by Dave Duncan
"Of course," the stranger agreed with another winning smile. "And the sultan?"
"The sultan and Grandsire made a small detour."
"Detour?"
"Through Thume!"
"No! The Accursed Land? Now you have really intrigued me!"
A little later Skarash found time to wonder if he had been wise to mention that Grandsire was a mage, and now votary to Warlock Olybino himself, but the imp poured out more wine himself and proposed a toast or two, and the conversation continued without significant interruption.
Talk droned; insects hummed.
"But how on earth could even a mage have tracked them down in such a wilderness?"
"Ah!" said Skarash, being mysterious. He really ought to call for some food, to mop up all this liquor slopping around in his insides. Djinns were notoriously susceptible to alcohol and tended to shun it for that reason. He never normally indulged in it himself. "Well, the sorceress had given Grandsire a device to trace the use of magic, you see . . ."
4
"Aunt?"
Kadolan blinked her eyes open. The room was dark. Her head felt thick and a nasty taste in her mouth told her she must have been asleep. Then she made out the shrouded figure standing in the moonlight.
"Inos!"
"Don't get up . . ."
But Kadolan struggled to her feet and reached out, and they came together and hugged.
"Oh, Inos, my dear! I have been so . . . er . . . concerned! Are you all right?"
"All right? Of course, Aunt!" Inosolan broke away and turned toward the window. "Of course I am all right. I am the most cherished, tightly guarded woman in Arakkaran. Perhaps in all of Zark. How could I not be all right?"
Kadolan's heart shattered at the tone. She moved forward, but her touch caused Inosolan to edge away.
"What are you doing all alone, sleeping in a chair, Aunt? Have you dined yet this evening?"
"Tell me, dear!"
"Tell you what?"
"Everything!"
"Really! You want the details of my wedding night?"
Kadolan gulped and said, "Yes, I think maybe I do."
Slowly Inosolan turned to face her. She was swathed from head to floor in some sweeping white stuff. Only her eyes showed. "Why, Aunt! That is not a very ladylike question."
"Don't joke, Inos. There is something wrong."
"Intruders have been breaking into the palace and killing guards."
"Inos, please!"
"There is Rap. He is in prison."
"Yes."
"Recause of me. That is wrong — that a faithful friend should suffer for trying to aid me."
"In a few days, when the sultan has had time to repent of his anger . . ."
Inosolan wrung her hands. "Do we have a few days?" Her voice quavered, then steadied. "What are they doing to him, Aunt? Do you know?"
"No, dear. I have asked."
"I dare not. Azak promised no more bloodshed, but he is insanely jealous. I never knew what that phrase meant before. It's a cliché, isn't it, insanely jealous? But in this case it's exact. He forbids me even to think of another man. To plead for Rap again would doom him instantly. And what he did in the Great Hall . . ."
"We shall do what we can, dear."
"Little enough, I fear."
Silence fell, and the two stared at each other in the diffuse glow of the moon beyond the windows while Kadolan heard the pounding of her heart. "There is more, isn't there?" she said.
Inosolan nodded. "I never could deceive you, could I?" Then she raised a hand and removed her veil.
Oh, Gods! Kadolan closed her eyes. No! No!
"Rasha died too soon," Inosolan said.
"She had not removed the curse!"
"No, she hadn't. She'd said she would, but she hadn't got around to it. He was going to kiss me."
Even in that spectral glow, the marks were plain. Two fingers on one cheek . . . the print of thumb on the other. And the chin! Burned into the flesh.
How frail was beauty! How fleeting!
Gone now. Gone! Hideous, scabbing wounds!
Shocked, stunned, Kade staggered back and tumbled into her chair. She stared up at Inosolan in shivering, impotent horror.
"The pain is bearable," Inosolan said. "I can live with that."
But the marriage . . .
Oh, Gods! The marriage?
"He still cannot touch a woman," Inosolan said bitterly, "Not even his wife."
