by Dave Duncan
"Please, Aunt? Leave me. Maybe tomorrow?"
But Kade was descended from a long line of kings, and at times she could be implacably stubborn. Regrettably this looked like being one of those times.
"There is something you should know," she said firmly.
"Tell me then." Get it over with.
"I did try to tell Azak, but I was not allowed near him."
How would he be doing, down in the bilge? Azak swore that he loved the sea, and yet djinns were usually reluctant sailors. Inos wondered how Gnome Quarters smelled, and instantly wished she hadn't. She grunted noncommittally. She had too many worries of her own. He was a big boy and could look after himself.
"So I'm going to tell you," Kade said firmly. "This ship is not going to Angot."
Inos turned her head quickly on the pillow—too quickly. "It's not?"
"Not when it's heading south it isn't! I may be old but I'm not stupid." Princess Kadolan very rarely lost her temper. This must be one of those times, also.
"You're not old," Inos said automatically as she tried to comprehend the stunning news.
"Despite the calm sea and gentle breezes, this is not the Sea of Sorrows. We're in Kerith Passage."
"Then where are we going?"
"I have spent the last day and a half trying to find out! The crew and the officers are being extremely unhelpful. Frainish doesn't know—she was told she was going to Qoble—and I seem to be the only passenger capable of maintaining an upright posture."
"Arakkaran?" Inos whispered. It would have to be Arakkaran.
"Arakkaran, yes. I just visited the cabin of an elderly priest. He didn't want any fish chowder, either, but he did admit that he's on his way to Githarn, and expects the ship to call at Torkag, Brogog, and Arakkaran."
Seasickness did not promote clear thinking, any thinking. The planks in the ceiling had a very wavy grain pattern, and if Inos looked at them for very long, the waves started rippling.
Don't look, stupid!
"You are still convinced that your centurion was the warlock?" Kade demanded.
"Yes. Yes, even his eyes. Certainty his voice. And not even a mistake. He wanted me to know—he was laughing at me."
Her aunt tapped a shoe on the rug several times. "Well, I don't understand! If we were still Rasha's prisoners, I could see why we might be on our way back to Arakkaran, but I don't understand why the warlock of the east would send us there. I mean, either he wants you as queen of Krasnegar, or he doesn't want you at all, or I shouldn't think he would anyway."
That was not an unusually muddled speech for Kade, but in her insubstantial condition, Inos needed time to think it through. "I agree," she muttered at last.
"So, if you were right in thinking that the warlock stole us away from the sorceress, then it would seem that the sorceress has stolen us back again!"
At the moment it didn't matter all that much. "What does Skarash say?"
"Master Skarash," Kade said crossly, "is being a jotunn."
"Jotunn?"
"He's wearing sailor clothes, consorting with sailors. The one time I managed to get a word in with him, he was attempting sailor jargon in a broad Nordland dialect—a very bad imitation of Nordland dialect."
"And what did he say?"
"That was debatable. I couldn't understand him, and when I used a much more authentic Nordland accent on him, he obviously couldn't understand me and wouldn't admit it."
Inos made a mental note to find that story funny when she recovered her health and sense of humor. Trader Skarash must know the truth of the matter. If Azak were around, he could choke it out of the sleazy little twister.
"I don't know. How long?"
"We shall be in Torkag within the hour, unless the wind fails completely."
Inos roused herself enough to reach out and give her aunt's hand a sympathetic squeeze. "And you're not going to get your longed-for visit to Hub, are you?"
"Apparently not this time." Kade set her lips angrily.
And back in Arakkaran she would not get to wear all the fine clothes she had picked out. That would be hurting, too.
4
When Allena made landfall near the many mouths of the Vislawn River, the wind dropped as if cut down by an ax. The sailors were beyond being surprised by anything the weather did on this voyage. They hoisted more sail and began the cleanup chores that inevitably followed a storm. Spreading all the canvas she could carry, Allena came in nobly on the morning tide, nudged along by a faint breeze over mirrored waters. Real ship and reflected glory floated together between the wooded islets like dancers in embrace.
