A Handful of Men: The Complete Series

by Dave Duncan

  He kissed her. There was no passion in the embrace — that must wait for later — but there was love beyond measure. Rap, oh. Rap!

  After a while he said, “And I to see you. The Gods were good to both of us tonight.”

  That did not sound like the Rap she knew, but she was not about to disagree. In the background the horse splashed its hooves into the lake and began drinking noisily. Far away down the valley the camels still roared.

  “Oh, how I missed you!” Rap said. “You can’t imagine.”

  “Yes, I can. I know exactly.”

  He squeezed her again. “I have never understood how I came to deserve you.”

  “The honor is mine, all mine. And Kadie’s all right?”

  She detected the tiny pause, the hesitation. “Physically she’s all right. The goblins didn’t hurt her, but she had a very long, very hard ordeal. And then… you know what happened to the goblins, at Bandor?”

  “I heard.”

  “She saw it. She hasn’t quite recovered yet. She needs her mother.”

  “Take me to her, then.”

  “In a minute.” Rap stepped back, still holding her hands. “Gath went off to the Moot, you say?”

  “We were in Urgaxox. The word was that it would be a war moot. We decided it would be useless to go, and far too dangerous, but Gath —”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Shandie and I —”

  “Shandie! Shandie’s all right? He’s still with you?”

  “Gath saved him from the goblin —”

  “Kadie told me.”

  Of course! She thought of all the things that had happened since she parted from Kadie, then decided they could wait. “The last I heard, about a week ago, the imperor was in a jail back in Zark. Warlock Raspnex is there, too, I think.”

  Rap uttered a disbelieving bark of a laugh, almost a cry of despair. “A warlock in jail?”

  “As far as I know. Gath hitched a ride on a longship going to Nintor.” She steeled herself to ask the question that had tortured her for weeks. “Rap, does Gath know you killed Thane Kalkor?”

  This time the pause was longer, more worrying. “I think he does, but he can’t know all the implications. You don’t mean he hitched a ride with Drakkor, do you?”

  “I don’t know who he hitched a ride with. He dreamed it up all by himself.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he thinks you’re dead. To help your cause. To be worthy of a father he loves and admires and mourns.”

  Rap made a strangled, choking noise. His face was a blur in the night. “Midsummer! The moot’s held at Midsummer, and the evil begins then.”

  The God had told him he must lose one child. She felt her nerves beaten raw, and a hundred years old. “How is the war going, Rap?”

  “Poorly. Tell you everything tomorrow.”

  “Take me to Kadie.”

  He sighed. “I’ll try. I just hope this will work.” He raised his voice, calling into the night. “Archon, we are ready!”

  Everything vanished at once: the stars and the starlit lake, the sounds of the horse, and the cold.

  * * *

  The air was like steamed towels wrapped around her head. It reeked of earth and rotting leaves. Inos sensed thick jungle, drippy and likely dark even in daylight. In the night she could see nothing at all. Rap’s arm was around her.

  “There’s a door just ahead,” he said. “The side door. It’s level ground.”

  She let him ease her forward.

  “Where is this? Where are we?”

  “In Thume. This is the heart of it, the holy of holies, the Chapel.” He sounded displeased, as if he had hoped to be somewhere else.

  Ancient hinges groaned. She saw something — not truly light, but a different quality of darkness. Rap went first, ducking his head for the archway, and she made that out. She followed.

  The inside was vast and blank and still almost dark. In one corner a bluish gleam fell on a group of people, but even they were indistinct, and the rest was all shadow. She could not see where the light was coming from. It seemed like moonlight, but there was no moon. The air was much cooler than it had been outside, and musty like old attics, yet the floor was clean, not heaped with leaves or bat droppings. She walked forward at Rap’s side, clutching his hand, that strong, familiar, welcome hand.

  Nine people — she counted them — kneeling in a row with their backs to her. They had left a gap in the middle, four on one side, five on the other.

  “Who —”

  “Sh!” Rap squeezed her hand tightly.

