For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he said, “To a funeral, and I won’t talk about that, either.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Kalkor’s a monster. If you can kill him, then you’ll be doing us all a favor, and of course I’ll share my word with you.” And a lot more than that.
His relief was so obvious that she almost felt hurt. “You will?”
“Did you doubt?” She smiled pityingly at him, and she thought she saw him mask a blush.
“Thanks, Inos. It may not matter for very long.” What did that mean? Well, she didn’t care, and there were worse problems to talk about.
“It will weaken your power, of course,” he added reluctantly.
“Oh, no it won’t! I just hope it’ll do you more good than it has done me. Ever since Father told it to me, I’ve been waiting to see what difference it would make, and it hasn’t made any. Not at all! I’ve never developed any special talent, nothing. Elkarath said I was using power once, when we were in Thume, but I wasn’t conscious of doing anything. It must be a very weak word, Rap. Half of nothing is still nothing.”
He shook his head. “That may not be right. Sagorn thinks that the words have different properties and suit different people. Or don’t. Meaning yours may just not be right for you. That could be, but I think it’s something else. I think some people have a real talent for magic, and the words help those people. Others haven’t got the knack, somehow. If a boy’s naturally clumsy, then he’ll never make a swordsman, no matter what training he may get. I was like that. Some sorcerers are naturally much stronger than others. I don’t think Rasha was very powerful at all.”
“She zapped me all the way across Pandemia.”
Rap snorted. ”That wouldn’t be hard, with the magic casement open. It would have acted like a : . . hard to explain. Anyway, even if your word hasn’t done anything for you, I think I have a very good knack.”
“Yes, I think you do. You’re making me feel giddy. I could absolutely swear that I’m insanely in love with you.”
He did blush at that. “Please, Inos! Be serious! If you will share your word with me, I will try to kill Kalkor.”
She laughed. Glad of the excuse, she walked over to him, where he sat uncomfortably on the chair, and she laid a hand on his shoulder. It felt surprisingly solid. She bent to his ear, remembering how she’d watched him tell a word to Rasha.
“This is how it’s done?” she whispered. He squirmed a little. ”Yes.”
She kissed his cheek. “Like this?”
“Inos! Please!” He wasn’t moving a muscle.
She chuckled. She could smell the damp of his hair, and he needed a shave. ”What’s it worth?”
“My life,” he said hoarsely.
That sobered her. “Sorry, Rap!” She whispered the gibberish her father had told her on his deathbed. Then she straightened. “Well?”
He looked up at her. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. So much fuss for such a lot of nonsense!” He swallowed and licked his lips. “You’re sure?” Doubt.
“Yes. That’s what Father told me.”
Rap said nothing. He looked down at his fists, clenched tight on his knees.
“Rap? What’s wrong?”
“Inos . . . That wasn’t a word of power.”
“It’s what Father said!” But was she sure? Had she perhaps got the angoo bit mixed up with the engip bit? He shook his head and rose suddenly.
He was much bigger than she remembered. Solemn gray eyes.
“It’s not a word of power, Inos. Hearing one of those . . . You know, it’s like having your head explode.”
“But . . .”
“Do you remember when he told you? Did you feel anything?”
“No,” she said. “Just surprise. I thought he was raving again.”
“Then it isn’t your fault.”
“Rapt What do you mean?”
His face was very close, and it was wooden as a three-masted schooner. She could read nothing in it. “I mean that sometimes words must get lost. Maybe your father was too far gone. Maybe it was his father. The chain got broken somewhere. Someone forgot, or didn’t hear right.”
“Not Not Not”
“ ‘Fraid so. You’d have felt the power when he told you, and you didn’t. That’s why you’ve never developed a talent, Inos. You don’t know a word of poweet”
It made awful sense. Horror fell on her, chilling her. “But Kalkor?”
Rap shrugged, not looking at her. “Maybe he’s only a mage, like me. Just have to hope so.” He didn’t sound very confident.
