“You also must be presented, and as soon as possible. You realize that you are in extreme danger, even here, now?”
“Er . . . no !” Inos said, shocked. She had been feeling more relaxed than she had in months, euphoric almost.
Epoxague smiled grimly. “A warlock reported you were dead. If you appear in public, he will be shown up as either a liar or a fool.”
She nodded dumbly, deeply shaken. She should have seen that!
“So we must make you appear in public, and as soon as possible! Can you think of any way in which Kalkor can have learned of the vision you saw in the casement?”
“No, your Eminence.”
“Mmm. But I think he must have.” The little man rubbed his chin. ”Something he said today . . . He did not expect that duel to be fought against a troll, nor against Angilki. Perhaps Bright Water told him. He is one of hers, you know—a jotunn raider. She has always had a goblin fascination with death and suffering. You are certain that the Rap man is dead?” His eyes were sharp as rapiers.
Inos looked to Azak. Let him answer this one!
“I saw him the night we left, Eminence. Gangrene had set in. It was incredible that he was still alive at all. I am sure he could not have survived another day.”
At least he had not been hypocritical enough to express regret, but the senator was studying him closely.
He must be able to guess how Azak had felt toward the man who had disrupted his wedding.
And now he was frowning. “Well, you must be presented at court, Inos. Tomorrow.”
The Boji man coughed. “I hope you’ll warn him—send a note to let the regent know what you’re going to spring on him.”
“I daren’t!” Obviously worried now, Epoxague uncrossed his legs and crossed them the other way. “If East finds out that Inosolan is in Hub, then she will not be in Hub, and Gods know where she may be, alive or dead. Ashlo, you’ll see Ythbane before any of us. Could you drop him a warning that I’m going to dump a load of garden grower on him, but without being specific? At least he’ll know to have a smile handy.”
The marquis muttered his compliance, not looking very happy at the prospect. Again Inos felt impressed by the senator’s power.
He sighed. “Olybino’s not the only one who’s going to be embarrassed. Ythbane will have to withdraw recognition of our unfortunate cousin as King of Krasnegar. Of course Kalkor will then withdraw his challenge to Angilki and that is good, with this scent of sorcery in the air . . . except that Kalkor . . .”
His frown twinkled into a smile. “How fast can you run, Inos? I wonder what it costs to hire Mord? Cousin Azak, in the interests of economy, would you consider taking on the thane as your wife’s champion?”
He wielded humor with a sharp edge. It isolated Azak as the stranger, the barbarian warrior in a room full of urbane politicos—and it raised again the ultimate impossibility of uniting two kingdoms at the opposite ends of the world; it asked Azak to decide between them.
The barbarian was subtle enough to see all that. He clenched his jaw, and the room waited.
Inos knew what was coming. It was inevitable—and it was also horribly logical and reasonable. Who could choose the barren arctic rock over the jewel on the Spring Sea?
“I think my wife must relinquish her claim.” Everyone looked to Inos. Abdication? That would solve the regent’s problem and might therefore save Epoxague himself considerable trouble. Abdication was implicit in her marriage to Azak. She had promised her father—but then she had promised Azak later, and the God of Wedlock, also. And she did not know if her kingdom would accept her, or if Nordland ever would, or even how much kingdom the imps had left for her.
And yet that tiny sprout of hope had not withered yet. This was certainly her last chance to see Krasnegar again, and she was not going to throw it away until she must.
“I should prefer to wait until my husband has made his appeal to the Four,” she said.
Epoxague nodded and seemed to relax slightly. “A good response! So Kalkor must delay his challenge until the Four have heard the case. I must say I dislike the thought of our cousin of Kinvale being axed to death on his sickbed, and I am sure the thane is capable of that.” He nodded in satisfaction. ”Yes, we can block this outrageous contest tomorrow. The regent will like that. That is the nugget in the rockpile!”
The little man rose and turned to face the company. “I shall present Inos at the Campus Abnila tomorrow—it must be done in public. Do any of you have any questions or comments or advice?” He studied the silent faces. ”Speak up! I know this affair could harm us.” Still there was no response. He was pleased. “No? Well, then I suggest an early night. Mord of Grool fighting Kalkor the raider? That news must have gone through the city like a tornado, and the streets will be chaos in the morning.”
Everyone rose then. The company broke up into groups. The doors were opened, people began drifting away.
Some came forward to greet Inos and shake Azak’s hand. He was obviously astonished at this generous friendship being extended to him through his wife. Inos could see the doubts and suspicions struggling below the surface—in their own fashion, djinns were every bit as untrusting as dwarves—but he was being as gracious as he knew how to be in mixed company. The men’s reaction to him was so guarded that she mostly could not read it.
The few women present were all eyeing the sultan in a way she ought to be finding very pleasing.
Not a man in the room looked more handsome in doublet and hose. He towered over them all, even young Tiffy, who had departed and now returned, glumly waving a note.
“I am ordered to the Campus by dawn, Grandfather. You’ll have to trust yourselves to Drummer, I’m afraid. Are your affairs in order, your will up to date?”
“Think you’ll recognize a dawn when you see one?” the senator countered. Then his smile faded. “Don’t take this lightly, lad. Half the city is going to turn out to see the pirate fight the troll. There are going to be crowds like you’ve never known. And if Inos’s arrival stops the battle—as it should—then there may very well be a riot!”
Trysting day:
By the nine gods he swore it,
And named a trysting-day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.
— Macaulay, Horatius at the Bridge
SIX
Pilgrim soul
1
At the same time as he had outlawed gladiatorial contests, Emthar II had also dismantled the arenas. The greatest of them all, Agraine’s Amphitheater, he had renamed the Campus Abnila, in honor of his mother. All the stonework had been torn down and removed, and a great oval of grass installed over sand where multitudes had bled and died for centuries to amuse the populace.
Being situated midway between the Opal and Gold palaces, the Campus Abnila was convenient for martial displays and sports events, but neither of them compared in popularity with its former glories. A grassy bank enclosed it for the convenience of spectators, but there were no facilities for handling crowds.
The regent had chosen the Campus as the site of the Reckoning, and it was a very logical choice, but the day happened to coincide with the festival of the God of Commerce, a holiday for most of the populace. The news of the planned spectacle had rippled out across the city the previous evening. By daybreak, vast mobs were surging through the streets, bound for the Campus Abnila.
The weather was cool, the skies drab and threatening. Recalling her prophecy in the magic casement, Inos had been confident of rain, but so far the showers had held off. She sat in the great carriage beside Eigaze. Azak occupied two-thirds of the opposing seat; the senator had the rest. Their escort comprised a mere four of the Praetorian Hussars, and they could do little to speed the coach’s passage through the teeming throngs.
Downgraded from absolute monarch to guest and tourist, Azak was tense and surly. Eigaze prattled, but her nervousness showed. Inos felt gloomy, unable to keep memories of Rap out of her mind. Things had gone awry, and the fault was hers, for not heeding the divine warning she had been given. Today’s Reckoning had been preordained, either here or on remote Nintor, but Kalkor should have been matched against an occultly endowed Rap, not some brutal professional killer. Mord of Grool, indeed! The very name degraded the battle to a sordid public spectacle.