  What God was worshipped in this chapel?

  They reached the gap, and Inos saw that there was a tenth person present, beyond the glow, a dark, hooded figure standing alone in the corner, holding a long staff. Her scalp prickled. Whatever or whoever that was, it was not a God, for she had seen a God once, and yet the nine seemed to be praying to it. What manifestation of the Evil was this?

  And then, to her astonishment. Rap knelt, also, tugging on her hand. Dumbfounded, Inos obeyed. She could never have imagined Rap kneeling to anyone. Even to the Gods he knelt reluctantly.

  A voice came from the venerated figure beyond. It sounded like fingernails scratching on pottery, almost too quiet to be heard, even in this enormous silence. It might, just possibly, be female.

  “You have proved yourself a friend to Thume, Rap of Krasnegar.”

  “Thank you, Holiness,” Rap said with what sounded like genuine humility. “I think the caliph will depart and take his army with him. He will not be riding a horse, though.”

  “You did well not to kill him.”

  “I surprised myself.” There was a hint of a more normal Rappish humor there.

  The nine worshippers made no sound. Perhaps they were merely stuffed replicas of worshippers. None of them had stirred since Inos entered. Her heart hammered unnaturally, an ache in her chest.

  “We have brought back a trophy of war,” Rap said softly. “We almost brought two. This one should be delivered to somewhere called Dreag, in Zark, and given to the prisoner who is kept there, and he should be freed. He is what draws Azak away.”

  “Leave it here when you depart,” the rustly whisper said.

  “I informed Azak that it would be delivered to Dreag.”

  “Indeed?”

  “And my word is important to me.”

  Stubborn faun!

  “But not to me.” The woman, if it was a woman, spoke again, before Rap could argue further. “The threat will suffice. You have earned your sanctuary. We are grateful.”

  He growled. “Holiness, there are several sorcerers with that army, and it seems the Covin —”

  “They do not concern us!” The voice was no louder, yet it seemed to echo through the great hall. Again Inos felt her scalp prickle.

  “But, Holiness —”

  “Silence! The war does not concern Thume. The Covin does not. We will never let ourselves be drawn into the affairs of the Outside. I said you have now earned the sanctuary that had previously been freely given you. Your help was freely given, also, was it not? You did not bargain.”

  “No,” Rap admitted angrily. “But —”

  “No buts. You and your loved ones may remain here, in a haven safe from the storm without. That is recompense enough. It is recompense indeed.”

  The dark figure had gone.

  Rap snarled and hurled the jeweled sash clattering across the floor. He sprang to his feet. Inos jumped up, also, wary of his rage.

  “Who was that?” she demanded, and then realized that the rest of the congregation was rising from their obeisance. So they were alive!

  “That was the Keeper!” Rap said, as if pronouncing an obscenity. He drew a ragged breath. “These, dear, are the titular rulers of Thume, the archons. Archon Raim, my dear wife, Inosolan, the exiled queen of Krasnegar.” He was certainly making no effort to conceal his bitterness.

  “Allies?” Inos said, peering at the indistinct form of the ma
n presented. All she could make out were the oddly angled eyes. Memories of her last visit to Thume crowded in on her like wraiths and she edged closer to Rap. “Just friends, ma’am,” the pixie said. He sounded young. He seemed stocky. “There is someone who should speak with you first, though.”

  Inos said, “Who?” and felt a hand touch her arm.

  Kadie said, “Mama?” in a small, uncertain voice.

  * * *

  As mother and daughter persisted in their tearful embrace, Rap turned away.

  “Archon Toom,” he said harshly, “why is it that women weep when they are happy?”

  “I don’t know, your Majesty,” old Toom said, peering at him curiously. “Why do you?”

  Manly foe:

  Give me the avowed, erect and manly foe;

  Firm I can meet, perhaps return the blow;

  But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send,

  Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend.

