Bright Water had been around for centuries, and must know all the tricks there were to be known. Zinixo, of course, was new to the warlocking business and . . . Rap saw that his reverie was causing the gnome to smirk approvingly. They were on the same track.
“Why can’t you foresee me?”
“That I don’t know either.” For the first time the gnome seemed to hesitate. He turned to look at the jotnar, and they both spun around without a word and walked away. When they reached the nearest window, they stood and stared out at the unworldly scenery, sage and sailor chatting cozily side by side, while the wind ruffled their hair and tumbled the flow of their gowns. Ishist’s somber eyes came back to Rap.
“Tell me about this God who appeared to Inosolan.”
Rap frowned. He had almost forgotten that. He could remember sitting on the floor with Inos, holding her hand, in among the old gang and all the dogs, and listening to Jalon singing. In retrospect, that had been the last evening of his childhood.
But that moment had come later, after she’d told him about the meeting with the God. “I just know what Inos said. They didn’t say which God They were. They told her to try harder. I think that’s all.”
The gnome shook his head. “There’s more. Try harder!” His eyes seemed to grow even larger, and blacker, and deeper, and shinier.
“They said the king would give her many gowns. She was excited about that, but upset because—”
“They said more.”
Rap leaned back in his chair and stared up at the w rafters and fretted roof. ”That she must . . . trust . . . remember . . . remember love! Trust in love!”
He started, as if he had been dozing and had heard a loud noise. “What did I just say?”
“Nothing much.” Ishist showed his pike teeth. “But be sure to mention the God to my master when you meet him. He may know already, of course. ”
“How?”
The gnome sat up straight and scratched vigorously. “Even warlocks are very careful around the Gods, friend Rap. Gods rarely manifest so close an interest in human affairs, but when They do, then sorcery is nothing! The power of the Gods is unlimited. That could be why you . . . but I’m just guessing. I have to send you to my master, you understand? I have no choice in the matter. ”
“I understand.” Oothiana had said much the same.
Ishist eased forward on the seat so his legs dangled over the edge. “But I do have discretion in how I do it. I’m his agent, not just a trained dog. If I had a magic portal, or even a magic carpet, then I could transport you at once to Hub, or to his home on Valdorian—he spends more time in Ilrane than he does in the Blue Palace. But sorcerous paraphernalia like that is tricky stuff around dragons. They might wreck the rest of the redoubt trying to get at it. So we haven’t got any.” He blinked solemnly. “Then how . . .” But that was none of Rap’s business.
Apparently it was, though. “How does he come visiting? Just by sorcery. A magic device like that casement of Inisso’s . . . such things are handy, but they can never be stronger than the sorcerer who made them. They’re quicker, often, and easier. And another of their advantages is that normally they don’t make so many ripples. Sheer brute power is as subtle as a thunderstorm. It attracts attention, and all sorcerers are cagey, secretive people. When Lith’rian came here twice in two days, he rattled the ambience something awful. Took me weeks to get the livestock calmed down.”
Rap began to feel more hopeful. Perhaps he was not going to be enslaved right away.
Ishist regarded him with quiet amusement. “And he’s a lot better than me. I might .magic you partway to Hub, at least, but I might well start a stampede in the process, and that could lead to a major disaster, if they got over the fence. So you’re going to have to walk. Your two friends will go with you, of course.”. He glanced at the two jotnar by the window, lost in admiration of the bleakly alien scenery. Rap’s future was concealed from the sorcerer, but he had not said that theirs was. Rap decided not to ask.
“Now,” Ishist said softly, “I must decide how to send you. I could use a compulsion, like the one I used to bring you here. Less urgent, of course, but I can give you an irresistible command to go to Lith’rian.” He smiled gruesomely. “Or I could put the loyalty spell on you myself; not as strong as he could, but strong enough. I can make you want to go to Lith’rian, to serve him.”
Cold fingers of horror touched Rap’s heart, and he shook his head vigorously.
“You would be happier,” the gnome said mockingly. “You’d be doing what you wanted to do.”
Just like the once-lovely Athal’rian, besotted with a gnome? Such power was obscene, perverting its user as much as his victim. Yesterday Rap had become an adept and in minutes had found himself using mastery on Andor.
“I . . . I should prefer just to obey an order, my lord.”
He knew that the sorcerer knew what he was thinking, but the little man did not seem to take offense. He cocked his head at Rap. “You want to help Inosolan, don’t you? That’s your aim: to put her on her throne?”
“To serve her as a loyal subject. That’s all.” Rap’s farsight told him he was blushing like a child.
Ishist chuckled gently. “Mmm? All? You can’t do it alone, you know. Fauns like to go their own way, but even an adept can’t find one mackerel in all the oceans, Rap.”
Zark . . . but he did not know that Inos was still in Zark, even. She might have heeded his warning and fled. Or not. Or one of the wardens might have abducted her, or the sorceress recovered her. He had a terrifying vision of all Pandemia stretched out endlessly before him, and himself spending his whole life wandering from place to place, searching for Inos.
Put like that, his dream seemed bootless. “I suppose not.”
“You can’t fight the Four! No one and nothing can fight the Four. Except the Gods.”
“No,.” Rap said. He was a fool.
“So my advice would be to go and ask Lith’rian to help you.” For a moment Rap was speechless. Ask help from a warlock? Common sense had hysterics at the idea. Yet he also felt an odd shivery prickle of excitement. Was that some sort of occult ability of his own, or was the sorcerer playing tricks on him? Or imagination? Baffled, Rap said, “Would he?”
Ishist shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It would be dangerous for you, of course. The sorcerous normally stay well away from warlocks, and you’re an adept. He may just give your words to someone else and kill you out of hand. I don’t know where Krasnegar fits in his current political strategy, but elves . . . They’re funny folk. They put style before substance. They admire qualities—beauty, wit, grace, elegance. Lith’rian might just be amused enough by your presumption. That would be like him. He can be generous beyond all reason, and he’s ruthless when he’s balked.”
The shadow of Athal’rian fell across the conversation. Ishist frowned, then continued. “But he enjoys a good joke. He admires courage, too. I’d say he’s about your only hope, being realistic.”
“Well, you’re going to send me to him. I’ll ask then.”
The old man shook his head gently. “If I send you, you won’t ever get to see him. Not in person. You’ll be thrown in the vaults like a rent payment, until needed.”
“But. . .”Rap stared incredulously. “Oh—you mean I just promise to go and ask the warden for help? You’d trust me?”
“That’s it. No spells. No sorcery.”
Could Rap even trust himself to obey such an order? Warily he said, “An oath made under duress isn’t worth much. Do I have any choice?”
“That’s the whole point, lad—I’m giving you a choice.”
He wouldn’t have much of a choice if he’d made a promise, would he? Not unless he reneged, of course.
Ruthless when balked. “You’re steering pretty close to the rocks yourself, aren’t you . . . Ishist?”
The gnome smiled into his nauseating beard and waited. He wasn’t telling the whole truth, though, or else he was testing, somehow. Qr wanting Rap to think those things. Or just lying, and planning to spell Rap anyway.
But Rap would much rather be his own man than a puppet, or at least think he was—and that spooky internal nudging was registering approval again. “Then I promise to go and find your master and ask him to help Inos—if you’ll tell me how, and you promise not to . . . to mess about with my mind.”