by Dave Duncan
If Jalon and Gathmor had been his only companions, he would have taken the warlock's boat for this trip north, but he could never ask the princess to ride in that. It might be booby-trapped, anyway, so that the warlock could follow its progress, or even call it to him. Lith'rian was sneaky, perhaps the least trustworthy of all the Four. Olybino was said to be stupid and the other two were just plain crazy. The elf was a trickster, and treacherous.
A gust of spray blew over the bows and did not touch Rap. He took hold of the rail as Unvanquished tipped her bow skyward. His jotunn blood thrilled to the creak of rope and spar, to the green gleam of light through the glassy edge of the wave ahead, and the swoop of the albatross astern, wheeling its wings against the sky. Fish swirled, myriads of them down in the main, and sometimes he sensed great somber shapes that might be whales, deeper in the cold dark. Most happily would he sail on forever. Landfall was going to bring back his troubles, and danger — and responsibility.
Captain Migritt dozed in his cabin, the cook cooked in the galley. Within a labyrinth of tackle stowed in the glory hole, Pooh was stalking a rat. The gnarled little gnome was about the most entertaining person aboard — Rap had already spent hours with him, hearing his yarns, chuckling at his ribaldry. No one ever talked to gnomes, and yet they were friendly, easygoing folk once you got past their odd customs and their stench, and once they got over their surprise and suspicion. He liked Pooh.
And there were voices, all over the ship . . . He could muffle them and ignore them, if they did not talk about him. But some of those voices did talk about him, often, and then the conversations were as hard to ignore as if they were right at his back.
Now, down in the princess's cabin, all three of them were on about him again.
Gathmor, gruffly: "Yes, he's changed. Do you think any man could suffer as he did and not change?"
Sagorn, supercilious: "It was not that. When he first recovered he was not like this. It was whatever he saw in his vision that did this to him."
Princess Kadolan, concerned: "Then we must try to find out what he saw and see if we can help."
Then both men together, saying that they had tried.
Gods! — how they had tried, Gathmor and all of the five by turns! Cursed mundane busybodies.
He had never asked to be a mage. Had the princess given him a choice, and had he been in fit state to think, he'd have refused the third word of power in the dungeon. He had really wanted to die then. He had never wanted occult power at all, except that he'd thought he could help Inos. So he'd trapped Sagorn with a dragon and become an adept. That was not a memory he cherished. Serve him right — see what it had brought him! Inos had a kingdom now. She had a royal and handsome husband, at least in name. Maybe she would be content with that? No, not Inos. She was too much a real woman not to want to have a real marriage, with children and . . . and a real husband. Gods! Why did a man have to fall in love? He drummed his fists on the rail. Why must a churl fall in love with a queen, and then not have the wit to know it and tell her so at once, so she could laugh and thank him politely and lay the whole matter to rest right away?
Then he'd have stayed in Krasnegar and been a wagon driver.
Then she'd have married Andor.
What business of his if she had?
What could he do now? Cure her burns, yes. Easy. That would be no harder than smuggling her aunt out of Arakkaran, which he had accomplished with no trouble at all. He couldn't remove her husband's curse, nor win back her kingdom — a mere mage could not take on the Four, no one could. Anyway, he wasn't going to be around much longer and she must have resigned herself to losing Krasnegar when she married that big barbarian . . . chain a man down and mash his bones? Inos had not known about that, her aunt said, and her aunt never seemed to tell a lie. She bypassed the truth when it was bothersome, but he had not seen her lie.
And here she came now, swaddled in wool and leather, a rolypoly figure staggering along the deck to speak to him. Her white hair was blowing like a flag and her cheeks were rosy as sunsets already. So now it must be her turn to try and comfort the moping faun.
He steadied her a little — not so much that she would notice — but he did not turn. When she arrived at his side and grabbed at the rail, he glanced around as if he had not been watching.
"Ma'am!"
"Master Rap!" She was beaming. She obviously enjoyed sailing. "This is wonderful weather! Is this your doing?"
"A little of it. Not much."
A gust of cold spray came over the side and he deflected it from both of them. She noticed and laughed shakily.