The room seemed to blur, and Kade wasn't sure if that meant she was about to faint or if her eyes were just flooded with tears. "What can we do?" She had not dreamed that things could get worse, but they had — Inosolan condemned to a chaste marriage, doomed to lose even Azak's one-sided love, for he would surely turn against a woman he craved and could never possess.
"There is only one thing we can do," Inosolan said in a futile attempt to sound calm. "What we tried to do before — we must go and seek occult aid."
"Master Rap?"
"No, no! He is only an adept. It will take a full sorcerer to cancel a spell."
"Sorcerer?" Kade was too horrified to think properly.
"The Four, the wardens. A curse set upon a monarch is political sorcery, so they should be willing to remove it. And heal my face, I hope."
Kade took a few deep breaths, but her brain was dead as flagstones. "Well, I have always enjoyed sailing, and a visit to Hub at last —"
"No."
"No?"
"You are not coming. He will not allow it. I have come to say farewell, Aunt. And Gods bless." The usually musical voice was flat and cold as a winter pond. "And . . . and thank you for everything."
"But when?"
Somewhere a door creaked, and boots clacked slowly on the tiles in the corridor. Kade struggled to rise and failed.
Inosolan came and bent to kiss her cheek. "It will be days before the court realizes he is gone," she whispered quickly. "Officially we shall be touring the countryside. That will hold for a week or two. After that . . . well, the Gods will provide. And Prince Kar, of course, will be in charge here."
Hub? "You can't go veiled in Hub!"
"I can't not!"
Oh, Holy Balance! May the Good preserve us — Inosolan had lost everything now, even her beauty.
The boots were almost at the door. Only one man had unimpeded access to any room in the palace.
"Remember Rap," Inosolan breathed. "Do what you can. He'll be safe with Azak gone, I'm sure. There is a fast ship," she added, a little louder, "headed west, and a carriage waits. He thinks we can just reach Qoble before the passes close. Wish me luck, Aunt. Wish us luck?"
"But the war?" Kadolan cried. "Isn't the Impire massing troops in Ullacarn?" Zark was about to be invaded. A djinn sultan journeying to the enemy's capital . . .
"Just one more risk to take," Inosolan said brightly. "It will be a most interesting journey. Gods be with you, Aunt. We'll be all right. We'll be back by spring — my husband and I . . . look after yourself."
The door swung open, and a tall shadow stood there, its jewels faintly shining.
"Gods be with you both," Kade said, and watched Inosolan glide silently away, like a wraith, following Azak into the darkness.
5
However much Andor might be enjoying himself out in the sheik's pleasance, back in the dingy kitchen quarters of the rambling mansion, the chairs were hard and the hot air rancid with scents of long-dead cooking. Gnats and moths twirled around the smelly lamps and held races on the low ceiling. Gathmor crossed his ankles the other way and eased his back. The bulky djinn on the other side of the table scowled at him briefly and went back to scratching his armpits. He had not spoken a word to Gathmor all evening, which was fine by Gathmor; from the smell of him the oaf was a camel driver by trade, now being used as watchdog to make sure the jotunn behaved himself. Gathmor would like very much to see him try. He'd observed many others wander through the scullery during his long wait; he'd take on any two of them cheerfully.
The
women, on the other hand . . . Even wrapped like corpses, they moved like elves, and there was something challenging in all that concealment and the swirl of cloth as they hurried past on their master's business. It really caught a man's imagination; made him watch the folds shift for a hint of how much lay beneath, and where. The flame-red eyes . . . After all, Wanmie must have died in Kalkor's massacre, and in some ways that was beginning to feel like a long time ago. In some ways. Not that she'd have grudged him a nibble or two at another table, once in a while, had he ever wanted that. He was very tempted to try speaking to the next shrouded maiden who came through — and not just to rouse the camel driver, either.
He'd had as much boredom as he could stand. He'd been in this squalid pesthole for four or five hours, capping two days of useless talk and argument and mostly waiting around. Waiting for Thinal, or Darad. And now Andor. Or being a common porter — sometimes a man would do for a shipmate what he wouldn't dream of doing for himself.