Rap and Jalon were leaning on the rail, admiring the scenery, the weather, the white-sailed fishing boats, the glimpses of picturesque buildings in the woods. After being called by Sagorn on the first night, Jalon had put off calling any of the others to replace him until it was too late, because he was known to the crew. Rap did not care, as he preferred Jalon's company anyway, but it was surprising—three days of anything were usually enough to bore the minstrel to frenzy. Fortunately he had discovered a sailor who knew a song cycle that he did not. He had spent his time in learning it and working out improvements.
Rap was feeling thick-eyed and draggy from lack of sleep. As an adept, he could talk almost anyone into almost anything, but not for long. For the first three days and nights on Home Water, he had barely slept at all. Later he had done better as he gained authority and as the sailors concluded that he must be a sorcerer, since he could either control the winds, or at least predict what they would do next. Tacking when he advised not to, for example, had been enough to put the ship in irons every time. Any attempt to head for Malfin had been frustrated; the road to Vislawn had been open. Had they realized the true limits of Rap's power, they would have thrown him overboard.
And now there was nothing to do except lean on the rail and admire the bobbing gulls and fine morning.
"God of Marvels," Jalon remarked softly. "Do my old eyes deceive me?"
Twitching out of his drowsy reverie, Rap twisted around and saw that an elf had just come out on deck. Right behind her came another. "We must be getting close to the city," he agreed.
"This is the city."
Ribbons of sunbright water snaking between green islands? Pole boats and a few barges? "Where?"
"Here." Jalon waved vaguely. "Elves would rather look at trees than buildings, although the buildings they hide would be flaunted by anyone else. We've been sailing through uptown Vislawn for the last hour."
Rap hauled himself properly alert by the scruff of his mental neck and scanned around. True enough, there were little timbered houses and quaint shops hidden everywhere. Very few were more than one story high, and only boathouses and a few storage sheds could be reached directly from the waterfront. Allena was easing slowly past a white-sand beach where a half-dozen golden children were splashing and shrieking. Hidden in the trees behind it was a pottery, of bright-enameled woodwork and glittering tiles. Its tall chimney curved in an impossible spiral.
"How many islands?" Rap asked.
He should have known better—Jalon looked totally blank at the question. "Lots. Why?"
Sagorn would have quoted the exact number. "Never mind. If we don't reach our berth soon we'll have to anchor. The tide's about to turn."
Jalon chuckled. "Then they'll ask you to whistle up some more wind." He went back to his dreamy gazing at the scenery.
Ripple!
Gods!
Rap grabbed the rail tight and told his heart to calm down. He'd been half expecting that ripple, but just because a guess proved right did not stop it scaring a man out of his wits. It had felt just like the first one, the ripple that had startled him when he was talking with Sagorn, but this time he'd made it out more clearly. The whole world had shimmered—sea, islands, ships, buildings—in vision and farsight both, as if he'd been viewing a reflection in a bowl of water and someone had tapped the side of the bowl. It had lasted only a fraction of a second, but that
was long enough to be scary. Nor had he sensed where the ripple had come from, although he could guess.
More elves were emerging. The imps had mostly gained their sea legs by the third day of the voyage. Elves apparently never did, and Rap's unique ability to function was assumed to be merely one more proof of his sorcery. On this millpond channel, though, old Sir Thoalin'fen could strut around in silver and sea green. Fern'soon was displaying her gorgeous legs below an extremely daring burgundy wrap. Grandmother or not, she was a lovely girl! Jalon's golden jotunn hair was a faded washrag compared to elvish curls.
And finally came Quip', still pale, but resplendent in rose and peacock blue.
He paused in the companionway door rather unsteadily, glancing around until he located Rap. Registering great relief, he walked over to join him, adjusting a saffron cap topped with a scarlet plume. When he was still a few paces off, Rap bowed. Jalon was lost in a trancelike contemplation of a barge being poled past and did not notice, but Quip' stopped dead, suddenly worried.
"Why're you bowing to me, Rap'?"
"Because I don't think your name is Quip', your Omnipotence."
