by Dave Duncan
“Oh, I was jotunn enough to get by. Besides, no one sneers at mongrels there because most people are, especially the royal family.”
“The present king, you mean, and Inos? What are your kids like?”
Rap sighed.
“Sorry!” Jalon said. “Shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s all right. I think of them every day, so why not talk about them? No fauns, thank the Gods. The twins are the oldest, Gath and Kadie. Kadie’s pure imp, except she has Inos’ green eyes. She’s a little minx! No need to worry about Kadie. Gath and Eva are jotunn in looks. Holi’s turning out a sort of blond imp — or he was when I last saw him. He may get picked on when he’s older, I suppose.”
Jalon prepared to change the subject, but Rap went on, speaking softly to the night breeze.
“Gath bothers me a little. He’s a jotunn on the outside, like you, although he’s going to be tall. Inside… I don’t know! I can’t figure Gath out at all. He’s placid and unassertive and sort of dreamy. Not stubborn like a faun or aggressive like a jotunn. Not greedy and meddlesome like an imp.”
“My sort of guy.”
“Almost. But he shows no artistic vices, so I can’t accuse Inos of having an affair with an elf.”
“Will he be king after you?”
“If we win this war… Well, who knows?” Rap sighed again. “For all I know, Zinixo has leveled Krasnegar to the wave tops.”
Jalon stumbled over hasty words of comfort. “You’d have felt that happen, wouldn’t you? Grunth would, at least, or Tik Tok! Someone on Dreadnought would have told you if anything like that had happened.”
“Probably. I just hope Inos had the sense to go into hiding with the kids. I told her she should.”
“Where could anyone hide near Krasnegar?” Jalon demanded, thinking of the bleak tundra.
There was a long pause, then the king said, “She could have gone south. There’s a way. Trouble is, the goblins were down in Pithmot, right? How did they get there?” His bedding rustled as he rolled over. “Well, Lith’rian will know. Think I’ll catch me some shut-eye.”
Guided by Grunth, who had once been there, the meld of sorcerers on Dreadnought had set the intruders down about two days’ ride from Valdorian — or so they had thought. They had not anticipated that there would be no horses to be found. So Rap and Jalon were forced to walk, and a long trek it was. In the root hills the land was heaved into a maze of ridges and steep-walled canyons. Elvish roads never led directly anywhere, but always took the most scenic route possible.
Jalon lost count of the days, because he was enjoying himself so much. He rarely worried about time, anyway. Rap was fine company — humorous, soft-spoken, even-tempered. Despite his apparent clumsiness and his homely looks, the big fellow was as good for a chat as he was in a brawl. He was impatient to achieve his purpose, yet he never let his frustration show, except for an occasional obscure mutter about Longday.
The land was an artist’s dream, prosperous yet beautiful, a blend of garden and apparently virgin nature that only elves could have achieved. It seemed uninhabited because elvish buildings, no matter how picturesque, were always tucked away out of sight. Rap said that the amount of agriculture in the district showed it must normally support a large population and he debated where all the people had gone, and why. Since the first day, the intruders had seen no one at all.
There were advantages to that, of course. Soon they began a little discreet looting — eggs from the farmyards, fish from the ponds, smoked hams from the larders. They took to sleeping in elvish beds. About the third night Jalon discovered a lute on a high shelf. It had been so coated with dust that he felt justified in taking it with him when he left the next morning, certain that its loss would not upset its owner. He would never steal a musician’s favored instrument, but this one had obviously been superseded. After that he could play upon the road, and the leagues seemed even lighter.
As Rap pointedly pointed out, he did not lose the lute as he had lost the pack and the sword.
The land rose steadily. Far to the south, two more sky trees came into sight like ghostly pinecones and then vanished again behind the bulk of Valdorian. Valdorian itself grew ever more enormous, day by day, until it obscured the sky and overhung the world. Its summit was no longer visible, only the ribbed undersides of the great petals. At their fringes they shone bright as diamond, darkening inward to the trunk in rich translucent tones, like a glass mountain.
