by Dave Duncan
“You’ve grown since I saw you last summer, Prince Gathmor. I owe you my life. I am very grateful.” He held out a hand.
The boy had an unexpectedly powerful grip—jotunn, of course. His hair was a golden bush, but his eyes were the same dark gray as Rap’s.
“Your father would be very proud of you.”
The kid just licked his lips and nodded, as if past the point of speech.
“I admire the way you’re bearing up, lad. I’m a soldier. I know what it takes when you’re new to it. If you can handle this at your age, you’re going to be quite a man in a couple of years.”
The kid squeaked, “Thank you, sir,” in a wavery treble. ”Sire!” the girl snapped.
“Sire, I mean.”
“Don’t worry about that!” Shandie said, and felt his face ache as he smiled. “Now, your father told me you had—”
“Just an hour or two. No, I can’t.”
“Can you—”
“The building’s shielded. Can’t know what happens when we go out.”
Shandie nodded. “I see. Thank you.” He looked to the girl and was tongue-tied. He never knew the right thing to say to women, and what could he possibly say to this doomed waif ? Tell her she was going to be a stunning looker like her mother? Not very comforting under the circumstances. Tell her that being raped was better than being tortured? Was it true?
“Princess Kadolan? I . . . er, am honored to meet you.” Like her mother, she had brilliant green eyes, and they were wide with wonder. ”Oh!” she said. “Oh, your Imperial Majesty!” She curtseyed low in her filthy fur robe. That was a crazily inappropriate reaction and should have been funny, but his Imperial Majesty had no sense of humor left. Well, maybe he did—he bowed in response. Every bone in his back groaned.
“I am sure that the goblin king is an honorable man and will see that you are well treated, as he promised.” Liar! Liar!
“And I am sure that someone will rescue me, your Majesty!”
Gods! What childish fancy was that?
He was saved from having to say more. The door creaked open. The old goblin sorcerer stepped in nimbly and closed it behind him. He folded his big anns across his greenish chest and stared hard at Shandie.
Now what? The great danger was that one or more of those four sorcerers was a Covin spy, of course. Perhaps this man . . . Long Runner was his name. Perhaps Long Runner had come to announce disaster. You are coming to Hub with me, your Majesty ...
“That went very well,” he growled.
Shandie felt a surge of excitement. “You mean I persuaded you? You will join our cause?”
The short man chuckled. “I’m part of it already. Sit down before you fall down. All of you.”
Exchanging perplexed glances, the hostages obeyed. The goblin leered, his big teeth and black tattoos making a fearsome sight. “Just in case you’re wondering, Death Bird trusts me because he’s known me a very long time. I’ve never used sorcery on him, though, or for him. His destiny comes from the Gods and sorcery had no part in it—apart from a little help that Rap gave him once, of course, and Rap was more than just a sorcerer. But we’re old friends, Death Bird and me.”
“Get to the point,” Shandie snapped. “We’re too tired to play games.”
“Don’t get uppity. Imperors aren’t protected by the Protocol anymore. But you did very well, all of you.”
“If you’re trying to be friendly,” Queen Inos shouted, “then stop them taking my daughter!”
“I can’t. I just told you. I don’t dare use sorcery. And you shouldn’t, either! Yes, you! That tantrum you threw a little while ago just about deafened me. Good job this cottage is shielded! Some of Rap’s old magic, I suppose? It took all four of us to cancel you out, woman! You shout orders like that outside this building, Queen Inosolan, and you’ll call down the Covin!”
“Do you think I care? My daughter—”
“You had better care! If you think Death Bird is bad, how much do you suppose Zinixo would like to get his hands on Rap’s family?”
Shandie would not have believed she could have turned any paler, but she did.
“Furthermore,” the goblin snarled, turning to the children, ”you two both have magic, also, don’t you? That foresight of yours is not too bad, son. Frankly, if your dad hadn’t mentioned it, I probably wouldn’t have detected it, and I expect you can’t help using it. Not much you can do, but just remember that an unfriendly sorcerer can smell you out if he gets close enough. And you, little missie? Keep that sword of yours well covered.”