“Then you’ll be all right?”
“Then it’ll just be a question of which of us is stronger—and I’m pretty strong, I think. If we cancel out completely, then it goes back to muscle, and he’s . . . But that’s not likely. Lith’rian was very shocked when he discovered I could feel magic being used, and I was only an adept then. I think he was worrying about what I might become if I ever learned more words.”
“And if Kalkor knows four?” She waited. “Rap? Can a mage fight a sorcerer?”
“Can a mouse fight a cat?”
“Rap?”
“Different animal, it’d be no contest. Duke Angilki’s still unconscious?”
“That’s what they said tonight—still in a coma.” Rap nodded bitterly. “No help from his word, then. Go back to bed, Inos, and I’ll put you to sleep.”
He stepped away as she tried to put her arms around him.
“Rapt Stop being idiotic! Forget Kalkor! He’s not worth your life. Forget Azak! And forget Krasnegar! Let’s go now! You and me. Pick anywhere you like and I’ll go with you.”
“No. I’m going to go and look for another word.” He had his stubborn look on.
“You don’t need to kill him for me, Rap, because—”
“I’m not doing it for you. Nor for Krasnegar. I’m doing it because I want to. Now go to bed.”
“Idiot! Almost dawn? Sagorn’s been hunting for words for a hundred years, and you expect to find one before noon today?”
Suddenly his eyes were very big. She could see nothing but his eyes.
“Go back to bed, Inos.”
She went, and slept, and Rap departed.
Whispered word:
It is the hour when from the boughs
The nightingale’s high note is heard;
It is the hour when lovers’ vows
Seem sweet in every whispered word.
— Byron, Parisina
EIGHT
Fortune’s fool
1
He ran north, knowing that what he sought would be somewhere to the north, near the White Palace. Near the lake.
He ran through the rain, wishing he still had the legs he’d had in the taiga. First sailoring and now weeks of driving had spoiled him for running, and he was trying to hold back on magic.
Running into rain; running into dawn, too. His time was draining away. He had not slept that night, and would not. There would be a long sleep ahead, if this last chance failed.
This was his third day in Hub, and the inexplicable white horror must be very imminent now. It would come today, he thought. God of Justice, let me kill Kalkor first! He still had no more clue as to what it was, for he feared it too much to use his foresight at all. It might be just death. That was the logical explanation—that the Gods blocked a man from seeing beyond his own death. Yet two wardens had failed to read his future and Ishist had said it hurt to try. If this other fate saved him from dying in the goblins’ lodge, then it might be a good thing, although he doubted that even the goblins could inflict more agony than he had sensed in the white glare.
Meanwhile there was nothing to do but run as fast as he could.
He did not always manage to stay mundane, even after he’d left the palace. Legionary patrols challenged him periodically, a lone man running the streets at night. In the narrower ways, ill-defined shadows moved as if to close in on him, action before query. Each time he just drew an inattention spell over himself and ran on unhindered.
He tried not to think about Inos.
Poor Inos! How his lustful thoughts had confused her! Being a mage was a hateful thing. But if the wardens took the curse off her husband, she would soon be safely back in Arakkaran, embarking on the life she had freely chosen before Rap had blundered in. In time she would forget him.
He thought instead of Kalkor. He unbottled the rage that had foamed inside him for hours, letting hatred fuel his running. The pains came, in his legs first and then a burning in his chest, but he thought of Kalkor and his anger gave him the strength to run on.
The faun in him went away. The jotunn ruled alone, riding his soul, ranting and rousing. As fatigue and exhaustion built, so did the bloodlust. He had never lost his temper since his childhood except once—almost—in Durthing. That burst of fury had frightened him, but it had still not taught him what a jotunn rage could be. Now he felt it in its full adult form for the first time. It was wonderful, irresistible, intoxicating. He might regret this after, for as long as he might live, but now that did not matter. Nothing mattered.