A Handful of Men: The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

Ylo had not been joking when he said that the warlock’s old ferry had been better than Uomaya. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, feeling the rain driving against the exposed corners of his face. Uomaya seemed to roll in all directions at once, and certainly with no pattern. The little cabin would be drier and possibly warmer, but he could guess how it would stink. Even here on deck and on the upwind side, the air grew unbreathable every now and again. Up. Down. Up… Every board was mottled silver with decades of fish scales.

  He decided he would never eat fish again, never! He must not think about eating ever again, either, but his eyes kept wandering back to all those staring eyes in the barrels, shiny dead horrors.

  His queasy brooding was interrupted by an exclamation from the imperor, who had pulled one of the little magic scrolls from his pocket and opened it.

  “Idiot!” Shandie muttered. “Look! Umpily is going to the enthronement.”

  Ylo’s insides quivered. “He’s lost a wheel!”

  “No. In spite of his looks and his prying, Umpily’s a very determined man, and a brave one!”

  A very crazy one. Ylo could not imagine what would drag him there. The Rotunda would be a hive of sorcerers.

  Scowling, the imperor produced a silverpoint. “It’s probably too late to stop him!” He scribbled a note, then stuffed vellum and stylus back inside his cloak. He sat up and adjusted his hood so he could see Ylo better. “I know you said you wanted to be part of the team, but I will not hold you to that, now we know what lies ahead of us. You have no personal stake in this battle, unlike the rest of us. As soon as we reach land, you should go. I shall think more of your brains.”

  It was a tempting thought, but of course a cautious warrior like Shandie always tested his weapons before the battle. Ylo shook his head. “What, and desert my brother Yshan?”

  “Be sure! I would much rather shake hands and part as friends than have a companion climb out a window on me.”

  The window gambit had already occurred to Ylo. First, though, he must lure Shandie along the Krasnegar road far enough that he would not just head back to Yewdark to collect Hardgraa as replacement bodyguard. A week ought to do it. Then Ylo could defenestrate, backtrack, and arrive at Yewdark long before the daffodils did. He was going to be very surprised indeed if he could not talk his way into Eshiala’s bed within three days. Probably two. Four at the outside. And then — ah!

  But it might not be wise to mention that program to her husband. He would not enjoy his trip to Krasnegar so much if he knew what Ylo was doing with his wife.

  “I’m still your man, sire.”

  The imperor sighed again. “You’ve lost as many wheels as Umpily. But I’m grateful, very grateful. Ylo, it’s true I offered you the honor of Rivermead to redress the wrong my grandfather committed against your family, but there was more to it than that. Your service over the last two years has been impeccable. I value your honesty and loyalty and capability enormously. I’m not exaggerating when I say that there is no one I trust more.”

  This conversation was quite embarrassing. Furthermore, Ylo could no longer ignore that other problem creeping up on him. White Impress had taken her sorcery with her, and its absence was becoming more evident every…

  “Whom did you see in the pool?” the imperor asked quietly.

  Danger! Ylo felt a pulse start to hammer in his throat. “The loveliest woman in the world.”

  “Yes, but you told us you’d identified her.”

  “Tribune Uthursho’s wife.”

  Shandie considered his fellow outlaw for a moment. “And have you?…”

  “Not yet. She wants a divorce and marriage.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Divorce yes, the other no. Not yet, anyway.”

  “The army disapproves of divorce, you know.” Clearly the commander in chief did so, too. “The theory is that an officer who can’t discipline his wife can’t possibly handle troops.”

  “I know. I was going to ask you to arrange it as a special favor, your — er — Yshan.” Ylo was spinning as he went, spinning like a spider. But the web seemed to be sticky enough.

  Shandie shook his head disbelievingly. “You young demon! That’s the first favor you’ve ever asked me for, and what you want is another man’s wife! If I ever, I mean when, I recover my throne, then you can have as many wives as… No, I mean of course I’ll arrange it for you.”

  Saved! Ylo’s heart slid back to a more normal rate. And the Other Problem came back with a rush.