Then one day, just as Jalon finished the “Lament of the Lonely Sisters” and was adjusting the tuning on his E string, Rap said, “Hold it a moment.”
Jalon said, “Mm?” and took stock of his surroundings. There was nothing especially interesting in sight, even the road itself, which had just reached the sad end of ill-starred Loah’rian and was doodling in arabesques and chinoiserie before starting another tale. The scenery was concealed by high grassy banks. A dull patch like this invariably hinted at something spectacular just around the next bend; it was designed to clear the palate.
“Let’s take a brief break here. Come and sit down.”
Uneasy, Jalon followed his companion to the verge and settled beside him on the grass. They traveled light now. Rap had retained only his boots and sword and long breeches, abandoning all baggage. Jalon wore cerise elvish shorts and mauve bootees, while his third layer of skin was coming in tanned. His slim build and fair hair might escape notice at a distance, but elves were golden, not red and peeling.
Oddly, Rap never wore short pants. Funny guy — you could tease him about his hair or his face, you could even address him as “Master Thume” because of the word tattooed on his arm, and he would smile tolerantly — but breathe one word about his furry faun legs and a dangerous jotunn glint would flare in his gray eyes. It was nice to know he was human enough to have tender spots.
A faun and a jotunn in elfland — add a sword and a lute, and you had the makings of a ballad; like “The Minstrel and the Knight,” for instance. He hadn’t sung that one since…
“If you don’t mind?”
Jalon started. “Sorry, Rap. You said?”
Rap smiled fondly. “Is the sun bothering you, then?”
“No.” Jalon looked upward. “Oh!” They sat in shadow. The noon sun was almost vertical and the underside of Valdorian’s first petal completely overhung them, a pellucid roof whose depths gleamed in indigo and parrot green.
“We’re almost there, Jalon.”
“Yes… I didn’t hear what you asked. Rap.”
“I would like to consult Sagorn, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t,” Jalon said, with an outward smile and an inward sigh. He had been so much looking forward to another visit to a sky tree, hopefully a much longer visit than those few hours he had enjoyed in Valdostor, years ago. Now he must go, and the next time he was called he might be a thousand leagues from Ilrane. Still, this mission of Rap’s was important, and he must settle for these few idyllic days he had been granted. Without argument he called:
3
Sagorn screwed up his eyes against the pink glare, wincing as the seams of his breeches exploded and his toes were crushed — why did that moronic artist never learn to think? Why did he never consider that he was the smallest of the five of them, except for Thinal? Sagorn never called Darad without loosening his clothes first — not that he ever called Darad unless he had to. All it took was a little foresight. Knowing he might be returned in daylight, he always closed his eyes if he had to call a replacement when he was in a dark place, like Dreadnoughts fo’c’s’le.
He risked a peek through slitted lids and saw the prognathous smile of the king of Krasnegar. After a moment he blinked his eyes fully open and strained awkwardly to remove the boots.
Rap said, “Morning, Doctor! Or possibly good afternoon.”
“Have you tried lifting your shielding at all?”
“No!”
Mm? That dangerous? “You did not explain the hazard very clearly to Jalon, or i
f you did he didn’t listen.”
With the unconscious suppleness of the young, the faun rolled back to lean his elbows on the grass. “It’s quite simple. Zinixo had melded with the Covin, or some of them, and was hunting for me in the ambience — me personally. It’s almost impossible for a sorcerer to hide there.”
“But you don’t know if he is persisting in his endeavors?”
“And I don’t intend to investigate. One clear glimpse and he’d have me.”
“He can utilize this technique to locate any sorcerer known to him?”
“Undoubtedly. At these distances it requires enormous power, but he has that.”
“So Witch Grunth and the two warlocks are likewise in danger?”
The faun pulled a face, which made him look even more grotesque than usual. “Yes. I just hope they were as lucky as I was, being within easy reach of shielding when it happened. Making a shield is a very conspicuous use of power.”
“But shielding is not common as crabgrass, surely? We must assume that most or all of the wardens have now been apprehended and perverted.” The enemy continued to grow stronger.