Sword? Shandie stared at the girl—who was hastily pulling her robe tight around herself but who certainly was not wearing a sword—and then at the goblin, wondering if he’d gone mad. Sorcerers could go mad. They often did—Zinixo, Bright Water.
“It’s a very fine piece of sorcery,” Long Runner added. “Very old, I should guess, but I couldn’t improve on it. As long as it’s mundanely hidden, it doesn’t register occultly either, understand? So keep it out of sight. I think Death Bird’s forgotten about it already. Course, he has a lot on his mind just now.”
“Why didn’t you use sorcery on him when he was in here?” Inos raged. She was addressing a sorcerer as if he were a wayward tradesman. ”You can stop him stealing Kadie!”
“Yes, I could, stupid. But I keep telling you I don’t dare use sorcery on him at any time. If you aren’t afraid of the Gods, I assure you that I am! And the Covin! The Covin is watching for the use of sorcery. If I had spelled him, it would have shown up when he walked out of here. Or else he would have changed his mind, depending on how I did it. Now be quiet. Your daughter goes with the army, the rest of you go to Dwanish. That’s settled.”
“Why her? Why not one of us?”
“He thinks he’s going to marry her to his son. That isn’t likely to happen for a while. Right now she’s officially a hostage, and hostages are always well guarded. So are princes’ betrotheds. Shut up, because there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“If you’re not here to help,” Shandie demanded, “then what do you want of us?” He had had more than he could stand. He needed rest. They all did, and he thought they were going to be thrown on horses very shortly. The sun was up, and the army would move out at dawn. He could hear voices in the distance, the sounds of camp being struck.
The goblin leered again. “I wanted to give you some good news. I thought you deserved it.”
“Then tell us, and go.”
Long Runner shimmered, like a reflection in a pool. His tattoos faded, his greenish skin turned gray. An iron-colored beard sprouted on his face, and silver hair on his thick chest.
He was a dwarf in a goblin loincloth. “Raspnex!”
The warlock bowed. “In the flesh. Good morning, your Majesties.”
Shandie jumped to his feet with a zest he would not have credited a moment ago. “You old scoundrel! What are you doing here?” He almost leaped over to the little man to thump him on the back, but then he thought much better of it.
The dwarf scowled ferociously. “Hiding out, mostly. I told you—I’ve been Long Runner often enough over the years. It was my nephew himself who started that, and I found the goblin business interesting. True destinies are rare. Besides, I wanted to keep an eye on this invasion.”
“I’ll be damned!”
“Probably. I also suspected some sorcerers would show up, and they did. But I didn’t expect you. Or you,” he added, glowering at the queen. “I wonder if someone’s meddling?”
“Meddling?” Shandie said. “Who?”
“I don’t know. The Gods, maybe. That preflecting pool has produced some very odd effects, hasn’t it?”
“Then you could have saved the imperor without us?” the boy muttered. He looked disappointed, of course. He thought he’d just changed the course of history.
The warlock chortled. “No! I could have done, but I wouldn’t! I didn’t recognize this scarecrow. I ignore their nasty little games.” He grinned gruesomely at S
handie. “That would have been funny, wouldn’t it—you dying joint by joint while a friendly sorcerer twiddled his thumbs nearby, thinking about other things? Of course, if you’d announced who you were, then I’d have done something—but you wouldn’t have, now would you?”
Of course not. Shandie had been prepared to die in as much silence as he could, because he’d been certain he would not be believed if he had announced his identity. If he had, it would just have made matters worse, a matter of days instead of hours.
“Good night’s work,” Raspnex said, nodding his massive head. ”I’d spotted one of the dwarves, but we got two, and that goblin. Thanks to you, I got them all inside a shielded building! Didn’t know how I was going to manage that.”
“That what the argument was about?”
“Of course. Sorcerers don’t like potential traps any more than mundanes do. It worked, though. I explained, they approved. Now they’ll cooperate, all of them! So we just picked up three recruits. It’s a start! There’s a goblin mage, too. We’ll take him along.”
