“Certainly! One warlock has often defeated two others in combination. On that score at least we have good historical records. That is why the Protocol needs the Four; one may withstand two, but never three. Never? Let us say `rarely.’ Who knows?”
Silence fell, broken only by fire noises and the muffled fall of surf in the distance. Scattered raindrops hissed in the hearth. Rap realized that Sagorn was regarding him quizzically, as if waiting for him to catch up.
“Zinixo is warlock of the west?” A nod.
“West’s prerogative is the weather?”
Sagorn flashed his gruesome smile once more. “No! I’ve heard that said often enough, but the records just do not bear it out. There are too many reports of sorcerers raising tempests and so on. I don’t know what force is reserved to West. I assume there is one, though. “ He thought for a moment. ”He may just have some special status within the Four. Possibly his prerogative is the imperor himself, although the official position is that the imperor is sacrosanct.”
“And we are in West’s area?”
“I assume so. Faerie is certainly very far west. And south, too, of course.”
“So Bright Water had no business moving us here?” Another patronizing smile. “Not without his permission.”
“She is a friend of this Zinixo?”
“She may be. She may even have aided his accession. Warlock Lith’rian is universally believed to detest him—elves and dwarves are rarely compatible. Warlock Olybino . . . this is just between you and me, young man, but I have seen him . . . Olybino is a pompous owl. Anytime South and East combine, then West and North are likely to become friendly—you understand?” Sagorn frowned up at the sky, as if warning the raindrops to stop falling. “So North’s inexplicable interest in your goblin ax-man may involve the warlock of the west, also. On the other hand, Witch Bright Water may just be confused. She may have made a mistake. She may have forgotten all about you by now.”
Remembering the old hag he had seen slouched naked on the ivory throne, Rap felt attracted by that thought. “I hope she has!”
The old man rubbed his hands gleefully. “Or not! So you see why you can trust me, Master Rap? I find all this fascinating! At least you can understand that I do not want to let Darad get his murderous hands on you. I would much rather let you blunder along in your own way, just to see what happens to you and your goblin—a unique opportunity to observe power at work!”
“So we’re nothing more than an amusement for you?”
“What more could you be? Or me to you? Friends?” The old man scowled; his voice became brittle and bitter. “Which of us would you want as a friend? We are five solitary people. You can trust none of us in a tight spot. We cannot even trust each other!”
“Not Thinal?”
Sagorn sighed and stared wistfully at the hissing embers. The drops were becoming unpleasantly frequent. “The last time I saw Thinal, I was ten years old, and trying to hide behind Andor—five of us facing an angry sorcerer.”
Rap tried to imagine that long-ago scene. “How old was he?”
“Thinal? About fifteen, I suppose. He seemed very big and manly to me. Do you understand guilt, Master Rap? He has never forgiven himself for what happened that night. You are everything he would like to be—determined, self-reliant, honest. So keep on building up his self-esteem, and he will continue trying to be worthy of your friendship.”
Rap did not think Thinal would agree with much of that. “Trust him, you mean?”
“You have no choice, do you? At least until you all get to Milflor and can start looking for transportation back to the mainland. That may be tricky . . . perhaps we can talk again then? Take a few days’ rest. Keep your feet clean. Wounds become poisoned very easily in this climate, and you have a long walk ahead of you.” The old man smiled sardonically. “Well, as the weather seems to be turning sour, and I have no desire to provoke my lumbago, I think I shall depart.”
Little Chicken raised the ax again. “Wait! I have to find Inos—”
Sagorn laughed raucously and shook his head. “So you keep saying. But it would take you months, or even years, to reach Arakkaran or Krasnegar. A few days’ rest now will be a wise investment and can make no difference.”
“I have another question,” Rap said. “Why did the sorceress take Inos?”
The scholar fumbled with the knot on his loincloth. “Who can say?”
“Sir!” Rap took a step forward. The spear quivered in his hand.
Sagorn looked up, glaring. “Threaten me, boy, and you will answer to Darad!”
“Then be helpful!”
“You have a brain—use it! I can think of at least four reasons, but I can no more decide among them now than you can.”
“List them!” Rap demanded, still hot with anger. “God of Patience! They are obvious! To steal her word of power—and if that was the cause, then Inosolan is dead or tortured into madness by now. Or to do her a kindness—she was in a dangerous situation, remember. Or thirdly, it may just be that the Rasha woman is bored and wants to meddle in politics like a warden. Even a sorceress is not omnipotent. Not the most powerful warlock could ever create a genuine living princess with an established lineage and a claim to a throne-only the Gods can do that. So Inos has rarity value.”
Rap had already thought of all this. “What’s the fourth reason?”
The hearth steamed and hissed. Rain drummed on the leaves; water dribbled down Sagorn’s face. “To use as a bargaining chip.”
“What?” Rap roared. “Is that the best you can do? Bargaining chip? If sorcerers are so powerful, then what can they ever need to bargain for?”
The jotunn’s long upper lip curled in an arrogant, aristocratic sneer. ”Boy, if you need to ask that, then you have not heard a word I told you! ”
He was gone. Only the haughty sneer remained, incongruous on the paltry Thinal.
4
Farsight was not like vision. Rap did not see, he just knew. Even in the dark, he knew where the rotten sticks lay, where the thorns and creepers tangled his path, where the mossy trunks and low branches waited; and even in cellar blackness he somehow knew of their intrinsic greenness, also. In daylight he would never be as skilled a stalker as Little Chicken was, but at short range on a rainy night with no light at all, he was unsurpassed. Step by cautious step, he advanced through total darkness toward a sleeping quarry curled up under a bush in the jungle.
Or perhaps not sleeping . . . When he was a dozen paces away, he sensed that the child was a girl, and then that she was weeping—lying under a bush, sobbing. She was slight and blackskinned, and very small.
Some members of her family had been brutally murdered, perhaps in front of her eyes, and the rest dragged away in bonds. Now other intruders had driven her from the village she had been haunting like a wraith, taking even that feeble comfort from her. Rap wanted to weep, also.
Deliberately he cracked a twig, and she sat up with a tiny, quickly stifled wail.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I brought some food. I’m a friend.”
The child whimpered and huddled down, impossibly little. “I can see in the dark, but I won’t come any closer. I know where you are. You have your arms round your knees. There’s a tree right behind you, right? And a trowel near your foot. I’m not moving, not coming closer. You can hear my voice, so you know I’m not coming closer. Don’t be frightened.”
There was no reply, no sound except the tramp of rain on the forest canopy high above and the steady drip of water. The air was thick with damp woodsy scents, the fetor of rotting leaves.
“I am going to lay down my bundle. I brought a blanket and a gourd of water and some food. There, I’ve laid it down. Now I’m walking away again. You can hear me going away, can’t you? And now I’ll tell you how to find the bundle I brought. Aren’t you hungry?”
Still silence, but . . .
“You nodded. I saw you nod. So I can see in the dark, but I’m not going to try to catch you. You can hear that I’ve gone farther away, can’t you?”
The child nodded again. Rap thought he could even sense her hands trembling and her fast breath.
“Now I’ll tell you how to find it. Move forward . . .” The child merely clutched her knees more tightly.