“And Thinal’s, when you catch them, and Little Chicken’s.”
“Especially Little Chicken’s.”
Three words? The warlock could force them to share, and have three mages, then perhaps kill two of them to have one stronger mage. Add one more word to have a slave sorcerer . . . “So I become a slave?”
She bit her lip with pearly teeth. “It’s worse than that! He’s more likely to force your word out of you for somebody else. Even if he had use for a faun . . . Pardon my saying this, but you’re not a very typical faun. You’re too big.”
Rap shivered, despite the heat. “But he could make me look like anything he wanted, couldn’t he? An imp, a dwarf, an elf, even?”
“Yes, he could. But another sorcerer would see the spell on you. That would be two spells, you see, and a glamour spell like that, an appearance spell, happens to be a conspicuous thing. A loyalty spell is much harder to detect. Unfortunately.” Unfortunately! “So I tell my word and then I die?”
She spoke without looking at him. “It may not happen right away. Perhaps not for some time. But I have to take you to jail now, and I expect that’s where you’ll stay.”
Again they walked for a while in silence, the lady watching the ground, ignoring the watercarts and hucksters plying their wares to the ships. Now that his farsight had been restored, Rap had trouble ignoring the ships. The jotunn in him had always been interested in ships. One of the galleys must be Gathmor’s Stormdancer. But he was going to die soon, here in Faerie, so ships did not matter now. Magic just possibly might.
“So a faun-jotunn cross won’t be much use to him. How does he choose who gets elevated?”
She glanced at him oddly. “You think clearly, Master Rap. Yes, he has trouble, because there is always a faint chance he will create a sorcerer more powerful than himself. That’s why I said you might live quite a while yet; while he makes up his mind.”
In a cell! “Little Chicken . . . Why did the fairy do that? I mean, why did she die?”
Oothiana hesitated. “I’m going to have to put a forbiddance on you, telling you all this. These are well-kept secrets you’re learning!”
“That’s all right, ma’am. I don’t know why you’re telling me all these things anyway. But I do appreciate it!” he added hastily. She flashed another of her sad little smiles. “Perhaps because I enjoy speaking to an honest man for a change.”
Rap turned his face away quickly. She did not seem to be joking, either.
“This way.” She pointed, and headed across the road, which now branched, the left side going on along the waterfront and the moorings, the right angling up the hill. He could sense the shielding around the palace quite close by. On the skyline, still distinct, the roof and the upper level of the Gazebo formed a sinister all-seeing eye, bright in the rays of the sun setting over the mainland town.
“What the fairy told the goblin was her name. Alone of all the peoples of Pandemia, fairies seem to have no magic, but they are born knowing their names and die if they ever speak them.”
“But why?” Rap blurted. Then he felt very stupid. Ask her why the sky is blue, dummy! That was how the Gods had made the world.
Yet Oothiana did not seem to find the question stupid, “No one is certain. My master says—and he is a very powerful sorcerer, remember, so his wisdom is great—he suspects that a word is not truly a fairy’s own name. What use is a name you can never use? He thinks they must be the names of elementals, a sort of guardian spirit . . .”
Ah! Now Rap sensed something intelligible in the insanity of magic.
“But he admits that even he is guessing,” she concluded. Straight ahead the road reached a high wall of pointed timbers and an imposing gateway topped by the imperor’s four-pointed star. This palisade was in much better shape than the feeble ruin around the town and it was an occult barrier, also, blocking farsight completely. Beyond the archway were trees, flowers, and parkland that showed only to his eyes.
His chance to question might be coming to an end. He began planning his next query, but the proconsul forestalled him. “Why would a fairy ever tell his secret name to anyone? Two reasons, Master Rap. One is that life can sometimes become the less pleasant alternative. Intense pain applied long enough will persuade anyone to do anything, and may move a man faster when applied to his dear ones. Apart from their names, fairies are as human as imps, or fauns, or jotnar—and they dislike watching their children suffer.”
Rap remembered the bloodstains Little Chicken had found in the fairy hut. Whoever had done that had been punished—how? Why? He shivered. “And the second reason, my lady?”
“That is a great mystery. Rarely, a fairy will volunteer his name, or her name, to certain persons, like your goblin friend. What exactly did she ask him?”
“She asked all of us the same question—what our dream was.”
At the gate guards were lining up, snapping to attention, drawing swords to greet the proconsul. Blades flashed bright enough to hurt the eye of the beholder.
“Most people don’t know what they really want from life, Master Rap. We all think we know, but we often deceive ourselves in one way or another. We think we want to help a cause and secretly desire only power. We think we love, when what we feel is lust. We crave revenge and call it justice. Our self deceptions are endless. Apparently the fairyfolk can always tell, and this is a curse upon them, for if a fairy meets someone who has a clear, driving, unswerving aim, then the fairy is driven, also—driven to tell his secret, occult name. You and the imp evidently do not have such an aim. You do not know what you are truly seeking. The goblin obviously does.”
“He told her he wanted to kill me!”
“Then that is everything he wants from life. He would willingly die to achieve that one satisfaction, and the fairy recognized that. Whether she approved or disapproved would not matter; she could not escape her compulsion. She told him her name and so gave him a word of power to help him achieve his goal.”
“But,” Rap protested, “I told her my—”
“Then you lied. Unwittingly, I am sure, but either you do not want it enough, or you really want something else. The fairy would know your heart better than you. It is their only power, and their curse. Be silent a moment.”
She stopped before she reached the honor guard now flanking the gateway. The commander advanced a step and saluted an empty patch of air several paces in front of her. He waited, then made a ritual reply, and waited again. Puzzled, Rap glanced at Oothiana. She was smiling mischievously as she watched the farcical performance. Apparently the legionaries saw the governor as being accompanied by a large escort. The one-sided ceremony continued for a few moments, but finally the imaginary force was given formal permission to proceed, and Oothiana began walking again. Her humble prisoner trailed alongside, being equally honored by the stiffly saluting soldiers. He wondered if he was riding in an invisible coach drawn by imaginary horses.
As he passed below the Imperial star, Rap lost his occult view of the town and harbor, and the palace grounds were revealed to his farsight. They surprised him-trees and folds in the hillside had been cleverly used to conceal many more buildings than he had suspected. Most were low wooden structures, largely open to the friendly climate. He identified stables and barracks nearby and grander mansions at higher levels. This was a garden palace, much more pleasant than Holinarn’s bleak castle in Krasnegar, or the forbidding impish stronghold at Pondague, which he had glimpsed from afar while tracking Inos.
As they rounded a bend and drew out of sight of the bewitched guards, Oothiana began to laugh. He turned to her in surprise.
“I love doing that!” she said.
He smiled. Suddenly she was no great lady, but a pretty girl, not so very much older than himself, sharing her mirth at the juvenile prank she had just played. Not as beautiful as Inos, of course, but fair enough, and human under the grandeur.
“After hiding my powers so long,” she said, “I enjoy being free to use them.”
“Doing sorcery, you mean?”
“Yes, although that was only magic, and a small, illusion-magic at that. ”
“I didn’t know there was a difference.”
“Oh, yes. Magic is what a mage does. It’s temporary. A sorcerer can also do sorcery, which is permanent, quite different. For instance—”