  “’Scuse me —”

  He made a dive under the boom and only just reached the leeward side in time. He doubled himself over and a moment later he heard Shandie having the same problem. The fishermen came out of the cabin to watch how gentry puked.

  2

  A few leagues to the southwest, a very different conversation was taking place in a very similar fishing boat. Knowing how imps reacted to sailing, Rap had taken the precaution of adjusting Thinal’s seaworthiness before leaving the shielded deckhouse on White Impress. It was a small magic, which would wear off before they reached land. He wanted a serious talk with his young companion. The two of them had the tiny, fetid cabin to themselves and no one would overhear them. He soon saw, however, that he should have adjusted a few more things, like backbone. As a proficient cat burglar, Thinal was completely unafraid of heights. Anything else terrified him. He was sitting on a bunk, clutching the sides of it with white-knuckled hands, and his eyes were rolling far more than the boat. He had never been a shining beacon of heroism in adversity.

  After two days of relative relaxation, Rap was again having to discipline himself not to use his sorcerous senses. Off to the east, the overweening evil of the Covin hung over Hub like a foul cloud of darkness, although it conveyed no great urgency. Now it was resting, waiting, considering where to strike next, and he could dare to peer ahead a little into the shadows. He felt like a blind man in a lion’s den. To use premonition too boldly might betray him to the listeners or bury his will under an avalanche of despair, for the future was very black. Cautiously, therefore, he had sniffed out a day or so ahead, and he was virtually certain that he was in no immediate danger.

  He longed with all his heart to go speeding back to Krasnegar — to be with Inos, to warn Inos, to save Inos. To hug his children. That would be the worst possible thing he could do. He had written letters for Shandie to deliver.

  With a sigh he brought his attention back to the terror-stricken imp on the other bunk. He found Thinal fascinating. When they had first met, he had seemed about the same age as Rap himself — a whiny, weedy guttersnipe with the fastest fingers in Pandemia and enough agility to scramble up a plate-glass window. Rap, Thinal, and the goblin — three youths lost in the jungles of Faerie, all boys together. They had not thought of themselves as boys, of course, and had not understood then that they were enjoying the good old days.

  Thinal had never been a trustworthy friend, but they had shared misfortune together, and youth. Now they had nothing in common at all.

  Rap was in his mid-thirties and Thinal in his early twenties, even if he was mathematically older than Sagorn. He was still short and slight, but he had displayed some manners around the imperor. Those, together with clean hands and well-styled hair, suggested that his talent had trended away from the cruder forms of robbery and flowered into something more sophisticated. He had refused to discuss exactly how he passed his days now, except to say he was in business. He would never come close to his brother, Andor, in either looks or charm, but he had developed a sort of appealing naïveté. Surely anyone who bought anything from that innocent-looking young imp would find that it leaked or collapsed or suffered from fatal disease.

  “Enjoying yourself, are you?” Rap inquired.

  Thinal curled a lip at him in a soundless snarl.

  “Well, we’ll be ashore in an hour or two. As you know, I’m heading for South Pithmot and the Mosweeps. I would appreciate your company if you care to come along.”


  The ratty face twisted into a smile. “Love to. Adventuring on the road with my friend Rap? Just like old times.”

  He was lying, of course. He would vanish up the first available alley and when he was gone, so were Sagorn and Darad and Jalon and Andor, some of whom might have been willing to help. That was Thinal’s right, though. To compel loyalty with power was Zinixo’s evil game; the good guys must not use magic for immoral purposes, however great the temptation. This impossible idealism was the heart of the new protocol. Having invented it, Rap must not violate it on its first outing.

  Thinal licked his lips. “Horses? Months and months of horses? Bug-infested taverns and bad food? Wind and snow and no skin on my ass? Ain’t my hinny. Save the world by yourself, King.”

  “I’ll get lonely. Why don’t you call one of the others, then?”

  The little thief sneered maliciously. “I can’t! And it’s your blame. You’re the one who twisted the spell.”

  “Been shirking again, have you?”