"Oh! Oh, that's splendid! You are a very helpful traveling companion!"
"I won't be much use ashore, I'm afraid. I shan't dare exert power there. Especially when we get near to Hub."
"Of course, I quite understand. I am so excited! All my life I have wanted to visit Hub. I never thought a mage would turn up to escort me — it's quite like a poet's romance!"
She smiled at him with faded blue eyes, the worry and inquiry quite obvious behind the feigned cheerfulness,
He would not think about Hub. Silence fell.
"I had a long chat with Captain Migritt at dinner last night," the princess said. "About Shimlundok. That's the eastern province of the Impire. Even after we reach Ollion, you know we still have to cross the whole width of Shimlundok Province, more than a thousand leagues!"
Rap had eaten dinner with Pooh, down in the cable locker, but he had heard most of the conversation anyway. "What'd he tell you, ma'am?"
"Well, he suggested that we start by sailing up the Winnipango. It's navigable for a very long way now, he says, since the new locks were put in. Well, they're not really new, because they were built by the Impress Abnila . . ." The captain had also admitted that it was a very roundabout way to travel, slow at the best of times, and impassable when the military had need of it and cleared civilian traffic out of the way. "But then Doctor Sagorn pointed out that the Winnipango is a very winding . . ."
Small wonder the sorcerous rarely made friends with mundanes.
It was a shame that Lith'rian's boat had been left behind in Arakkaran — to sail up a long, long river in that might be fun. Of course the shifting winds would snarl all the other travelers, and the magic might attract the notice of the warlock of the east. Even a much lesser sorcerer would be dangerous to a mere mage. The boat was gone anyway. Rap discarded a vain dream.
The princess finished repeating what she had learned about the Winnipango. "So Doctor Sagorn suggests that we should purchase a traveling coach and proceed overland. He thought you would probably be able . . . consent to drive it for us."
"It would be a real pleasure, ma'am. I'd like that."
"Oh, that's good! Do you suppose Master Gathmor will wish to remain in our — your — company?"
Nothing was going to detach Gathmor from Rap now, although his craving for revenge on Kalkor was sucking him into waters deadlier than he could imagine.
"He might just agree to dye his hair and face," Rap said, "and if Darad could hold him still for long enough, I could remove his mustache."
"Oh!" Then she realized that he had actually made a joke, and laughed a little too hard.
"He can be our footman, then." She smiled, hesitated. "Master Rap, would you forgive me a personal question?"
"Of course, ma'am."
"Those marks — the tattoos around your eyes. I understand that those were put there without your consent . . ."
He removed the tattoos and she blinked, and then laughed again, nervously.
"If I may say so, you are much better-looking without them."
He would never be better-looking than almost anyone else except a troll, so why did it matter? She was trying to imagine him sitting beside Inos on a throne for two, and that wasn't going to happen.
"I can't make them go away, really away," he explained. "They'll reappear as soon as I forget about them, or go to sleep. And a sorcerer might notice the magic — in a wa
y I'm more conspicuous without them than I am with them. Conspicuous to people who matter."
She nodded and apologized, but he left the tattoos invisible for now.
"I used to wonder," she said hastily, "why Sultana Rasha did not just make herself young and beautiful and leave it at that."
He hated talking about sorcery now. "I'm sure she could have. I wondered the same about Bright Water. I'm sure she could make herself younger with a sorcery, and it probably wouldn't be very noticeable to another sorcerer, not as detectable as magic. But suppose sometimes she wants to look herself again, or chooses to look like someone else entirely? Then she'd have to cast another sorcery on top of the first. Pretty soon they'd pile up like overcoats."
"What would happen then?" the princess asked, looking worried.
"I have no idea, ma'am, but you couldn't keep changing a gown into a coat and then . . . a nightshirt, maybe . . . and so on, and not have the cloth fall apart on you eventually, could you? So I think that sorcerers probably just use magic on themselves, not sorcery — temporary, not much more than illusion. Like what I just did to my face."
She chuckled, thinking he was in a better humor. "When will we round the corner into the Morning Sea?"
"A couple of days, I expect."