Rap nodded in glum silence. Sprawled back with his shirt off, he looked like a common quarry worker, but he was more than mere brawn. He had worked out the evil tidings and chosen not to burden Jalon with them.
“So why hasn’t the Almighty —”
“Please, Doctor!”
“All right,” Sagorn said sourly, thinking that the name seemed more appropriate all the time. “So why hasn’t Zinixo tried this before? No, never mind.” There were at least four possible reasons, and the point was moot anyway. “This occult cloak of yours — it is substantially identical to the immurement you once imposed on him?”
“You do like big words, don’t you? Yes, it’s the same, except that mine I put on myself, so I can take it off. When I shut him up, years ago, I was mightier than he was, so he couldn’t break out of the shielding.”
“You explained that adequately back in Hub. But he must be out of it now, if you saw him in the ambience?”
The faun scowled. “I saw only his eyes, but yes, it was him. You’re right, of course.”
The deduction was satisfyingly obvious and yet Rap had apparently not realized the terrifying corollary that could be drawn from it. Sagorn decided to save that insight for later.
He glanced around at the hollow. There was nothing to see except scrubby grass — which was why the spot had been selected, of course, for privacy. The underside of the sky tree loomed overhead like a ceiling. He would not have believed that any mineral growth could support its own weight over such a span, but he noted how the ribs were cantilevered to channel and direct the stress. The great vaulting swept downward steeply and obviously must reach ground level just over the rise. The road would end there.
When the next question did not come, he glanced down to meet the intent gaze of the recumbent faun. “You called me to ask how to get in, I presume?”
Rap nodded morosely. “I’m not even a beetle-sized sorcerer now. Doctor. I’m more of a mundane than you have ever known me — more of a mundane even than you. I need your insight.” He plucked a blade of grass and tucked it in his mouth, playing yokel. His flattery would be more effective if it was sincere.
“Well, I cannot assess the occult defenses. We may even be within shielding here.”
The faun shook his head. “I don’t dare take the risk of trying to find out. We’ll have to chance the sorcery — occult alarms may ignore mundane intruders, you agree? But I can’t guess how to avoid even mundane alarms, or guards. I assume there will be guards, and locks, and so on. Valdorian has a resident warlock to defend it, but most of the trees must rely on ordinary precautions, so I expect it has those, also.”
Logical! The former stableboy had always possessed a clearer mind than his appearance led one to expect, and he had learned the value of ratiocination from associating with Sagorn himself.
“The guards may have fled with the civilian population,” Sagorn remarked cautiously. He stretched and yawned, only too aware that he had been roused from a deep sleep just a few minutes ago, in his time. “The fact that you have been able to approach so near without being observed would suggest that the entire tree is abandoned. Getting in may be both elementary and pointless.”
“If the population has fled!” Rap said. “Perhaps all the people have taken refuge within the sky tree itself; in which case it will be packed like a herring barrel and we have no hope of entering unobserved. I do not wish to be thrown into an elvish jail, comfortable though they may be. Or a herring barrel,” he added solemnly.
“Oh, come! Women and children and old folk? That would be carrying Suicidal Last Stand to extremes, even for elves.”
The faun had not worked that one out yet. “Why are you so sure?” he asked, frowning to concede the point.
“Oh, I’m not certain! But we do not prognosticate mundane armies laying siege, and I’m sure the elves don’t, either. If the Imperial legions were coming, yes, they would take refuge. The trees can hold out indefinitely, for they have their own sources of food and drink. But in sorcerous wars they are notoriously vulnerable. Jalon displayed unusual tact in not singing you any of the ballads about Valdobyt Prime.”
“What of it?”
“It was the greatest of them all. Is-an-Ok overthrew it in the Second Dragon War, spreading destruction for leagues. That’s why the outlying population has fled, of course. They don’t know which way Valdorian will fall.”
“This is the sort of intelligence I need,” Rap said humbly. “This is why I asked for you. How do I go about getting in?”