Ice! For a moment Rap felt more frightened than he could ever remember feeling before in his life. Then the opal eyes twinkled, and the elf stepped to his side, laying hands on the rail. His physical appearance did not change in the slightest—he stayed shorter than Rap and much slighter, and he still looked no older than fifteen. But he was a different person.
Had there been a hint of a ripple there, or was it just Rap's teeth trying to chatter? Or was he shying at moths now?
Still in Quip's husky treble, Lith'rian said, "Tell me?"
Rap found some saliva and said, "I've learned how to control my memory. There was no one clearing plates near Lord Phiel'nilth when I made my challenge."
The elf chuckled and shook his head sadly. "How the tiny flaw can spoil the great design! Well done, Master Rap! Anything else?"
"He denied it, but I think the dragonward must have some way of communicating with the warlock of the south."
"Yes, he does; a magic scroll. Whatever he writes on it can be read on its mate in Hub. It's a very small magic and the drakes don't seem to mind. That's all?"
"I got seasick a few times. I wasn't sure that you . . . I mean, I wanted to see if Quip' was all right."
Quip's cabin had not been on the ship, and the harder Rap had searched for it, in person or by farsight, the more violently his insides had protested.
The elf pursed his lips. "If you got close enough to feel nauseated, then you're a remarkably determined young man—you'd dug through three layers of . . . But we knew that about you, didn't we?" He chuckled. "And that reminds me, I must give Captain Prakker back his cabin!"
Ripple!
Lith'rian stiffened, staring hard at Rap. "You felt that!"
Rap nodded nervously. "Yes, your Omnipotence."
"You're only an adept! Reading the ambience? What else can you do?"
Rap listed the talents he had discovered, and they all seemed very insignificant compared to the powers of a warlock. But he had felt a ripple when the bogus Quip' departed and also when he returned a few minutes ago, and now he had felt Lith'rian remove the spell from the undiscoverable cabin. The elf looked impressed, but certainly not pleased.
With his eerily boyish appearance and voice, Lith'rian was somehow even more intimidating than Bright Water or Zinixo. "I jumped to Hub, and that used a lot of raw power. I came back the same way. And just now I was very close to you. Can you feel this? Or this?"
Rap shook his head.
The big opal eyes flickered from blues and greens to red and orange. "Your sensitivity isn't very high, then. But even so! Very few mages can feel disturbance in the ambience. Some sorcerers can't, or do it poorly. I recall no precedent for an adept being able to do it at all."
Rap forced himself to meet the warlock's glittering gaze and saw a nasty sort of appraisal in them. "What does that mean, your Omnipotence?"
"It means that you have some surprising abilities. That's all."
It mattered though, obviously. So did other things. "Inos, your Omnipotence?"
"She's well."
Rap sagged on the rail as if his heart really had taken flight and vanished into the sky. Logic and rationalization were fine, but they lacked conviction. She's well! How much those two words conveyed! How much they brightened the sunshine! Even the flowers were more vivid. Inos was alive and well. He really hadn't quite, totally disbelieved Sagorn. But now he knew. She's well! She's well!
After a while he realized that the warlock was regarding him with what looked for all the world like a juvenile smirk.
"Can you foresee me?" Rap demanded.
For a moment Lith'rian's smile did not change, and yet Rap thought of young boys dismembering insects or torturing kittens. He shivered, and reminded himself that this seeming kid was at least ninety.
"No, I can't," the warlock said softly.
His manner was a challenge to ask more impertinent questions, but Rap was not crazy, just too brash for his own good. He changed the subject quickly. "Ishist told me to mention to your Omnipotence that a God had appeared to Inos."
"Yes. I know about that. I think I know the whole story, Master Rap."
Blocks shrieked as sailors furled sails. On the far side of the deck, someone threw a line. Allena was about to tie up at a jetty, and most of the passengers were over on the far side. Jalon's dreamy inattention was excessive, even for him, so he was being occultly distracted.