"And how long after that to Ollion?"
"A week at least. Longer with stops on the way."
She paused, then said, "Is that an estimate, or can you see?"
"It's an estimate, ma'am. Foresight is tricky."
"Yes?"
He didn't want to be interrogated like a child, but he must not forget that he owed her his life, even if he didn't really want it much now. She had certainly risked her own for him.
"Premonition and foresight aren't quite the same," he explained, floundering at finding terms for the ineffable concepts of magic. "I got a little premonition with my second word, although that's unusual, and I seem to have some foresight now. I used premonition when I said I wouldn't follow Inos west to Qoble. What would have happened, I don't know, but it would have been very bad. It'll never happen now, so I'll never know. Foresight . . . Even sorcerers have trouble with that, and it's especially hard to foresee yourself, because you start to get nervous, and make plans . . . I wish I could say this better."
"Oh, do take your time, this is fascinating!"
The ship rolled forward over a crest, showing waves marching on over the endless ocean to meet the boundless sky. Why could he not dwell out here forever on the clear clean sea? Who needed land?
"A witch, a sorcerer, and at least one warlock all tried to foresee me and failed," Rap said suddenly. He hadn't meant to. He decided it wasn't her he didn't want to tell, but nosy old Sagorn. To ask her not to repeat his words would not be fair, though. "You remember what the magic casement showed when I went near it? A white glare?" He noticed that his voice was rising and his fists had clenched on the rail. He tried a small calming magic on himself.
"Of course."
"It hurts!" Rap said. Ishist had told him that. "I foresaw me arriving in Ollion, I think, and we will travel in a coach, a big green one. And then I think I caught a glimpse of Hub — I don't remember exactly. And then . . ." He shivered despite himself. "White! Like the sun . . . please, I don't want to talk about it."
He was shaking, and his fists had clenched again. She covered one with a wet, chilled hand. "Of course! I'm sorry I pried . . . I won't tell the others what you said."
She was absurdly concerned and apologetic. Evil take it, but he didn't want to be mothered, either!
"That's all right, ma'am. I should have explained sooner. Something awful happens in Hub . . . I'm afraid you'll have to manage without a seer. A foreseer, at least. Anytime I try to look forward now, even a couple of hours, all I can see is — that."
And his premonition was growing worse every day.
"Then you must stay away from Hub, Master Rap!"
Her sympathy was quite genuine. He forced himself to fake a smile. "I don't think I can escape. It's destiny. I think I'm as helpless as . . . as a pebble in a chicken's crop."
And everyone knew where they went. Meanwhile, in the glory hole, the rat made a dash for escape. Rap reached down and turned it, and Pooh grabbed as it went by. Rap laughed aloud, and the princess gave him a strange look.
6
Dearest Aunt, Greetings!
Please excuse the lack of a date and address, which would be proper. I have quite lost track of the days, but I can give you a rough idea of my location. I am writing this on board a nasty little ship — from which I hope to escape very shortly! — close to Elmas, which is in Ilrane! We have crossed the bar and are riding the tide up a very still river. (You may not think so from my handwriting! This was the best pen I could find. I had to ask a sailor for one, and he must have thought I said marlinespike.) The Big Man is writing to his brother, and so I shall ask to have this note enclosed. It may be the last chance I get to write to you for some time, and of course I must be circumspect with names, etc.
Now, my news! I am well, and quite a confident sailor now. We made very poor time at first. The notorious Kerith Passage was a lamb, a sleepy kitten, a featherbed, crystal calms alternated with drowsy zephyrs . . . thick cream, one long lullaby! You get the gist. And HOT! The Big Man was ready to snap the mainmast with his TEETH! Our ship was a week late and almost out of fresh water when we got to Ullacarn. None of us went ashore there. Our merchant friend is probably still lurking around, even if his superior is not — yellow hat. You know who I mean. But even he might still be around sometimes, because his friends are thicker than ever. The Big Man will be telling his brother all about that, though. We silly women mustn't worry about men's affairs, must we?
Then we set sail for Angot. The usual route follows the coast, and I was quite looking forward to seeing Thume again — from a safe distance! It was not to be.
