In a moment she located him, Centurion Imopopi. He was barking out orders, and again she felt an uncanny unease. She had not seen him since the previous morning, but she had thought about him several times without deciding why he had so disconcerted her. His voice was arousing the same mysterious alarms as it had before. The soldiers were gathered in a group, with the djinn workers emerging from the big loading room to cluster around them. What were they all looking at?
She began to push her way through the crowd, even shoving at the leather and bronze of legionaries, and suffering a few pinches and fondlings in the process. She saw Elkarath himself appearing, large and hot-looking in his scarlet gown, his skullcap perched awry on his white hair, his ruddy face ruddier than ever. Everyone was staring at something on the ground.
She reached the center before the sheik did. Azak lay flat on the cobbles, obviously unconscious. His face was battered, his clothes tattered. He was red with blood. As she dropped to her knees at his side, a hand closed crushingly on her wrist and hauled her back upright.
“You know the man, ma’am?” The centurion’s black eyes were fearsome with suspicion.
“I . . . Yes.” Shocked by the pain of his grip, Inos tried to pull free, but she might as well have tried to uproot an oak. “Sheik—I mean, Master—Elkarath employed . . . employs him. You’re hurting me!”
Imopopi ignored her complaint, directing his attention to the far side of the circle, where the legionaries now moved apart to admit the portly Elkarath, glowering like a thunderstorm.
“He was one of my guards, Centurion.”
Imopopi released his painful hold on Inos, leaving white bracelets that slowly flamed red.
“Was, Master?”
Elkarath shrugged. “He may not be any longer. May I inquire?”
The centurion folded his thick arms. “He ventured where he was not supposed to.”
“He appears to have suffered for it.”
“He is lucky to be alive. You want him, or shall I dispose of him elsewhere?”
Still scowling, Elkarath glanced around the ring of armored men. Then he shrugged again. “I suppose I can take him in until he recovers. Is the matter closed?”
“There will be a fine.”
Elkarath sighed. “Five imperials, I expect?”
“And damages of ten more.”
The sheik pouted, then nodded resignedly.
“Plus a bond for future good behavior . . . say, another twenty?”
Now the old man glared, ready to rebel. “He still has some wages due, but he is not heir to an emir’s ransom! I may summon a litter and have the fool taken within?”
Imopopi nodded, satisfied. Most of his men were openly smirking as they calculated their share of that neat extortion. Elkarath turned to growl instructions. In the center of the gathering, the cause of it all twitched and groaned, and then became still again.
Idiot! Had he thought the imps would allow a djinn to go spying around their barracks, or naval base? Served him right! Of course Elkarath could cure his injuries, if he dared exert his powers within Ullacarn itself.
“A friend of yours, Mistress Hathark?”
Inos jumped, and turned to the sinister centurion at her side. Why sinister? Familiar? Not the face, the face was totally strange.
The voice?
The eyes! Recognition struck her like a fist.
She reeled back, and cannoned into a nearby legionary, who felt as solid as a stone pillar. He chuckled and steadied her and continued to hold her as she stared at Imopopi.
“Something wrong?” Mockery danced in the centurion’s hard face.
“I think we have met before,” Inos said, and her voice was a croak. Olybino! The warlock himself. He had grabbed her wrist earlier because she had been about to lay a hand on Azak and would have been burned by the curse. He knew! She squirmed, and the man behind her tightened his grip. But her eyes stayed locked on the centurion.
“Yesterday?” He knew! He knew she knew! He meant her to know.
“Before that, sir!” Inos pushed away offending hands and the young man at her back sighed loudly. Soldiers chuckled. Imopopi looked around his men and then leered. “I don’t recall. How could I forget such a lovely face? Were we in the dark, perchance? Or were there other things visible to distract me?”
The legionaries barked with laughter. Inos felt her cheeks flame red as a djinn’s.
“Perhaps it is I who am mistaken, Centurion.”
Imopopi considered her, his head on one side. “Perhaps. But we could discuss the matter elsewhere. At length.”
“No . . . er . . . no!” She tried to back away and was again gripped firmly by the man behind her. She squirmed, and he squeezed warningly, tethering her to bear his leader’s baiting.
The warlock licked his lips and stepped closer. “You are enjoying your stay in beautiful Ullacarn, mistress? Or are you too impatient to be on your way to Hub?”
Oh, Gods! It was so obvious now why she was going to Hub! Why he would send her by ship instead of by sorcery was a mystery, but she knew now why she was going.
She shook her head and managed to say “I am enjoying my stay, sir. ”
“We could make it more enjoyable for you, I’m sure.” Imopopi glanced around the group, and his men laughed obediently. He was playing to two audiences at once, and enjoying it.
Two husky warehousemen had arrived with a stretcher, and Elkarath close behind them. Inos caught a glimpse of Skarash peering at her over shoulders, and his face had paled to a sickly salmon shade. So Skarash knew! He had not known the previous day. That must be why he had been so jumpy—because he had discovered that there was a warlock involved.
She glanced back to meet the terrible mockery in Olybino’s eyes.
“You should have gone to Hub sooner, ma’am.” The first time we met.
Inos swallowed a few times and then found her voice. “My aunt was unable to accompany me sooner, sir.”
“Unfortunate!” The warlock shrugged. “Well, I bid you a safe journey, Mistress Hathark.” Reverting to his pretense of being Centurion Imopopi, he nodded to the man holding Inos to release her and turned to accept a heavy bag from Elkarath. Hugging herself, Inos backed away into the crowd, her knees still knocking with terror.
And just in case she had any doubts, the warlock had cured her headache. It had gone completely.
Male hands were lifting Azak onto the litter. Azak had been given a lesson, and a warning. Escape would be impossible now.
All Inos could do in Ullacarn was to wait for a ship to take her away.
5
Chains rattled and Gathmor opened his eyes, or tried to. He groaned and licked his lips. “Rap?”
“I’m here,” Rap said calmly, jingling fetters in his ear. The two of them were jammed into a very small box. “You have a broken finger bone and you’ve lost a tooth. Your nose looks as if it will straighten all right. The rest is bruises, and cuts—you got those when the chandelier came down.”
“You?”
“Broke a few bones in my hand and cracked a couple of ribs.” No need to mention that they seemed to be mending very quickly.
Gathmor tried to move, and groaned louder. After a moment he said softly, ”That was a very fine little fracas.” Remembering the devastation, Rap shuddered. “Then I wouldn’t like to experience a big one.”
“Who would have thought that imps could be so much sport?”
“Numbers and motivation, I suppose.”
“Darad?”
“Not present.” Probably Darad had called Thinal at the end, or possibly Andor, and he had then escaped in the confusion caused by the fire.
Again Gathmor groaned. He tried to sit up and thought better of it. “I can’t see.”
“There’s not much light, and you wouldn’t see too well, with those shiners you’ve got. We’re in a cell. About gnome size, so it’s a little snug. Three sides stone, one side timber.”
“Smells like gnome, too.” Gathmor smiled, or tried to. “Better than Blood Wave, anyway. This is becoming a habit, me waking up like this. But that was a very satisfactory bumping. Do you happen to know the final score?”
“No!” Rap bit back some angry remarks.
The cell was two floors belowground, and one of a hundred or so similar cells, all overcrowded with men and chains. The air was a foul, dead brew that had not been changed in centuries.
Gathmor gritted his teeth and sat up noisily. He leaned back against the wall, wincing as he tried to straighten his legs.
“I think we’ve got a visitor coming,” Rap said. Jailers went by outside all the time, but now an elf was being escorted down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and Rap was the only elf in the cells. In a moment light flickered in the judas hole, and bolts grated.