fit of hysterics, then she would not give him the satisfaction. So she held herself rigid and watched, and by some occult trick she was allowed to see through the darkness as the four boys advanced over the grass, stumbled down the little bank, and continued across the sand. They waded into the river until the water reached their waists, and the tall one lasted until it was halfway up his chest. Then the current took him, as well. None of them reappeared.
Inos released a long breath. She felt nauseated. She was still shaking. She would have nightmares for years . . . so be it!
It had been the sheik’s justice, not hers. “Now my aunt, your Greatness?”
“Of course. And First Lionslayer will be here shortly.. Come, then.”
He led the way across the meadow, walking within the moving circle of his own radiance. The grass fire that Kade had started had died away to a few red flickers and pale smoke drifting among the trees, so the forest was not going to burn down. The sky was full of stars already—night came more swiftly here than it did in Krasnegar.
Do what is right, not what feels right. No, it had not been her father who’d told her that. That had been one of Rap’s little homilies. Rap had been full of such sayings. She’d often teased him about them. The whole gang had teased Rap about his proverbs; not that teasing Rap had ever been difficult or even very satisfying, because he’d never seemed to mind much. He’d never lost his temper like a jotunn or screamed like an imp; he’d just shrugged and gone his own way.
Why should she be thinking of Rap now? Because of the chase? Because of running from the men in terror, as shed often run from Rap in play? She could well remember him catching her and pulling her down on the sand, and holding her there until she let him kiss her—when they’d been smaller, of course. Not in the last year or two. They’d only kissed once after kissing had become a serious activity.
Or was it because Rap had died for her, and now four more men had died because of her’? Maybe that was it.
And the sheik had already reached the dead horse, and Kade was clambering to her feet, decently dressed already, like Inos herself, but looking very bewildered.
Inos ran to her, and they hugged.
4
Elkarath was throwing power around by the barrelful. The dead horse vanished, and in its place appeared a bonfire, a pyramid of logs crackling and sparking and casting a welcome light. Then he created a circle of rugs around it.
“We have a little time to kill,” he said. “Let us enjoy this fine evening.” He glanced around the clearing. “There is no danger . . . yet.”
He sat down and crossed his legs, chuckling at the women’s exclamations of wonder. “Be seated, ladies! Now, have you a preference in wine, Highness?” His occult glow had faded away, and he was only a plump old man in a white robe and white headcloth. Firelight twinkled in his rubied headband.
“Oh, I defer to your expertise, Greatness,” Kade simpered, settling on one of the rugs and tucking her legs around in the usual Zarkian position, with no more than her usual stiffness. If she had sustained injuries in her fall, then obviously the sorcerer had cured them, and her previous uneasiness had gone completely.
How much her emotions were being suppressed Inos could not tell. It would not be out of character for Kade to survive even her recent ordeal without losing her poise. She had the barest trace of a tremor in her hands and her eyes were jumpy, but otherwise she was almost her old self. Indeed she was in much better spirits than she had been since entering Thume that morning. Whatever fears she had felt were apparently now dispelled by the guardian presence of the sheik.
Misted silver flasks of wine arrived beside each of them, and a first sip convinced Inos that the vintage was as fine as anything in Duke Angilki’s cellar, or Azak’s. It was cold, too, and even the Palace of Palms had trouble maintaining an adequate supply of snow for chilling the princes’ wine, snow brought from the mountains by fast camels.
Kade glanced around at the looming night. The treetops were dark fingers waving against the stars. “Those . . . er, ruffians?” She had been told that they had been disposed of, and had asked no questions. “They were pixies? Live pixies?”
The sheik nodded, sipping his wine. Snow-bearded, cheeks rouged by desert life, he seemed like everyone’s ideal grandpappy. His voice was slow and placid as a glacier. His eyes would twinkle under the heavy white brows once in a while; but to catch a real look at those eyes was almost impossible. Inos wondered whether his benevolent air was genuine, or if he was again projecting an occult glamour to fog her mind. Perhaps he did so automatically, without thinking, as a shopkeeper used politeness. “It would appear that there are still pixies living in Theme,” he agreed.
“Then there may be more of them around?” Again Kade eyed the darkness beyond the firelight.
“I strongly suspect that there must be women somewhere, as the race continues to thrive.” He chuckled. “And other males. And yes, they may seek vengeance.” He sipped his wine to heighten suspense. “There is a band approaching. They are coming upriver, but they are still a long way off. They may not know about us at all. If they bring a sorcerer against me, of course, then we are lost, but at the moment I detect no one within a league of us—other than a rather footsore young djinn snaking slow progress in the dark. I have kept him heading in the right direction,” he assured Inos, “and he can see the fire now.”
