A Handful of Men: The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  Blue-lipped and shivering, Shandie glared back at him. “Are you planning for us to walk to Krasnegar in this, Signifer?”

  Ylo flinched. The weather was not his fault, and what had happened to their agreed false identities? “Should be able to get mounts just along this road — Sire.”

  “Then go and fetch them! On the double. I’ll wait here.” The imperor turned his back.

  In two years, he had never spoken to Ylo like that, even when delivering a deserved rebuke. Neither hardship nor seasickness nor the bad news from Umpily could explain such un-Shandyish behavior. Possibly he was coming down with a fever. More likely he was just testing Ylo’s loyalty again.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can, sir.” Ylo ducked out into the rain. He headed back to the trail, striding fast. He would not let a little rudeness discourage him from his purpose. Nevertheless, he had an uneasy feeling that something unexpected was going wrong.

  The fugitives dared not use the posting inns, because those would surely be watched. There were no hostelries close, anyway, or so the fishermen had said, nor a horsetrader either. But this was the Impire, so there would certainly be a constabulary within reach, and they had said that it was only a league or so away, along this wretched apology for a road.

  The guard would be a retired centurion, most like, or perhaps merely an optio in a desolate nothing place like this. Whatever his former rank had been, he would certainly be a veteran, and the army always looked after its own. Ylo would spin some tale of shipwreck and a legate in distress. The guard would have at least one horse. He would willingly commandeer another from a neighbor — probably two, with a boy to bring all three of them back. They would be cart horses, likely, but better than walking. Ylo and Shandie could ride to the nearest decent-size village and there buy some mounts. It was a fairly obvious plan, but not so obvious that Shandie should not have asked about it.

  * * *

  The fishermen’s league was an unusually long one. The guard turned out to be ancient and surly and very uncooperative, but his horse was worse; it had not been ridden in years and had become almost feral. As he floundered through mud and undergrowth after the brute, Ylo could not help reflect how much less trouble two men would have catching it. Three would do even better.

  Still, the horse Ylo could not bridle had never been foaled, and he eventually persuaded the decrepit, spavined, ill-tempered hack of that simple truth and rode it in bareback just to emphasize the point. The guard’s smelly little shed contained a surprising quantity of tack. It was rusty and filthy, but there was plenty of it. By then Ylo was beyond observing niceties of law. He saddled his mount and headed for the nearest farm.

  Rounding up was much easier on horseback than on foot. Riding the guard’s horse and leading a stolen one, he set off in search of the imperor.

  * * *

  Somehow, he was not surprised to find him gone. Any sensible man would have headed to the hamlet by now to find warmth and shelter. But the pack was still there, under the trees. That was worrisome.

  The marshes were flooding. Shandie was almost at the little village, wading through thigh-deepwater. He staggered at the waves set up by the horses’ great feet, then turned to Ylo with a sour expression.

  “I thought you’d deserted!”

  Ylo slid from the saddle, wincing at the icy bite of the water. He began tightening girths on the spare mount.

  “I was delayed by some beautiful girls and a hot meal. Which hack do you fancy? That one’s Brute and this is Loot. We’ll trade them both in at —”

  “Return them.” Shandie began wading again.

  “And where the Evil are you going?” Ylo bellowed.

  The imperor swung around to glare at him. “I have decided to return to Hub. You may follow if you wish. If you prefer not to, then go with the Good.” He hesitated. “Er — thank you for past services.”

  “What? I think I deserve an explanation!”

  Shandie’s teeth were chattering. “I mean what we planned was crazy! How could we possibly prevail against the Covin? Pandemia hasn’t seen its like in a thousand years! My duty is to go back to Hub and give myself up.” He was avoiding Ylo’s eye now.

  “You? Give up?”

  “What else? I know I can do a better job of running the government than anyone else can. I don’t suppose the dwarf will interfere much, as long as he is not threatened in any way. He’ll just stay out of sight and leave me alone, to rule as a figurehead. That’s what the sorcerers predicted. Thank you again, Signifer, and —”

  “And what about King Rap? And Acopulo? And the warlock who risked his own life to save you?”