A large youth stuck his head round the door. "You! Your master wants you."
Gathmor smiled and said softly, "Did I hear you correctly?" The camel driver brightened and glanced at the youth. For a moment the evening began to look interesting.
"Your friend?" the youth said, scowling.
" 'Employer' would do," Gathmor admitted, and heaved himself to his feet. "Lead on, Valiant." Turning red faces redder was the best fun he'd found in Zark so far. It wasn't much.
He swung his bundle up on his back and followed. Common porter!
When he reached the door, he saw that Andor was as good as dismasted. So the sailor took the proffered lantern in one hand and a firm grip on the imp's arm with the other, and steered him out into the night before the cheerfully wine-scented farewells were finished. The door thumped shut behind them; bars and chains rattled behind it, and the night was hot.
It was also dark. He'd been rash, Gathmor realized, going outdoors before he'd got his night eyes back; he wasn't used to these landlubber games. He pulled Andor back into the doorway again, raising the lantern high to peer at all the shadows. Andor hiccuped discreetly.
There were a lot of shadows, but most of them were too small to conceal anything. The walls were very high, but moonlight played its magic in places, and some windows still glowed here and there. A few households kept lamps burning above their doors.
"Uphill or downhill?" Gathmor said, when he was satisfied that there were no footpads close.
"Uphill, downhill, in my lady's chamber . . ."
"Call Sagorn!"
Andor sniggered. "I think I'm too drunk to remember how. Gods, but that kid was a trader! I couldn't get a thing out of him sober. Ooops, I think I'm going to call the gnomes."
"Do it, then, or bring Sagorn now and do it next year."
Andor reeled into a corner, but there were some things even Andor could not do elegantly. Gathmor studied the shadows and the narrow moonstruck sky roofing the canyon and tried not to listen. Serve the sleazy twister right!
He was getting very tired of the whole bunch of them. In the last two days he'd been working with all five — one at a time, of course — and Evil knew how confusing it was. He'd no sooner get one straightened out than he'd be dealing with another and having to start all over.
"Awright!" he said when silence returned. "Tell me what you found out, or else call Sagorn and let me have his ideas firsthand."
"You boneheaded Nordland blackguard!" Andor gagged a few more times, but nothing more happened. "I still think we're wasting our time. Why don't we go back down —"
"Don't try it!" Gathmor snarled. "It didn't work the last time and it won't now."
Andor could probably still talk him into leaving Arakkaran and abandoning his shipmate. He'd done so two days ago, and they'd sailed on the dawn breeze. But only Jalon could work the pipes to summon real winds, and when Andor had called Jalon, Jalon had simply waited until Gathmor recovered his wits and stopped threatening. Then they'd come back to Arakkaran. Andor's charm was irresistible, but it wore off. Jalon was a jotunn, and a real man inside, despite his puny exterior.
Andor started to speak, groaned briefly, and vanished.
Sagorn stood in his place, pale face and silver hair shining bright in the light of the lantern. He sighed approvingly. "Nicely done, sailor."
"What did he learn?"
"Ah!" For a moment the old man stood in silence, pondering or perhaps merely rummaging through Andor's memories. "Uphill," he said, and began striding into the dark. Adjusting the bundle on his back, Gathmor moved to his side, and the shadows danced away at their approach, only to sneak in softly behind again.
"What did Andor find out?"
"I never thought I should be grateful to a gnome," Sagorn remarked. "But Dragonward Ishist outshines any doctor I have ever heard of. He must be the equal of —"
"You're going to need medical help again very shortly, you know."
The scholar chuckled dryly and slowed his pace. He had begun to puff already. "We could use Ishist right now, couldn't we? If what we heard about gangrene is true, then the faun hasn't long to live. His healing powers must be failing."
Gathmor shuddered. Before noon Thinal had gone over the palace wall again, so that Andor could interview a couple more guards. The trouble was that then he'd called Darad to ensure their silence, and all the others were becoming understandably alarmed by the sudden epidemic of anemia in their profession.