  “Naw. They’ve been ganging up on me.”

  It was possible, of course. Rap wondered what Thinal might have been up to that his companions disapproved of. Some major malfeasance, perhaps. “Why?”

  “Mind your own potage. Just know I’m overdue for some time, and I can’t cop out until I’ve done it.”

  Rap snorted angrily to himself. He had not anticipated that problem. The rules he had imposed on the sequential gang compelled Thinal to exist about a third of the time. The limits were flexible, but if Thinal had fallen seriously short of his quota, then he truly could not call any of the others in his stead until he did some catching up.

  “Actually I wasn’t thinking of horses. The Covin will be looking for a faun.”

  Thinal sniggered. “A jotunn-size faun!”

  “Yes. So I’m planning to buy a coach. I won’t be so conspicuous driving a coach. You can ride inside and read poetry.”

  “Your father loved livestock.”

  “I ought to change you into a frog and drop you overboard.”

  “You don’t dare use sorcery!” Thinal looked alarmed, though, and that was hopeful.

  “No. And neither do you.”

  “Whatcher mean with that?”

  “Come on! You’re not so stupid. You know what Sagorn concluded — your word’s worth more than your life.”

  The thief thought about it, eyes narrowing. He seemed to have forgotten the peril of his position in a small boat. Now he had realized that he was a potential danger to Rap and that therefore Rap was a danger to him. He was calculating his chances of deceiving Rap, and trying unsuccessfully not to show what he was thinking. Double-dealing was second nature to him; he did not know how to be honest in anything.

  “What choices I got?”

  “If you want we can say good-bye in the first town we come to. You can head back to Hub.”

  “What then, I rat on you?” Thinal asked cagily.

  “You won’t. It would be suicide. Or you can come along with me and put a healthy distance between you and Zinixo,”

  “Been nice knowing you.”

  Rap shrugged. “You think you can resume your business career? Trouble is, your house is gone and you rattle the ambience.”

  “I what?”

  “Remember Oothiana, in Faerie? She could hear you stealing even before we got to Milflor. You make more noise than the others, Thinal. When you exercise your talent you shoot sparks, and the Covin will catch you soon, I’m sure.”

  The poxy impish face paled again. “Truth?”

  “I swear it.”

  “Mean I gotta go straight from now on?”

  “Jobbery will be very risky for you in Hub. Out in the boondocks you’d be safer.”

  “Then I got no choice, do I?”

  “Not much of one. I know this sort of jaunt isn’t your style, but I’d like you along. I’m thinking of myself, I admit. Darad could be very useful if I get in trouble. So could Sagorn. I’d love to go adventuring with Jalon again. I promise I’ll warn you if we start getting into danger.”

  Thinal smiled weakly. “Then I suppose I’ll come. Y’know me, Rap. Honest work would kill me.”

  Rap laughed and held out a hand to shake — not that such a gesture meant anything to Thinal. But he had come as close to being honest as he knew how. For the time being, that would have to do.

  3

  No one had presumed to instruct Lord Acopulo how he should proceed to Zark — he would have responded to such presumption with appropriate sarcasm. Nevertheless, the problem was meaty. He bore magic scrolls, a supply of gold, and missives addressed to the caliph, so he must avoid the attention of sorcerers, thieves, and soldiers respectively. He had farther to go than either Shandie or King Rap, and he was as old as the two of them added together. Half a year on horseback held no appeal for a man of his age. Nor did a long sea voyage, but it was the lesser evil.

  The direct approach was often the wisest, as he had frequently advised the imperor. As soon as he was set ashore in Faintown, therefore, he sought out a secondhand clothing store. Then he headed for the nearest temple and said a brief prayer to the God of Truth to remind Them that major good must sometimes be served by minor evil.

  The local priest was only too happy to send word to a member of his congregation, one of the wealthier merchants. That worthy citizen, in turn, was willing to demonstrate his fealty to the Gods by putting his chaise and chief gardener at the disposal of the stranded visitor. He had no use for them, anyway, that day, so they might as well make themselves useful by earning merit for their owner.