  Shandie shrugged in silence.

  “You’ve sent them off to the ends of the world to fight a battle for your sake, and a few hours later you desert the cause? What of your daughter and descendants? What of your cousin, and your wife’s sister, impressed into a vile crime for your sake?”

  “I can rescue those two, anyway.”

  Ylo took a deep breath. “You’re crazy!”

  That should have provoked an earthquake. Shandie did try another glare, but it held none of the old fire that had once burned in those dark eyes, the imperious flame that had been the only notable feature in an otherwise unremarkable appearance. Now his face showed mostly a sick hopelessness. “Sometimes it takes more courage to admit that you’ve been wrong than to continue making a fool of yourself.”

  “This is sorcery,” Ylo said crossly. “The Covin’s putting ideas in your mind! This is not the Shandie I know.”

  That impertinence produced a flicker of doubt.

  “Reason it out!” Ylo insisted. “You have never made a major decision in your life and then changed it so quickly, and without any real cause! It’s a sending from the Covin! For two days you’ve been shielded from magic, but now you’re out in the open and they can get at you.”

  Shandie’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed his hands together — he was half frozen, of course, but the gesture made him seem curiously vulnerable and indecisive. Perhaps that was because he so seldom gestured. “You could be right, I suppose.”

  “Of course I’m right!”

  “But suppose it’s the other way? Suppose I was deluded by Raspnex and the faun on the boat, and now I’m away from them I’m starting to think straight again? How can I know which is right?” His voice was a despicable whine, like a spoiled child’s.

  For a moment Ylo was tempted. This was not his war, as Shandie had told him earlier. He was an insignificant pawn in the political game. He could abandon the cause, vanish into the teeming population of the Impire, and the Covin would never bother him. But if Shandie gave up without a fight and went back to court, then he would take Eshiala with him, and Ylo would never have a chance to enjoy the gorgeous body he had seen in the preflecting pool. That would not do.

  “I’ll tell you how,” he said. “There is a way to test that! Let’s be on our way as we planned. In a week or so, we’ll have put some ground between us and Hub. We should be out of range of the Covin, and out of range of the faun and the warlock. Believe me, then you’ll be back to feeling as you did this morning.”

  The imperor considered that, shivering convulsively. “I suppose you’re right. A big decision like that shouldn’t be taken hastily.”

  Ylo breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. Up you get.” He cupped hands for the imperor’s muddy boot. “The first thing we need is a comfortable inn — a hot meal, a room, and a couple of warm girls!”

  Shandie pulled a face as he took the reins. “One girl and two rooms.”

  Wiping his hands on his cloak, Ylo turned away to mount the other horse. “You’re crazy and you always were crazy,” he muttered, but he made sure that Shandie did not hear him.

  5

  It was on a brisk winter morning, three days later, that King Rap caught himself whistling. Somewhat shaken by this discovery, he eventually decided that he was feeling almost maniacally cheerful. The faun in him took to a coach and four as his
jotunn half took to ships, and a Krasnegarian could ignore the cold. He was far enough from Hub now to have escaped from the sprawl of satellite towns and rich-folk country mansions. The surrounding plains were lush with orchards and farms. He gloried in the scenery and fine weather — wind in his hair, sun on his back, ice crackling under the wheels, the stark beauty of branches against the frosty fields.

  There was more to it than that, though. He was caught up in a sort of wicked juvenile glee at this mad adventure. Even a king could crave a change once in a while, and now he was a hunted outlaw. There could be no greater change than that. And his cause was just. If, by the grace of the Gods, Shandie and his tiny band of supporters could pull off the miracle they planned, they would have made a better world. If they failed — well, they would have tried. A man could take heart from that prospect, no matter how unlikely success might seem at the moment. With a little effort, Rap could probably recall some suitable proverb of his mother’s on the subject.

  Thinking of his mother, though, brought on thoughts of prescience and young Gath, back in Krasnegar. That was not a cheerful topic. And he missed Inos as he would have missed both legs and an arm.

