Raspnex and magic carpet faded away together.
The warlock yelled in triumph and did a little dance like Bright Water’s, his boots thumping loud on the planks. He held out a hand to Oothiana and spun her around roughly.
“Oh, I shall have East where I want him! He’ll be ordering his legions about in a shrill soprano from now on!”
Rap scrambled to his feet and reeled out of the way as the two sorcerers went whirling by. Inos’s tent had been quite large, hadn’t it? Too big for just two people, maybe. There might have been other people in there, as well. Her aunt, perhaps.
Zinixo stopped dancing. He gripped Oothiana’s face in both hands and pulled it down to kiss. Then he released her and spun around to face the oval glass, which had become a mirror again. “Now, the girl!”
Alarms rang in Rap’s aching head. This vile little monster was not going to get his hands on Inos! Except that there was no one who could stop him. Not Rap. Not that big man with the sword. He must have been a guard, and there would have been other people in that tent, as well. Queens did not travel alone in the desert.
But before Rap could force his muddled brains to work, someone or something did stop the warlock. He turned back to scowl at Oothiana. “You agree?” he demanded, although she had said nothing.
She shook her head.
Apparently the dwarf valued her judgment. He pouted up at her and said, ”Explain!”
“The witch said that South had stolen her away from East—”
“From the sorceress, she said.”
“Well, before East could steal her from the sorceress, South did. And in East’s sector. Why?”
“They’re allies, you mean?”
“Yes, Omnipotence. And that so-convenient votary? It doesn’t ring true, even for an elf.”
“You think North was lying?” His stony face darkened. The proconsul nodded. She seemed to have relaxed her magic, because she was looking drained and exhausted. Haggard, even. “She made friends with you tonight, but she may be trying to make trouble for you, too. If you snatch the girl from East’s sector, he isn’t going to like it.”
Zinixo guffawed. “But I’m going to have him staked out on the anthill! And he tried to kill me,” he added angrily. Getting no response, he said, ”Tell me what you think!”
The sorceress ran fingers through her hair, pushing it back. She took a minute to gather her thoughts. Rap’s head was clearing, too. Bright Water had apparently gained what she wanted, Little Chicken, and she had given up nothing of her own, merely a chance to spy on Warlock Olybino. She could spy on him herself at the same time, with her own votaries, so she hadn’t lost anything very much, and the dwarf didn’t seem to have thought of that. Had Oothiana?
“You’ve done North a favor,” she said, “for what it’s worth. The elf’s your big trouble. He always will be. I think you should woo East. You’re going to know his votaries, or some of them. He’s the weakest of the four of you, isn’t he?” When the warlock nodded, she said, “Well, then he would value an alliance with you, because you’re stronger than either of the others. Don’t make him mad. Woo him!”
“Isolate South!” The dwarf showed his teeth. “Very good! And we still don’t really know what the yellow whoreson was doing when he gave North that dragon. Tell East where the girl is, you think?”
“No, Sire. No yet, anyway. He’s promised her to the imperor, so he must be hunting for her. But wait and see what happens. Find out who does control her. If South really does steal her away from East’s sector, then their alliance will surely be over! Play a waiting game. Knowledge is power.”
Zinixo thought about it, then nodded reluctantly. “All right. We’ll wait and see.” Abruptly he headed for the magic portal. “Master!” Oothiana said. “What do I do with the prisoners?”
Faun and goblin caught each other’s eyes. They, also, were interested in the answer to that question.
The warlock scowled at Little Chicken, then at Rap. “We have to send them back to the mainland.”
“Buy passage for them, then?”
He shook his big head vehemently. “Why waste money? They’re healthy-looking types. Send them down to the docks in the morning and sell them to a galley master. Be sure you get at least ten gold imperials for each of them. What happens after is their problem.”
And with that, Warlock Zinixo hauled open the magic portal and went back to Hub. The door slammed behind him.
The others all relaxed with audible sighs.
A load of weariness fell on Rap like an avalanche. It had been a very hard night!
So he was going to be a galley slave after all?
Back to the mainland. Then what? A lifetime chained to an oar? Or Raven Totem and a terrible death? Or Zark and Inos? There had been a man in her tent.
3
For once the cool sea breeze had failed in Milflor. Muggy air stuffed throats like wool and although the sun was barely above the spiky roof of the Gazebo, it was brutally roasting the docks already. Noontime was going to be hell. Sailors and slaves, merchants and porters—all dragged their feet as they slouched about their business. All cursed and sweated and wiped and panted. Even the sea gulls seemed to have deserted their usual hunting grounds. No one was moving fast.
Rap certainly wasn’t. Fettered at ankle and wrist and neck, all chained together so that he was doubled over, he walked with his hands between his knees. He was very close to being naked. The sun scorched his bare back, flagstones broiled his bare feet, and the anklets took more skin with every step. He would not have Oothiana around to mend him any more. She had repaired his bruises when she put him back in the jail, and that had not been very long before dawn. She had also put a compulsion on him so he could make no more escape attempts, but he could hardly blame her for doing that. He had liked Oothiana. She deserved better than to be slave and plaything for the warlock.
And she had talked Zinixo out of kidnapping Inos.
At last Rap had a chance to inspect the ships tied up in Milflor. He had shuffled half the length of the docks and would likely have to shuffle all the way to the end, and then partway back. If he went too fast he lost more skin; if he went too slow he got hit with a sword, and even the flat of a sword could hurt.
He was doing better than Little Chicken, though. The legionaries had comrades to commemorate, and they knew of only one goblin in Faerie. Every few minutes their victim would be pushed too hard, or just tripped up, and would crash to the roadway in a wild jangle of chains. Then two men would kick him until he scrambled up again. The dull-faced young tesserary was not merely encouraging his men in this entertainment, he was taking his turn with the others. Rap’s heart jumped into his mouth every time, for if Little Chicken lost his temper, he would tear those chains off like spiderwebs and hold another massacre. Fortunately he was very eager to be put on a ship and was therefore willing to endure the indignity. The physical pain he would be accepting as an honor.
There were galleys and there were sailing ships. The latter were impressive, for the tide was in and their freeboard put their decks high above the roadway. Some were large as floating castles, grander than anything Rap had ever seen in Krasnegarvast ornamental wooden palaces, colorful, intricate, and strange. Their luxury cabins would have honored monarchs. In most of them the lesser passengers’ deck was an overcrowded slum, while the crew’s quarters below them were a prospect to nauseate maggots.
But the galleys interested him more at the moment. They were much smaller; narrow and low, and generally cleaner, because galleys were entirely reserved to the rich. A galley needed an enormous crew for its size, all of whom would have good appetites. Galleys could carry very little paying cargo, but they were the safest vessels in the doldrums of the Nogids.
Most of the galleys he saw were little more than open boats with a row of cramped passenger cabins standing along the centerline. They looked top-heavy and would be unmanageable in any sort of crosswind. The rowers must sleep on their benches, or on bare planks.
Letting his farsight roam the harbor was much more entertaining than staring down at the flags or his own dusty, blood-streaked feet, or Little Chicken’s, or the soldiers’ boots. Whatever the future held, he would not regret leaving the baleful land of Faerie. Even slavery could be accepted for a while, if it moved him closer to Inos.