  Thus, near to sunset that first day, Acopulo was driven in style to Wylpon, on the Great South Way. Anonymous in his new apparel, he caught the night stage south, heading for Malfin, on Home Water. Zinixo’s minions would probably be watching the traffic on the main roads, but they would not be looking for a priest.

  He was ashamed to discover that he was enjoying himself. He had often wondered if he had missed his calling when he decided his brains would be wasted in the priesthood. This would be a unique opportunity to find out.

  Clerics traveled at a reduced fare, too.

  4

  “I have the strangest sensation that the ground is going up and down,” Ylo said. That, and the pack on his back, were making him roll as he walked.

  Shandie grunted. “Me, too.”

  “Of course we’re not really on dry land yet, are we?” The grubby little fishing village was ankle-deep in mud, and blurred by a steady downpour. There were no stores or inns or even streets, only wattle shacks cowering in random disorder along the waterfront. Whatever the place was called — if it even had a name — it would not be on any map. The few locals slopping around in the mud were eyeing the two strangers with undisguised impish nosiness, but even the dogs were too wet to do anything about them. The only brightness Ylo could detect in the gloom was that his current civilian dress included boots in place of military sandals.

  He shot a worried glance at his companion. Shandie had never been a chatterbox, but at the moment he seemed unusually taciturn and depressed. Was this merely an aftereffect of seasickness?

  “Something wrong, Sire?”

  “No. Well, yes, of course. Everything is wrong.” The imperor straightened and smiled with a complete lack of conviction. “I suppose I’m upset about Emthoro. Worried, I mean. Just because he and my wife’s sister weren’t at the enthronement doesn’t mean that they’re necessarily the two impostors. If they’re not, then they must be in real danger.”

  “I’m sure they didn’t volunteer.” Ylo could think of nothing more encouraging to say than that.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Umpily’s latest devastating message had appeared on the scroll just before the fishing boat docked. It made sense that the fake imperor and impress were the missing Emthoro and Ashia. Even with unlimited sorcery available, some family background knowledge would make such a pretense easier.

  Shandie must certainly be upset by t
he news, but perhaps not quite in the way he had said. Imps put great stock in family loyalty, and Emthoro had not been overly trustworthy to start with. There was no evidence that he had cooperated willingly with Zinixo or was enjoying his new status, but the suspicion was inevitable.

  For a few minutes the two men trudged in silence through the weedy soup. Soon they had left the miserable hamlet behind and were shivering their way along a track that was barely distinguishable from the surrounding marshes. Clouds and rain merged with mists and puddles so that heaven and earth seemed to have turned to gray water together.

  Then Shandie said, “Ylo — Yyan, I mean… This looks worse all the time! Creating an imposter imperor was a master stroke. Now the Covin can take all the time it wants to hunt me down. Zinixo doesn’t even need me anymore! He can have me killed, or just forget about me, even.”

  Pessimism was not Shandie. If he ever had doubts, he always kept them to himself.

  Startled, Ylo said, “But look on the good side! The Covin won’t be hunting you nearly as hard as it was, or at least as hard as we thought it was.”

  “But how can I ever claim my throne? How can I ever prove who I am, even? Anyone I ask for help will dismiss me as a madman!”

  “You need Sir Acopulo,” Ylo said sternly. “He would remind you that there’s good in every evil. If the imperor were missing, then everyone would be out looking for him, and you’ve been seen by half Pandemia in your time. With a fake Emshandar dancing at balls in Hub, anyone who recognizes you will just congratulate you on your resemblance to the great man.”

  Shandie grunted and said nothing. The next time Ylo spoke to him, he did not answer.

  Eventually a stand of firs solidified out of the rainy mist, marking the end of the dismal swamps. Ylo headed for them, braving a ditch and some scratchy shrubs so he could take shelter, crouching under the branches. He was soaked to the inside of his skin, but it was relief to be out of the downpour, even if only for a few minutes. He unslung the pack and balanced it on a tangle of roots. Then he took a hard look at his companion, and did not like what he saw.