  He had done well in his choice of horses, although the roan was weaker than the other three and might need to be traded off soon. They had a long way to go, so he was setting an easy pace for them. Who would question a faun driving a coach? He had thought to make himself some passable livery before leaving White Impress, so he looked the part.

  At his back, the hatch clicked open. He twisted around to see Thinal’s gaunt face peering out like a ferret in a burrow. His nose was red with cold and the tip of it sparkled wetly.

  “I’m hungry!” he complained.

  Whined.

  Thinal was bored to distraction, that was the trouble with Thinal. Scenery and adventure held no interest for him. Nothing did, except extracting wealth from its rightful owners.

  “Then you should have gotten up earlier and eaten breakfast,” Rap said crossly. He recognized the tone he used on Kadie at her worst, and stopped himself before he broke into a lecture on what happened to people who sat up until all hours gambling in bars. Admittedly Thinal had rattled the ambience very little, and he had won more than enough to pay for their joint board and lodgings. Gods knew how much he could have collected had he really tried.

  “Wait an hour, and we’ll give the horses a rest.”

  “You care more for them than you do for me!” Thinal snarled — which was perfectly true — and slammed the hatch shut on an obscenity.

  Rap continued to drive on along the road, but his cheerful mood had dimmed. Obviously he was going to lose his traveling companion very soon, for Thinal would not endure much more bouncing around. A faun driving an empty carriage might be asked questions. Thinal himself Rap could do without, but he was potentially four other men, also, and they were handy accomplices in dangerous escapades, as experience had demonstrated, long ago. Pity!

  * * *

  At noon, Rap felt he had barely caught his second wind, but the horses needed a rest. He pulled into a stable yard in some anonymous little farming town. Only the great trunk roads of the Impire provided posting stations, and the inn he had chosen was a humble establishment. Thinal, the thief, stalked off in search of lunch, playing gentleman. The king of Krasnegar rubbed down the horses and saw to their needs. Fortunately his sense of humor was capable of appreciating the irony.

  He joined the servants in the inn kitchen for a quick slab of cheese and rye bread, deflecting questions with vague tales of taking the master home for Winterfest. The only fauns who ever roamed the Impire were hostlers; despite his size, he was inconspicuous in that role. Nobody spoke of sorcery or politics or the new imperor, only the unusually cold weather and the price of grain. He was much more at home with these humble, honest folk than he was with royalty like Shandie. When the time came to dash out and rig up again, it seemed much too soon.

  Thinal sauntered out, accompanied by a well-dressed middle-aged couple — a portly, florid-face man and a lady even more so. Rap lowered the steps for them and held the door, keeping his face straight with extreme effort.

  Thinal paused before following his guests into the coach.

  “Master Orbilo and his lady have kindly offered me hospitality for the night,” he explained airily. “Carry on along the river road and we’ll direct you where to turn off.”

  “Yessir.” Rap touched his cap in salute.

  “We shan’t be going far out of our way,” Thinal added, his eyes glittering with mischief. “And, boy…”

  “Yessir?”

  “Remember what I said about tiring the horses, or it will go hard with you.”

  “I’ll be very careful, sir.” The king of Krasnegar bowed respectfully. As he closed the carriage door, he said a prayer that Thinal would be able to restrain his larcenous instincts. A little finger work would do no harm, but he might attract occult attention if he started romancing these worthy citizens about his grandfather’s lost gold mine.

  * * *

  An hour or so later, the road came to a bridge. Rap reined in at the toll gate. At once a half-dozen legionaries appeared from nowhere to surround the carriage, and his heart began to thump with rare enthusiasm. They were looking at him, not the door, so their interest was in the driver, not the passengers. That was very bad news. He needed no occult talent to see the suspicion in their gaze. Zinixo controlled the Imperial army, and could have issued warrants for the arrest of all oversize fauns. Normally mundanes could be no threat to Rap, but the Covin would still be listening for any use of power near the capital.

  The centurion drew his sword as his men took hold of the reins. “You, boy! Down!”