Despite its name — which the captain assured me is historical, not geographical — the Sea of Sorrows is renowned for the gentlest sailing anywhere in the Summer Seas. Don't believe anything a sailor tells you, Aunt.
If that was CALM, I cannot imagine what STORMY looks like!
In my honor, I suppose, it mounted one of the worst typhoons the old-timers can remember. My literary skills are quite inadequate to describe it, but it did do wonders for my abilities at praying. Star of Delight was more fortunate than many fine vessels, I fear.
But the Gods were merciful and the return of fair weather found us with half our rigging and a bad list, somewhere southwest of Qoble. Except that we had bypassed three planned stops, we were slightly ahead of our original schedule when we limped into the world-famous harbor at Gaaze, which I had never heard of. It's on the other side of Qoble from Angot.
So I was back in the Impire proper! How long it seems since you and I crossed the pass at Pondague with Andor and that horrible proconsul! Yet it isn't much more than half a year.
Gaaze (which has, as you know, a world-famous harbor) looks to be quite a pleasant city, but I barely set foot there. The Big Man and a couple of his friends went ashore first and came back very soon with fists clenched and brows knotted! Djinns are no longer welcome in Qoble, they were told. In fact, a general roundup of djinns was expected at any moment!
So, even if the passes were still open, we could not get into the Impire through Qoble.
Fortunately, the Big Man was able to buy early passage to Ilrane, and here we are, two days later, safe and sound in elf land. None too soon, either! This is a dirty old tub, which stinks of bilge like sewage, and whose principal cargo seems to be fleas. Believe it or not. Aunt, its official name is Lady of Many Virtues and Much Beauty. Even the captain has better names for it.
So now we hope to find horses and head north. That is, if we can get permission! Elves, I am told, are very suspicious of strangers. I shall not be sorry to see the last of the sea, but this may be my last chance to send a letter — I'm afraid the Imperial post will not be calling in Zark from now on. What f
ools men are!
I do hope you are well. My Dear Kade. I miss you and long to see you again. I expect you are keeping busy, knitting overcoats for camels or something.
And what about Rap? I have tried to speak to the Big Man about him, but he refuses to talk on that subject at all. I shall make one more effort before he sends off his letter to his brother, and hope I can persuade him to relent. Rap is no threat to anyone, and he was only trying to help. I am sure that if he were to be banished from the kingdom, nothing would ever drag him back. If I do manage to arrange this, will you try to see that Rap has some money when he leaves, and give him my best wishes? I should love to have heard all his adventures. He was duped by a warlock, I fear, and what happened really wasn't his fault. I am sure he meant well — please tell him so, if you can. And if I can't win a release for him, do see if you can do anything to ease his captivity. But I'm sure you'll have done your best already.
From all the stamping on the roof, I assume that this floating pesthole is about to dock, so I'II close this letter now . . .
The harbor at Elmas was a river mouth, flanked by steep wooded hills that were reflected on the mirror surface. Half a dozen ships lay at anchor. Small boats flitted around them, most being rowed in the total calm. A few were being poled near the shore, and there oxen plodded along a towpath, hauling barges. Inos, standing on deck beside Zana, decided that she was not impressed with Ilrane so far. There was nothing to see, because the valley curved abruptly both upstream and seaward. She felt deliberately shut out, and said so.
"Secretive people," Zana agreed, and nodded approvingly.
Soon, however, the little tenders began to flock around Lady of Virtues, and elves came swarming over the side. Azak's entourage of djinn fighting men made up most of the passenger list; most of the crew were jotnar. By comparison with those, the elves looked puny. They also all seemed extremely young, an invasion of children. But their mirth and the lilt of their voices illuminated the air like birdsong, and their skimpy garments fluttered and flamed like butterfly wings. Most of the men wore only a loincloth, the women very little more, and all were barefoot. Every few minutes one would jump over the side to cool off and come swarming back up the ladder or anchor chain, laughing and sparkling. With golden skins and haloes of golden curls and their outsized eyes flashing in every shade like diamonds, they were children of light and sky, who barely belonged to the earth at all.