Inos shivered. Elkarath was human; he needed sleep and he could be deceived, as she had proved at Tall Cranes. How strong a defense could he maintain against the dangers of Thume? “But when these others arrive . . . how many?”
“I don’t know. Many.”
Why didn’t he know? “But even if you . . . if you deal with those, a whole army of pixies may creep up on us before dawn?” The old man shook his head, studying the condensation on his goblet. “We must be gone by dawn.”
Apparently he was not about to explain, and Inos felt a twinge of uneasiness.
Elkarath beamed, though, smiling toward each of his companions in turn, but indirectly. “Shall we dine, ladies?” Three silver dishes appeared, sparkling in the firelight, heaped with fragrant curry, vegetables, and snowy rice.
Inos knew that she was hungry, but her insides were still very quivery. Nevertheless, she had rejected Elkarath’s occult soothing, so she must keep up a pretense of calm. She reached for the food and promptly scalded her fingers. For a few minutes, silence : . .
“The . . . ruffians . . . did you no harm, Aunt?” she inquired between mouthfuls.
“No, dear. They shouted a lot of questions at me, but I could only understand about one word in four. So they gave up on me.” Even in the flickering firelight, Kade’s blush showed. “I’m afraid a fat old woman was of no interest to them. You were what they wanted.” She looked anxiously at her niece. Inos had assured her that there had been no lasting harm done, but even so . . .
“You were fortunate that they did not cut your throat at once, Highness,” Elkarath remarked placidly. “But I congratulate you on your diversionary exploit with the horse. I was near enough to observe, but not yet close enough to exert any influence. That was a rare display of courage, and of horsemanship.”
Kade blushed more deeply. “One does what one can,” she murmured.
“And I congratulate you on your skill at thali, also!”
“Oh, dear!” Kade turned redder than Inos had ever seen her and avoided her niece’s eye.
The sheik chuckled deeply. “Her Majesty the Sultana warned me to look out for you. I admit I had grown careless.” Curious! The sheik thought Kade had planned that little deception? For a moment Inos was tempted to claim the credit, and then decided to be discreet, for once. Odd, though! Why had Rasha been wary of Kade?
The conversation had strayed onto dangerous ground. For a while all three attended to their meal in a silence broken only by the busy crackling of the fire. Flame-tinged smoke drifted away in the wind, and sparks soared up to join the stars. Inos was still trembling from her experience with the pixies. The thought of a band of many others arriving was unnerving, but she was not going to start jumping at shadows, and if the old man was hoping to rattle her, then she would disappoint him. She told herself sternly that an encounter with the mythical pixies was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and this firelit picnic in a haunted forest was at least a memorable one. She did not need occult swaddling to let her enjoy herself, even if her mouth did seem drier than usual and swallowing harder.
“This curry is superb, Greatness,” she said.
“Thank you. My dear mother made it like this, you see.”
“And you have taught me that the protection of a sorcerer should not be discarded so lightly.”
“Ah!�
�� He sighed. “I am no sorcerer, ma’am. I dearly wish I was, at the moment. You would not have escaped from a sorcerer so readily. ”
“Then . . . Not a sorcerer?” Inos looked at Kade and saw a reflection of her own astonishment.
“I am but a mage,” Elkarath said. “Like my grandfather before me, and his, also.”
“A votary of Sultana Rasha’s, though?”
He nodded—sadly, she thought. “That is so. She detected me before I knew of her existence. But I am content to serve her.”
Given that lead and the old man’s benevolent mood, Inos sensed a chance to satisfy her longstanding curiosity about magic. Was he seeking to distract her, though? “We are ignorant in such matters, Greatness. Will you explain the distinction?”
He chuckled as if he had expected the question. “A mage, knowing but three words, can perform only magic, not full sorcery.”
“What is the difference?”
“Sorcery is permanent, magic only temporary. It varies—people are more easily influenced than inanimate objects. Healing the lionslayer and your aunt was relatively simple. I put a sleep spell on you every evening. That happens to be one of the easier magics, and it lasted until morning without reinforcement. But the euphoria spell I used on you by day tended to weaken unless I remembered to restore it at frequent intervals.” He sipped his wine thoughtfully. ”A sorcerer would have called you back out of the hills easily. And of course, I had to delay my pursuit until I had sorted out the tangle you had created. I tell you true, Tall Cranes was in considerable uproar.”
Inos gulped.
Kade glanced at her warningly. “You are gracious not to bear us ill will, Greatness,” she murmured.
“I was a trifle irked, that first morning,” the mage said, ”but at my age, one sees the humor in such situations. It was well done. ”