He seemed gratifyingly sincere, but he was talking utter rubbish. Was he up to something?
From what he had said earlier, the war was to all intents over. The Covin had won — Zinixo had won; he had earned his self-bestowed honorific of the Almighty. As the brains of the Group, Sagorn had a duty to his associates to set strategy, and the only sane strategy now was a speedy withdrawal from King Rap and his lost cause; the farther the better. There was no point in continuing a fight once it became impossible.
He glanced around again. There was no point in his lingering here, either. The altitude was already oppressive and the shadow of the tree made the air uncomfortably cool on his bare skin. If he stood up, the remnants of Jalon’s garment would fall off him, and he was much too old to go parading around in the nude. He must call one of his associates in his stead and depart. First, though, he should unravel the faun’s childish scheme, whatever it was; and a wise man tested his hypotheses against all available evidence.
“Zinixo was a very powerful sorcerer in his own right, was he not? Even before he became warlock?”
“Extremely. A once-in-a-century sorcerer.” Rap stuck out his jaw. “But I bested him!” His fists clenched, apparently of their own volition.
“Only just, as I recall your admitting once.” Sagorn smiled encouragingly to hide his perennial irritation that the finest scholar in the Impire should have to elicit magic lore by interrogating a semiliterate laborer. “But when you gained a fifth word and were a demigod, then you had no trouble dealing with him?”
Rap sat up and removed the grass stalk from his mouth. “None whatsoever. Why?” he asked suspiciously.
“Give me the facts, please.”
“The facts are obvious.” He grimaced. “And just because I’m shielded doesn’t mean I don’t hurt like hell when I talk about them! Every word brings a new level of power. A demigod is as much above a sorcerer as a sorcerer is above a mage… or an adept above… a genius… I rolled out Zinixo like a wad of pastry and… thumped him back again.”
He wiped his forehead. He was chalky pale and streaming sweat, as if seized of a very serious disease. Stubbornness had its uses sometimes. Still, there was only one question left now.
“And when you wrapped him up in the shielding spell, did you put all your demigod power into it, or only a fraction?”
“I gave it every glimmer I had!” Rap shouted. “I tied that little turd in a bag that I thought the Gods Themselves would not have gotten —” He stopped abruptly, gagging.
So there it was: hypothesis confirmed.
“You all right?” Sagorn inquired, not much interested in the reply. The faun groaned in agony, clutching his head.
Indeed, there it was! The cause was lost, and the only question now was how best Sagorn could extract himself and his associates from it — also how far and how fast. He had been called by Jalon; last time he had called Andor. That meant he now had a choice of Darad or Thinal.
Darad’s animal mind would not comprehend the change in allegiance, and would not care if it could. That human polar bear had long ago decided he approved of Rap. That meant he gave him the unquestioning devotion of a dog.
Thinal, on the other hand, was even more protective of his own skin than his brother Andor. Being still young, Thinal would have a chance of outrunning King Rap in a fair, mundane foot race starting right here, and that might well be necessary. Thinal, despite his limitations, was still the best of the five of them when knives began to glint in the shadows. He had resources all his own. He could be relied upon to move himself as far from Valdorian as possible, as soon as possible, and as safely as possible, in effect taking the other four with him.
Thinal it would have to be.
“Why?” Rap moaned.
“Why what?” Sagorn thought back to the conversation.
“Why was I asking those questions? Merely to confirm the obvious, as you surmised.”
But if it was all so obvious, then why had the big faun consulted him, in turn? Why had he asked Jalon to call Sagorn here at all?
Just to confirm the obvious, also?
What was he up to?
“What obvious?” Rap asked, still breathing hard from his ordeal.
“The obvious fact that you — er, we, I mean — have lost! If Zinixo is now free of the shielding you put upon him, then the Covin must have released him. Therefore the Covin has finally enlisted enough sorcerers to be collectively stronger than you were as a demigod. Add to that strength Zinixo himself now, plus the three wardens, and it is obvious that there is no force in the world that can ever hope to withstand the Alm… the dwarf.”