  “Master?” Rap exclaimed, trying to look stupid, and thinking that it would be altogether appropriate under the circumstances. He began tying the reins, although legionaries were holding the lead pair’s cheek straps. He moved clumsily along the bench, taking his time so he could analyze the situation. The closer he could come to the centurion himself, the less power he would need to use to influence him. And then, amid the sparkle of sunlight on chain mail, he saw a faint shimmer of sorcery on the man.

  It might be a loyalty spell, in which case he was one of the dwarf’s votaries. That seemed unlikely, for this was a very minor road, one of hundreds in the Capital District. Zinixo could not possibly have enough manpower to post sorcerers on them all. The centurion did not show in the ambience, not at the moment, so probably he was just a bespelled mundane. Rap dared not pry deeper, to discover what the magic did. It might make the wearer immune to mastery, or sound alarms if it was used near him, or… or… Holy Balance! Now what?

  Then the side window of the carriage clicked open, revealing the rubicund face of Master Orbilo.

  “What’s happening? Oh, it’s you, Uggleepe!”

  Startled, the centurion saluted. “Uncle!”

  “Well? What’s going on?”

  “Just a routine check, sir.”

  “Well, you’ve checked. You know me, I hope?”

  “Of course, Uncle!”

  “Good. Then clear the road.” Orbilo disappeared. Uggleepe backed up quickly, sheathing his sword and shouting at his men to stand clear.

  Saved! Rap climbed back on the box and took up the reins again. “Have a nice day, Centurion,” he murmured quietly.

  Thinal was going to be unbearable over this incident when he got Rap alone — bless him!

  6

  Shandie roused himself as if he had been riding in his sleep. He stared at the gates of me city ahead and then turned in the saddle to fix an angry gaze on Ylo.

  “Newbridge?”

  “That’s right.”

  Apparently he was only now registering the bustle of traffic on the highway — coaches and wagons and groups of riders — and yet it had been all around him for the last half hour. “I thought we were going to stay on side roads and avoid crowds?”

  “Where else can we cross the Ambly?
” Ylo said patiently. “I don’t fancy swimming it in this weather.”

  “There are ferries!” Shandie’s eyes were dark slits of suspicion.

  Ylo sighed. “We discussed this.”

  “Discuss it again!”

  “We agreed we’d be more noticeable on a ferry than crossing a bridge in a crowd, and more easily remembered.”

  “I don’t remember discussing that at all!”

  “Well, we did. You don’t listen.”

  Shandie grunted and fell silent, absently chewing a fingernail. Soon he seemed to sink back into the black brooding that occupied so much of his time now. Every day was worse than the one before. Distance had brought no lessening in the Covin’s hold over him; if anything, his doubts and depression were increasing. He rarely spoke, except when he had found yet another reason to turn back and surrender to the usurper. Hub was calling him, and either the call was growing stronger or his resistance was fading.

  Ylo also was rapidly sinking into despair. He was exhausted by Shandie’s arguments, depressed by his lethargy, and worried sick by his unpredictable fits of temper. He hardly dared let the imperor out of his sight for fear the madman would disappear. Emshandar had died after a fifty-year reign, the wardens had been overthrown after three thousand — fine! Ylo could accept those changes as being no more unexpected than weather. But to find Shandie, of all people, behaving like a sulky child was enough to unseat the heavens. As well expect trees to walk or fish to sing.

  Now came a new worry, for Newbridge was an obvious trap. Here the Great West Way crossed the mighty Ambly and here, surely, Zinixo would have sorcerers watching the traffic. As Ylo and his ward rode in through the gates, he offered a prayer that there would be safety in numbers.

  Winterfest was coming and the Impire was on the move. Imps went home at Winterfest as bees sought their hives at sunset. Highways were solid with horses and carriages as half the population headed to family reunions with the other half. In the rainy gloom of a winter evening, Newbridge was packed. Immobilized traffic jammed the narrow streets. Angry coachmen shouted and argued, demanding right of way, proclaiming the importance of their passengers. Women and children wailed in fear as they were crushed tight by the press of the crowd. At the best of times this road would be shadowed, and now it was almost dark. Ylo struggled to keep his horse close to Shandie’s, aware that his legs were going to be black and blue from the battering they were taking.