"And Darad saw Princess Kadolan on a balcony," Sagorn remarked. "That's important, although none of the others realized."
The alley entered a tiny square, and Gathmor peered around nervously. "Last warning — don't play games with me, Sagorn."
The old man snorted. He was wheezing now, but obviously headed back to the palace. How long could their luck last?
"Is there a solution?" Gathmor demanded.
"Certainly."
"There is?"
"Certainly. I have known it since Jalon called me yesterday. I just didn't want to raise your hopes by mentioning it."
Gathmor promised himself revenge on this scraggy old bookworm — someday, somehow. "Raise them now."
"More magic! Rap is merely an adept. His powers have kept him alive this long, despite his injuries, but since he can no longer speak to talk his guards into —"
"I am only an ignorant sailor!" Gathmor shouted. "But I am not stupid. I know all this." The old windbag always used too many words, but he seemed to be dragging this story out deliberately.
"Will you tell the world? Keep your voice down! Now, do you want to hear or not?"
"What is the answer?"
The two jotnar emerged onto a wide road, better lit by the moon. There was no wheeled traffic in these early-morning hours, but a band of men went by on the far side with lanterns and suspicious glances, guarding a fat merchant encased within them like a yolk.
Sagorn was laboring, puffing harder. "More power! If we can learn another word, then I will be an adept, also, and so will Andor, or Thinal, or Jalon, or even Darad. I admit that the thought of Darad as an adept is . . ." He sensed Gathmor's fury and broke off. "That is the answer! Another word of power."
What madness was this? "And where exactly do you propose finding one of those now, after failing for a hundred years?"
Sagorn chuckled dryly. "I know exactly where."
"Where?"
"The girl has one."
"Rap's princess? She does? You're serious?"
"Absolutely! One of Inisso's words has been handed down in her family. Her father passed it to her on his deathbed. It was perhaps the reason the sorceress abducted her. But I couldn't be sure . . . She does not seem to have had fair fortune, and even a single word normally brings good luck."
"Now you're sure?" Gathmor was certain he was overlooking something in this argument.
"Yes, I am. That was why we have been cultivating Master Skarash all afternoon. He was one of her companions in the desert."
"One word? A genius? What's her skill, then?
What's she good at?"
Sagorn sniffed disparagingly. "That seems to be still a mystery. At least the djinn boy told Andor he didn't know. He may not have been informed, of course, but at one point in their adventures, she was definitely exercising some sort of power. It was how his grandfather was able to find her again."
"Grandfather?"
"Elkarath himself. He's a mage. But he isn't here. He's still in Ullacarn, working for Warlock Olybino now. Forget him. We must find Inos and persuade her to share her word of power with me. Or with one of my associates. Then we can save Rap!"
"How?"
Sagorn paused to rest, leaning against a high stone wall — the wall of the palace grounds, in fact. He took a moment to catch his breath and wipe his brow. "The faun is no fighter, but with two words he held off the whole palace guard. Imagine Darad with two words! Another word will bring many new skills, of course, but it must also strengthen the skills we've got now. Gods — Thinal will be able to walk out the door with the sultan's throne under his arm."
"Listen!" Gathmor swung around to stare toward the corner. There were gates to one of the palace yards just around there, and he could hear . . . Yes! Horses.
He doused the lantern, but the two of them were still far too conspicuous in the moon-washed street. "Come on!" After grabbing the old man's wrist, he began to run across the road, feeling the straps of his bundle dig into his shoulders at every step. There was a dark alleyway on the far side, but farther uphill, closer to the approaching cavalry. The hoofbeats were very near now.
Djinns were insanely suspicious folk, even in daylight.
He had no sense of change, but suddenly the wrist he held was different. He let go, and Thinal hurtled out in front, heading for cover like a rabbit, with Andor's overlarge garments flapping around him. No hero, Thinal. Ladened by his pack and the dead lantern, Gathmor couldn't keep up with him. He watched the little thief vanish into the shadows, heard the hooves grow louder, and saw the leaders wheel around the corner just as he reached the alley also and plunged into the welcome darkness.