There was a longer silence, then, before Rap went on, his voice hypnotic in the shadows. “The goblins need a leader, and that is the destiny that waits for you, Death Bird. You are the first goblin in years, perhaps the first in all history, to see the world beyond the taiga. No goblin has ever traveled as you have. Imps and jotnar and fairies and anthropophagi—you know them, and their ways. You’ve watched the legions training, you’ve seen their weapons.”
“Others have been fighting.”
“Throwing spears from behind trees. We’re talking invasion over the pass now. We’re talking a goblin kingdom.”
“Won’t work,” Little Chicken said flatly. “No tattoos! If paint tattoos on me, Sorcerer, won’t work, either. Are like sailors, goblins . . . don’t like sorcery. Magic tattoos fake!”
“This is what I’m trying to tell you! You must earn your tattoos. Any man who wants to change old ways to new ways and make men follow him in new ways—that man has first got to show that he’s mastered the old ways, so that people will listen. Not just goblins. That’s true of all races, everywhere. So you must take me back to Raven Totem as a prisoner. You must win back your honor and earn your tattoos by putting me to death. You’ve got to make a good show—a fabulous show, one people will talk about for years, a fabled torturing.”
Inos fought down dizzying surges of nausea. She wanted to run, she wanted to scream, and she dared not move at all. She forced herself to listen, rooted by the sheer cold-blooded horror.
“I promised you a good show,” Rap added quietly. “And I’ll keep my word. Days and days. They’ll follow you then! You’ll be chief of Raven Totem in a year. After that you can start preparing. You’ll have to go slowly, and it’ll take a long, long time. But one day you’ll lead your nation over the pass and carry the war to the Impire.”
“Wanting that?” the goblin demanded, and Inos was wondering the same.
“No, I don’t, but I have no say in the matter. It’s your destiny, and the way the world works. It’s as unchangeable as past history. The Gods decide such things, not me.”
The goblin squirmed in his chair. “Won’t! Don’t want to kill you, Rap.”
“I thought I was Flat Nose?”
“Use any Evil-begotten name you want!” Little Chicken barked, unexpectedly switching from goblin dialect to impish with a Nordland accent. ”You’re my friend now! I like you, Rap, admire you . . . Love you, I suppose! I can see where our ways were wrong. They’re bad—not just for the victim, but for the whole goblin culture. I wish it could be stopped. I’ve given up torture, and there is absolutely no way I’d do those things to a friend! Never!”
Inos released an audible gasp of relief and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. Her legs wobbled. The men had not heard her cry out.
“You must do it!” Rap insisted. Who could resist a sorcerer? ”It is your destiny!”
The goblin snarled something Inos missed, which was probably a nautical obscenity.
“The Gods have given you a destiny, and I gave you my promise!”
“God of Pus! Rot my destiny! I give you back your promise . . . don’t even talk about it. You’re making me ill!”
Suddenly Rap laughed, and Inos marveled that his laughter sounded so familiar to her. She would have recognized it anywhere, but she could not remember the last time she had heard Rap laugh.
“You big dumb green monster!” he said. “For weeks and weeks I tore my heart out to get one kind word out of you. Now you defy the Gods Themselves for my sake?”
“For weeks and weeks,” the goblin responded, “I could barely keep my thumbs out of your eyeballs! The only thing keeping me sane was the thought of all the lovely things I was going to do with your tripes eventually . . . but I’ve reconsidered, and decided to leave them where they are. For a nongoblin, you’re quite likable trash, Rap.”
“You don’t want to be king of the goblins?” Pause . . . “Not on those terms.”
“This is awful!” Rap said. “The innocent savage has been perverted by the vices of civilization. But here . . . if I’m Rap now, then this must be Flat Nose.”
The newcomer merged silently from the shadows behind the goblin’s chair, although Inos was certain there had been no one there a moment earlier. Even so, she had more warning than Little Chicken, who sniffed suspiciously, looked over his shoulder, and then hurtled from his chair in a leap that carried him to the far side of the fireplace. He yelled, “Arrk!” as he went.
There were two Raps present. The new one was a little shorter and slighter than the old, garbed in soiled buckskins. His filthy face was marred by a patchy beard. Inos could guess what he smelled like for she had met that Rap near Pondague in the spring. He stopped at the edge of the fire rug and just stood, wearing the same faint good-natured, vacant smile that she saw every day now on Angilki.
“Sorcery!” the goblin hissed.
“Yes,” Rap said, studying the apparition. “It’s not a real person—only the Gods can make those. But it’s close enough for what you need. It will bleed, and writhe, and near the end it will start to scream. The only words it knows are `Thank you.’ “
“Evil sorcery!” Little Chicken advanced a step or two and poked the simulacrum with a stubby finger. He peered into its unworried eyes.
“Not evil from my point of view,” Rap said. “Nor yours. There’s no person in there, Death Bird. It will seem to suffer and die, but there’s no mind, no soul. It’ll last a long time.”
“I told you—I don’t approve of torture anymore. Beside, it would be cheating!” He sounded tempted, though.
“This is how you can put an end to the custom! You still remember all those wonderful ideas you had?”
“Yes,” Little Chicken admitted. .”And I learned some really innovative stuff from Kalkor.” He sounded almost wistful.
“Then use them! A historic torment! It’s necessary for your destiny. It’s this or me, and I’d be grateful if you chose this one. And besides . . . it would probably be safer. I might get angry.”
Rap held out a hand. Little Chicken hesitated, then chuckled and took it. Inos was not quick enough to make out exactly what happened next, but Rap flew over the goblin’s shoulder and landed on his back with an impact that shook the house. Little Chicken went down hard on top of him. Inos heard a few brief grunts and thumps, a small table went over loudly, and then it was the goblin who went spinning through the air, arching up from the floor like an arrow, passing completely over an armchair. He came down heavily, fortunately breaking his fall on the surrogate Rap, which had been standing immobile through all this, smiling emptily. Goblin and counterfeit crashed in a heap, and a muffled voice from underneath said, “Thank you!”
The real Rap stood up, panting and straightening his clothes. “Want some more, Stalwart?”
“Not fair!” a growl from the floor said. “Used magic!”
“So did you—well, you used occult muscle, anyway. Now you’ve started breaking up my double there already. Get up and let me fix his leg.”
Something knotted in Inos’s throat. This nonsense was probably a masculine way of dealing with emotion, but why could Rap laugh with Little Chicken when he could not laugh with her?
The goblin guffawed and switched back to goblin dialect. “Was last chance for exercise.” He bounced nimbly to his feet. “Start throwing my brothers around like that, will scream Sorcery! and use me for wall hangings . . . much as the little green savages deserve it. And you have no idea how I’m going to miss that good impish beer!”
“That explains it, then,” Rap said absently, peering down at the prostrate simulacrum. “I couldn’t understand why your destiny was completely mundane, but it is. It seemed odd . . . I suppose it makes sense. You’ll have to hide your strength. Men might hesitate to follow a superhuman into battle.”
He reached down a hand and helped the false Rap to its feet, where it stood in dutiful silence. The real men faced each other, amid a pause that swiftly became too long for comfort.
“Full moon,” Rap said softly. “Good traveling in the northlands.”
“Summon neighbors,” Little Chicken agreed, but he still seemed indecisive.
Again Rap held out a hand, then changed the gesture to a hug. The two men embraced.
“Gods bless, Flat Nose.”
“The Good go with you,” Rap said softly. “Buckskins? Grease? Phew! All right—I’ll put you at the door to Raven Totem.”