  George Canning, The New Morality

  TEN

  A necessary end

  1

  Sunlight filtered down through greenery. Dew sparkled on every blade of grass as if the world were a virgin bedecked in diamonds and come to her wedding. Fresh scents of summer promised a long, hot, carefree day. Horses grazed nearby with steady crunching, while somewhere on the blue doorstep of Heaven a skylark sang plaudits to the morn.

  Roasted, that lark would make a delicious start to breakfast.

  Ylo turned his head in a crackle of dry leaves and peered one-eyed at Eshiala. Her jet-black tresses were a tangle of mystery, her long lashes lay on her cheeks like combs. Sleep seemed to have brought her peace, while his had been tortured by nightmares. He could not touch her, for Uomaya lay between them, sheltered from the night’s chill.

  Now morning had come but the nightmares remained. There lay the woman he loved, the only one he had ever loved for longer than a week. She carried his child already. He would do anything to win a smile from his lady. All he possessed in the world — wits, half a bag of gold, a fit body, a certain charm — all those were hers for the asking, plus all the remaining days of his life if she would accept them. And he had brought her to this.

  Hungry.

  Sleeping under hedges.

  Hunted.

  You have failed, Ylo. Failed!

  Today seemed certain to consummate that failure in disaster. Never again would he waken to see her loveliness beside him. She would be returned to the palace and he dispatched to jail. That was the best that would happen to her and the least that might happen to him. Uomaya would rule the world as puppet for Zinixo.

  In a mad chase across Qoble, they had eluded the legion for almost three weeks. That was a triumph for them, especially for Ylo himself, but a humiliation for the legionaries. He had been a hero and he had betrayed their trust, or so they would have been told. He could never hope to make them believe the truth. They might not know his crime, but they would not deal easy with him when they caught him, as catch him they must. His very success in evading capture for so long would count against him.

  He felt Maya stir, Impress Uomaya. In its time the Impire had known perhaps a dozen reigning impresses, but surely none of them had ever had to sleep under bushes. Some of the imperors had done so, doubtless, but never an impress regnant. For the sake of the child this chase must end.

  And for the sake of the other child, also — his, the unborn babe.

  End it must. End it would. Yesterday the fugitives had ridden north, no longer daring to ask directions, but hoping to find a pass through the mountains. The road had petered out at a goatherd’s hovel. They had retraced their path, but any prey, when it backtracked, was headed into the jaws of its pursuer.

  A league or so down me road lay a hamlet whose name he had not bothered to ask. The legionaries would be there by now, or if not there then at the first crossroads beyond. They would have maps and me Cooperation of Law-abiding Citizens. They must know that their quarry was just ahead, trapped in this dead end. They would be ready to move out at dawn.

  Dawn had already come. The day had begun.

  He was hungry, filthy, and unshaven. His clothes were ragged and dirty. No longer could he overawe the peasants by playing gentleman. Now he looked what he was, a hunted outlaw.

  “Mommy?” a small whine said.

  Eshiala’s eyes opened. She could not have been as much asleep as he had thought.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Eshiala looked at Ylo — without reproach, but without illusion, either. Sadness and resignation. Interrogation.

  “I was thinking about roast skylark,” he said.

  She smiled faintly. “We could eat gold.”

  “So we could,” he said, stretching. “We’ll go and buy a meal at the nearest farm and linger over it. One, big, satisfying bloat!” He thought about the fare in Imperial jails. That was the second-best way to get rid of an appetite.

  * * *

  Toilet was easy, consisting mainly of brushing leaves off. The two horses looked up reproachfully as their owners emerged from the thicket. Kindly people, their sad eyes said, do not hobble us.

  Ylo scanned the landscape, seeing a dismal vista of empty fields and pasture, with no houses close. The Qoble range was a hard white bulwark to the north; he had learned to hate it. He should not have come so far into the hills. Nearer the coast there was cover. He should not have strayed into the countryside at all, for concealment was easier in cities. He should never, never, never have come to Qoble; it had been a trap from the start.

  Two arms came around him from behind and hugged.