Shandie’s legs were shaking. He sank down on the floor again. “And none of them belongs to the Covin?”
“Not that I can see. No, I’m sure. But we’re all going to get out of here. We’ll come with you to Dwanish, because this invasion is doomed.”
“Doomed?” the queen shouted.
“Oh, not right away. Zinixo may enjoy the chaos for a while, but he can’t afford to let a horde of barbarians take the capital. Eventually the Covin will move.”
“And my daughter?”
The dwarf turned a dark glare on the girl. “She’ll have to take her chances, ma’am. Nothing I can do. Besides, my nephew will certainly have left a few votaries behind in Dwanish. We may soon be in worse danger than she is.”
Far away to the southeast, the sun stood high over the rural peace of Thume. It wasn’t shining, though. This was still the rainy season and dense clouds obscured the land between the seas. Rain drummed unceasingly on the roof of Thaile’s cottage, cascading from the eaves and the trees, puddling on the grass. Not a drop of it came inside, and that was still a great wonder to her. When rain fell on her parents’ home, the roof and walls did little more than slow it down, for Gaib had always been better at growing things than building. He hated to cut down decent timber—he even hated gathering fresh ferns for bedding.
Although she felt shaky and a little light-headed, Thaile was keeping busy with a wonderful game she had invented. It involved rearranging the furniture to see how it changed the look of the room—the table here and the other chair over there, and so on. She thought Frial would have enjoyed the game. But then her mother would enjoy just having furniture.
Thaile had not eaten since the previous morning. Twice Mist had come to talk through the door at her and twice she had resolutely sent him away. No one else had disturbed her, and she clung to a thin hope that no one would. The inhabitants of the College were mighty sorcerers, but they were pixies like her. To a pixie any other pixie’s Place was sacred. She knew she was defying the Keeper herself and there could be no greater heresy in Thume, but this was her Place and here she felt safe. Perhaps she was crazy.
Had she planned this brash rebellion in advance, she could have stocked up on some of the wonderful foodstuffs available for the taking at the Market, but she had acted on impulse like a child. Now she was apparently being left to suffer her babyish sulks alone.
She must endure at least two more nights, until the full of the moon had passed. Then she might emerge and go in search of food.
The sorcery of the cottage still worked. Hot water came from the spigot, the lanterns lit when she told them to, the stove would grow hot at her command. The cookpots were mundane, unfortunately—she could not get soup out unless she first put vegetables in. Her closet was full of the finest clothes she had ever seen, finer than anything she had dreamed before she arrived at the College a week ago; but her larder was empty.
She did not want riches and comfort. She wanted Leeb. Whoever he was.
If he walked up to the door, she would not know him. No one was walking up to her door. No one had come to scold or threaten or chide, which was somehow unnerving. If she wasn’t important, why had they brought her here? For a whole day and a night she had spoken with no one except the lackadaisical Mist, and he was only another novice like herself. He knew no more than she did, and cared a great deal less.
She had Felt no one either. That was really very strange. Her Faculty was strong—Jain had said so. Back at the Gaib Place, ever since she had kept Death Watch for old Phain and learned her word of power, Thaile had been vaguely conscious all the time of the neighbors beyond the hills. The Gaib Place was more remote than most, too. On her journey to visit Sheet she had sensed dozens of strangers in the distance along the way. Here at the College she could Feel only the other novices and some trainees. The others were all sorcerers, who masked their emotions, of course, but the outside world was somehow masked from her, also.
Pixies prized privacy and solitude, didn’t they? So why was she complaining?
About noon, she suddenly Felt worry. In a moment she knew that it was Mist again, approaching along the Way. She peeked around the drape to make sure he was alone and did not have some un-Feelable sorcerers with him. Soon he came into sight among the trees, hurrying with long strides along the white path, shrouded in a hooded cloak of cypress green. That was unusually subdued wear for him, the first time she had seen him not clad in bright reds or blues. But he was alone.
