“The first we knew of you,” the lady said, “was the fairy death cry. Then there were a couple of those fast clicks. Those would have been the sequential spell in use, I see now, but they were too brief to track down. That must be how your group friend has stayed independent for so long. The spell must be a beautiful piece of work. When I finally did locate you, you looked fairly harmless. Three young smugglers been shipwrecked, I thought, but he was suspicious—he always is—and said just to watch and see what you did. You just came here, to Milflor.”
“Who . . .” A young dwarf, of course! Rap failed to finish the question, not wanting to have his guess confirmed. O Gods! Oothiana sighed. ”We didn’t know which one of you had been blessed by the fairy, but we picked up the thievery when you got close to town. That really was very funny to watch.”
Rap held his breath, expecting to hear about trolls next. But apparently not.
“We never guessed that all three of you would turn out to have power! But we got the goblin, and now I have you. That only leaves the group, and he—they-can’t evade us for long. An elderly scholar, or a handsome, apparently rich young playboy?”
“Or a minstrel, ma’am, but I don’t think he’s very likely, because the others don’t trust his judgment. Or a giant jotunn warrior, but he’ll need a doctor, because—”
“Rap,” she said sadly, “do stop! You’ll hate yourself terribly when you sober up. Let’s go now.” She rose and laid her parasol on the bench.
Sober? Rap had never felt more clear-headed in his life. And he had been trying to help! Feeling a little hurt, he stood up, also, laying his parasol beside hers, near the beaker of lemonade. After a moment he glanced back and saw that the bench was empty.
2
She was tall for an imp, but he was taller. He walked on her right, staying a handsbreadth back because that felt respectful, and all the time wondering if he was doing this because he wanted to or because she had made him want to, and what the difference was. What did the expression “changed his mind” ever really mean, anyway?
Oothiana seemed miraculously cool and fresh as she walked along the waterfront, where everyone else was slouching under the whip of the tropic sun. No one seemed to notice her go by, yet she was never crowded or jostled. Rap wondered if she wore a sort of low-grade sorcerous aura. Or something.
The column of loaded legionaries came running back, still in double time, but with a new centurion in command now. There did not seem to be as many of them as before, and more had the unsteady gait of men about to drop. The bystanders stared after them with expressions of contempt and bewilderment.
“What happens to the ones who fall down?” Rap asked brashly.
Oothiana kept her eyes on the cobbles. “That is the punishment. The first twenty to fall will be executed.”
“What! That’s barbaric! Weren’t they just ordinary, mundane soldiers trying to do their best? Against magic?” What then would be the penalty for thieves, vagabonds, and murderers? “Dwarves enjoy cruelty, like goblins?” He was being foolish, but he couldn’t have very much to lose.
She shook her head without looking up. “No. The punishment is incidental. What counts is the example.”
Example? Somehow that coldblooded logic seemed to make the cruelty even more horrible, but obviously the proconsul did not approve either.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Not your idea, was it?”
She glanced sideways at him. “No. Now, I can tell you’re bursting with questions. Go ahead and ask. I’ll answer what I can.”
“Thank you very much, ma’am. I just wondered . . . the men the goblin killed? Was that revenge? Magic justice?” Oothiana looked puzzled. ”How do you mean?”
“Were they the ones who killed the fairies in the village? Did Little Chicken’s . . . er . . . power seek them out?”
“Oh, no! The words don’t work that way. And the man who did that . . . He has been punished.”
There was a strange intensity in that remark, and she quickly changed the subject. “You haven’t asked what’s in store for you.”
“I think I can guess. It isn’t the weather, is it?”
“What isn’t?”
“Mother Unonini told me about the Four. Jotunn raiders, Imperial legions, dragons . . . but she said that West’s prerogative was the weather. It isn’t, is it?”
“No, it isn’t weather. It’s here, in Faerie. You know what it is. It’s—”
The proconsul’s attention was diverted by a wall exploding just ahead. Milflor taverns were flimsy, airy structures like the houses, and one of them now collapsed, emitting a rolling ball of four or five imps and two or three jotnar. The noise increased considerably as more revelers emerged from the ruins in search of room to brawl, waving furniture and leaping into the fray. The proconsul shrugged her lovely shoulders and detoured around them.
She walked in silence until Rap wondered if he had offended her, but then she said, “It’s very evil, and completely unstoppable. West is always the most powerful of the Four, Master Rap. The Protocol says that when a warden dies, then the other three shall elect a successor, witch or warlock. Of course a very strong candidate may elect himself, as Zinixo did, but normally the vacant throne is filled by election. The exception is West. When the red throne becomes vacant, then the strongest of the three takes that one and leaves his former throne to a newcomer. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am. That wasn’t what happened this time?”
“No. Suddenly Ag-An was dead and Zinixo was warlock. Assassination’s not rare for the other three, but it’s only been done to West maybe six or seven times since Emine’s day. West’s strength comes from his prerogative, of course, although in this case he’s also immensely powerful in his own right.”
They were going by the ships now. As Thinal had said, most were galleys, but there were also a few barks and argosies, and larger, awkward lateen-rigged vessels—none of them types that ever came to Krasnegar. Rap would have enjoyed looking at them had he not been more concerned by his own approaching death. ”In his own right, ma’am?”
Oothiana still did not look around. “Zinixo may well be the most powerful sorcerer since Is-an-ok, or even Thraine. Ag-An was no mean witch, yet he destroyed her and two guardian votaries single-handed. South and East didn’t want Faerie to fall into the hands of an unknown, so they tried to take him out at once. He knocked them aside like puffballs.”
Again conversation was interrupted. A dozen drunken, halfnaked jotnar were staggering along the road in line abreast, bellowing out a bawdy song, waving clubs that looked like table legs, and forcing everyone else to back up. Rap expected Oothiana to summon troops, but she barely seemed to notice the disturbance. Just before the mob reached her, all the rioters suddenly turned hard left. Roaring happily, the line went lurching into a tavern. The crowd dispersed, grumbling, and the road was clear. She had not missed a step.
“By now, of course,” the sorceress said, “the dwarf’s unassailable. He’ll hold the red throne for centuries. Only all the others acting together could kill him, and that would mean a pitched battle. He might even win it.”
“West’s prerogative is the supply of magic,” Rap said, “so now he knows hundreds of words?”
“No. That isn’t the way it works; four’s the limit. But any sorcerer can be put under a loyalty spell by a stronger sorcerer. Then he’s a votary, an aide. All warlocks and witches do it, but the others must hunt for people who already know words. West has a dependable supply. This is where they come from.”
“One fairy, one word?” She nodded.
“Oh, then you . . . Beg pardon, my lady.”
She raised those glorious eyes to his, and he was astonished to see them glistening. “Yes, me. I want you to know, even if you can never understand completely. I can’t help myself, Master Rap. I’m telling you all this because it doesn’t matter and you deserve to know why you will suffer, but if talking might hurt my master’s interests in any way, then I couldn’t do it. I can’t be disloyal in the slightest and I must obey any order he gives me; if he told me to kill myself, I would do it. I can’t betray him.”
“You don’t like him, though?” Rap said.
“Dwarves,” she said cautiously, “tend to be mean and suspicious and rapacious.”
“Could he not make you like him?”
Oothiana walked a dozen paces in silence, and then her answer was very quiet. ”Easily. Would that be kinder? You’re going to hate me tomorrow, Rap. But he leaves my thoughts free because he values my advice, I think, or maybe just to see if I’m plotting something. He doesn’t trust loyalty, whether it’s occult or real. Your word is valuable, and my master told me to get it for him. So I must do as he says, even though I hate doing so.”