  “You are giving up?” she said softly, her head against his shoulder.

  “We must give up. For the children’s sake.”

  “I do not want to give up. Another day will not kill us.”

  This day might.

  He turned within her grasp so he might embrace her also. “Look at us! Bedraggled serfs! Who will trust us? Who believe anything we say? I have run out of credible tales to win assistance.”

  “If you use gold you can buy anything.”

  “And risk being knifed?” He sighed. “My darling, I have failed you. The perils grow worse.”

  “What’s over there?” Eshiala pointed to the rising sun.

  He had no idea. He was hopelessly lost without a map, but to say so would only worry her more. The land rose gently to a crest not a league away.

  “Another valley, I assume.”

  Eshiala set her jaw. “Let us go and try it, then. It cannot be worse than this one, can it? If they are waiting for us there, then we can give up there. If not, then we have won another day.”

  Yes, but —

  “Mommy, I’m hungry!”

  “She is hungry,” Ylo said, conceding defeat.

  “Those cows have calves.”

  “So?” he said.

  “You think of me as an impress still? Sir, I am but a humble grocer’s, daughter and granddaughter of farmers. I can milk a cow even if you can’t, Signifer Ylo!”

  He laughed. “I catch ’em, you milk ’em?” Cheer faded. “We have no bucket.”

  Eshiala’s eyes glinted angrily. “We have two soft leather bags! We can put the gold back later. We can leave it lying in the grass for all I care! Saddle up, Signifer!”

  * * *

  The cows were reluctant and a couple of times Ylo thought he was about to be gored. He had no experience with cattle, but desperation was always the mother of innovation and he was prepared to wage all-out war. The taking of hostages had always been one of the army’s preferred strategies, and it worked with calves. In the end the cattle paid ransom of enough warm milk for breakfast — and morning showers, also, for the bag leaked. When the day grew hot the fugitives would all reek of sour milk. Nonetheless, the world brightened when hunger was banished, at least for a while.

  Maya was very tired of riding. She wanted to go home, she said, although she probably could not
remember a home. She became difficult when Ylo wanted to lift her.

  “Give her to me,” Eshiala said. “You can ride with Mommy for a while today, pet.”

  Ylo was worried about the roan. The previous evening he had suspected it was favoring its right foreleg, and although he could detect no trouble now, he wanted to keep careful watch on it. He mounted Eshiala on the sorrel with Uomaya before her. He kept the roan for himself, thinking he might dismount later and walk for a while.

  Eshiala smiled down at him triumphantly. “Eastward ho!” she said.

  “Eastward it is,” he agreed, swinging into his saddle. It had been eastward all along — always eastward, as if they were some strange birds that migrated at right angles to all others, as if they fled the sunset.

  They set off over the pasture at an easy trot, staying close to a hedgerow as high as a small forest, alive with dog roses, figwort, and golden cinquefoil. Eshiala was an accomplished rider, well tutored by the experts of the palace. She rode without apparent effort, laughing and coaxing her daughter to good spirits. Ylo stole miserly glances at her face. His realization earlier that she must soon be taken from him made him greedy for more memories of it, and yet he already knew every jot of it better than he knew anything in the world.

  He had seen that face inflamed with passion and racked by ecstasy. He had seen it gentle, adoring her child. He had seen it kind, winning worshipful aid from peasants. Back in the palace days he had seen it coldly imperious and known that the spirit within was terrified beyond reason, but hiding that terror from all but the most perceptive. In Yewdark he had seen it desperate but unvanquished. He had never seen it sulk, never petty or spiteful or selfish.

  And now their danger was greater than ever. He did not say so, and he had not argued against this new course, because their cause was now so hopeless that any risk was worth taking. True, the next valley might grant them a few hours’ or days’ more freedom. Yes, but —

  Travelers on the road were inconspicuous to anyone except their pursuers. Cutting across country attracted everyone’s attention, and the farmers’ ire. To leave the roads was always a fugitive’s last resort. This was the final lap.