She left the window and walked away into the bedroom, catching a glimpse of herself in the great crystal mirror. She looked fragile and timid, like a fledgling fallen from its nest, yellow eyes stretched wide with fear.
She heard Mist stamp up on the porch. She Felt a twinge of annoyance, as if rain had run down his neck when he removed the cloak. Then he braced up his courage and tapped on the door. She sat on the edge of the bed and folded her hands. Go away!
The moments dripped by. His worry begin to mount. He tapped again, louder.
“Thaile! It’s me, Mist. I need to talk to you.”
He wouldn’t go away, she decided. Mist was brash enough and so convinced of his own lovability that he would open the door and peer in if she did not answer. She could not bear the thought of that violation.
Very shakily, she rose and went out to the front room again. “Go away!”
“It’s Mist!”
“I know it is. I don’t want to talk with you.”
“But I have to talk with you. I have a message from Mistress Mearn. Please, Thaile?”
Reluctantly she opened the door a crack and peered out at him. He had removed the cloak. His doublet was scarlet, his hose saffron, and he seemed to fill the porch. His buttercolored eyes stared back at her in ludicrous anxiety. Affable to absurdity, Mist was a human puffball—big and soft and of no known use to anyone. There was hardly anything in him to dislike, even. He forced a smile, but she could Feel his worry and nervousness.
“What’s the message?” she asked. He swallowed.
“She says you are being, er, foolish. She says you can come to the Commons and eat and you won’t be stopped from coming back to your Place again.” He smiled hopefully. “Come and have lunch with me?” All around him silver water streamed from the eaves of the tiny porch.
“No.”
“Fried perch and yams and—”
“No.”
“Then I’ll bring some food here and we can—or you can . . . ”
“No. Go away.”
He seemed to shrink. She Felt fear, then. He would have to take her refusal back to Mearn, and he was frightened of the mistress of novices.
“Thaile? I’m your friend, right? Tell me what’s wrong?”
Leeb was what was wrong, but how could she explain? Mist would think she was mad. Even if he believed her, he would never understand.
“No.”
“Is it the Defile? We didn’t go last night, because of the ra
in. But Mearn says the Keeper will make the sky clear tonight and the moon is full, so this is the best night.” He studied her hopefully. “It’s only a valley in the mountains, Thaile! We just walk through to the other side. We’ll all be together, you and me and the other three. I’ll hold your hand if you’ll let me.”
Some comfort that would be! She had seen the Defile, or at least the start of it. It was the most evil-looking thing she could imagine. Mearn had admitted it was an ordeal, and that implied a lot more than a walk in the hills by moonlight.
“No, it isn’t the Defile,” she said, meaning that the Defile was only part of it, and a small part.
“Then what?” he demanded with a show of exasperation. “You worry me, Thaile. I love you, you know that!”
She knew he didn’t. He might think he did, but loving and making love meant the same thing to Mist. He thought wanting was the same as wanting to be wanted, and it wasn’t.
She hesitated, and he rushed on.
“Darling, you can’t defy the whole College like this! And the Keeper herself! You know your catechism—Whom do we serve? The Keeper and the College! What do I tell Mistress Mearn?”
It slipped out in a flash of anger. “Tell her I want Leeb!” The buttery eyes blinked with bovine slowness. “Who?”
“Leeb.”
“Leeb? That was the name you said when I was . . . when we were . . .”
“My goodman.”
Mist’s jaw dropped. Then his big boyish face turned pink and pinker and pinkest. “You never said!” he whispered. “You wear your hair short. You didn’t tell me.” His emotions clamored like thunder—shame that he had bedded another man’s goodwife, fear that her goodman might come seeking revenge . . . and real disappointment. He had been looking forward to the next time ever since the only time. And that had been her fault.
Somehow she was sorry for him, then. It was very hard to stay mad at Mist.
“I didn’t know,” she admitted, not able to look him in the eye, studying his long yellow legs and fancy boots. “Not at first. They made me forget.”