The warlock was watching a passing pole boat. The boy in it was an elf who looked to be about Quip's age, wearing only a rag. He was shiny all over with the effort he was putting into his work, and his bony chest pumped. Lith'rian seemed to change mood again. He laughed and put both elbows on the rail.
"The dragonward may be in need of a vacation! He certainly is acting the clown. But he was right. This little escapade has amused me. Being Quip'rian was a gruesome experience!"
Rap decided not to ask, but the warlock told him anyway. "There really is a Quip'rian. He was in the kitchen when you uttered the Defiance. I merely borrowed his name and personality, just as I could have borrowed his appearance had I wanted to. He knows nothing about all this, and never will. No one knew what he looked like . . .
"Seeing the world through the eyes of a nobody—it's frightening! You know, I almost didn't want to go back to being my own self?"
Rap had not thought of the gentle Quip' as a nobody. He had felt much more at ease with him than he did with the sinister, deadly warlock, despite their identical appearance.
Lith'rian removed his cap. He pulled off the feather and dropped it into the river. As he replaced the cap itself, it changed color to match his shirt. The silence continued until Rap began to find it oppressive.
"You said . . . I mean, Quip' said that you must either cut off my head or go to war with Clan'nilth—your Omnipotence."
The warlock nodded. "That's what the rules say." He patted Rap's hand on the rail. "But there's a couple of ways out, very old precedents. Once a young man of the Clan'lyns uttered the Sublime Defiance against the Clan'ciels and knelt in his own father's shadow. His father was rich, and apparently stupid. Anyway, he sent the golden bucket, but the head in it was a replica."
Rap felt an invigorating surge of relief. "That was acceptable?"
"Perfectly. It was solid gold also."
"I can see how that would help."
Lith'rian nodded. "I think it will work in this case. We're in a civilized spell at the moment in Pandemia, when civil wars seem to be in poor taste."
Rap risked another step. "Then you don't share Quip's views on the most appropriate outcome of my quest, your Omnipotence?"
The warlock snorted. "His sense of the romantic is revolting. Gushy sentiment! What would you expect from a dishwasher?" He lifted his face skyward, staring at a circling seabird. He sighed. "No. I know a much more romantic ending."
"Tragic or
happy?"
The elf sighed. "Too close to call. The balance trembles still."
No more answers, obviously.
"Still, Rap, you did very well in diverting Allena straight here."
No need to ask why it had all been necessary. Elves liked things done in style, never the easy, obvious way. "It was a wild trip, your Omnipotence."
"You're going to have a wilder one. I'd estimated eight days was the absolute minimum, twelve more likely, and you got here in nine. That will help."
"Help, my lord?"
"Time is very short. Very! I can't even take you to Valdorian to complete the Sublime Defiance ritual, appropriate though that would be. Regretfully, the Rap'rian who goes to Valdorian will be a facsimile, not the real you. Here comes your transportation now."
A small boat was gliding across the blue mirror of the channel, heading for the ship and pulling a lucent fan of ripples. Allena was tied up now, and both crew and passengers were concentrating their attention on the far side of the deck. Nobody seemed to notice the mysteriously speedy boat, although its sail was flapping around chaotically as it came up against the slight breeze. It carried three young elves, skinny golden boys wearing almost nothing. Two of them were fighting for the tiller, but the boat was paying no attention to the rudder anyway.
On the other side of Allena's deck, shrill shouting had broken out as some of the passengers learned for the first time that they had been brought all the way to Vislawn and not to Malfin.
Filthy as a common sailor, wiping horny hands on his pants, Gathmor came striding over. He stopped and frowned, as if he had forgotten why he had come.
"Captain Gathmor," Lith'rian said pleasantly. "Bring a rope ladder quickly."
Gathmor opened his mouth and then took another, harder look at the adolescent elf. "Aye, sir!" he said, and ran.
Rap drew a deep breath, not sure whether he even dared ask the question. "My lord . . . Where is Inos?"
"In Arakkaran."
"Still?"
"Again."
"Bright Water said—" Rap began.
"If you mean that night in the Gazebo, I know exactly what happened, and what was said. Exactly."