Dave Duncan – The Living God – A Handful of Men. Book 4

A few moments later, far away at the Brundrik River, the crow settled contentedly onto its nest.

2

“The rascal is certainly mobile,” Tribune Hodwhine remarked cheerfully. “Was sailing down by the docks in Gaaze, getting married out in the fruit country, attending the races over in Forix—and that was all in the same afternoon! Must have wings.”

He tossed the whole wad of reports into a basket beside his chair and took a long draft from a misted goblet. Even on a day so hot that the air was hard to breathe, a tribune lived very well in the XIIth’s permanent barracks at Gaaze. Officer quarters included private courtyards, like this one, with flowers and cool willows for shade and a small stream running through it. The ranks were convinced that their betters passed off-duty hours sailing paper boats to one another. That did not seem too incredible in the case of Tribune Hodwhine.

Centurion Hardgraa paced from outer gate to trellis. The trouble was, in Qoble he had no real authority whatsoever. He would have more standing back in Hub—at least he would have until he was noticed by the Covin or the imposter imperor. Then he would be turned into a mindless tool, he supposed. He shivered. Still, that was probably no worse a fate than being a legionary grunt, and his duty would probably lead him to it, once he had recovered the rightful impress. He must return the child to court, no matter what sacrifice was required of him personally.

He turned about and headed back to the gate. He could influence events only secondhand, through this aristocratic ninny. He had persuaded Legate Ethemene of the urgency of the case—lying like a camel trader, of course. Sensing scandal and political quagmires, the legate had quickly distanced himself, assigning Tribune Hodwhine of the IIIrd Cohort to “assist Centurion Hardgraa in making certain discreet inquiries in accordance with the imperor’s personal wishes.” On that slender scaffolding rested all of Hardgraa’s hopes and perhaps the future of the Impire until the end of time.

“Do stop trudging up and down, old man,” the tribune said petulantly. “You’re wearing a rut in my lawn. Sit down, fer gossake! Have another drink.”

Very likely Legate Ethemene had selected Hodwhine to handle the Ylo affair because he was a Hathino and the Hathinos had been mortal enemies of the Yllipos for centuries. Hodwhine appeared to be completely unaware of that, or else he considered the feud obsolete. In a sense it was, since the old imperor had wiped out the Yllipos. Ylo was the only one left, and there was no effective way to carry on a feud with one man when that one man was—or seemed to be—the new imperor’s most trusted confidant. Now Hodwhine ought to be grabbing the chance to spike Signifer Ylo, but so far he had shown a lamentable lack of motivation.

Hardgraa eased himself grudgingly into the other chair. He preferred hard stools, if he had to sit at all. As a matter of course he wore full uniform, chain mail and all, and he was sweating like an eel. He disapproved of Hodwhine’s nudity. The tribune had stripped down to a towel.

“Now, old man,” Hodwhine said, prodding the document basket with an elegant aristocratic toe, “we have at least two dozen sightings, from all over the place—”

“Thirty-one sightings, sir, of which eight were in Gaaze itself. The rest were almost all scattered at random, one to a site.”

“Well, then! So weight of numbers suggests the rascal’s holed up here in Gaaze?”

No, it didn’t. If Ylo were in Gaaze he would have been seen more often than that, but centurions did not contradict tribunes, or at least not directly.

Hodwhine smirked inanely. “Better start interviewing all the pretty girls in town, eh? The lads’ll enjoy that!”

Gods, the influence his family must have boggled the mind. Very few could have palmed off this dunce on the army as a tribune. Obviously he was not taking the Ylo affair seriously enough. Obviously he had some sort of sneaky admiration for the young lecher. Obviously Hardgraa must clear both of those obstacles out of the way promptly.

“Start with the married ones, sir.”

Hodwhine sniggered. “Finds those safer, does he? Someone else signs the nine-month report, what?”

“That’s it, sir.” Hardgraa smiled.

It was a calculated smile, because he very rarely smiled, and he had no real inclination to smile at this limp parody of an officer. But it was technically a smile and after a moment Hodwhine frowned at it.

“What’s funny?”

“Oh . . . Nothing, Sir. Just thinking of something Ylo said once about . . . Well, no matter.”

Hodwhine’s asinine face was already pink from the heat; now it turned slowly scarlet. “Are you suggesting . . .”

“Just gossip, sir. Just common bazaar gossip, no importance. Now, that report from the priest . . . priestess. I think that one’s genuine.”

The tribune was still glaring, not listening. He was very minor grit in the aristocratic mill—youngest son of a baron, or something. In Hardgraa’s experience, the more senior a noble, the easier he was to deal with. Shandie himself had been the best example; they came no higher than the prince imperial, which was how Hardgraa liked to remember him, and as man and officer Shandie had been without flaw. Grass-roots aristocrats like Tribune Hodwhine were obsessed with protocol and social standing and correct behavior and decorum. But of course those concerns could be exploited.

Which was why Hardgraa had just hit this one below the belt.

“I want to know why you were smirking that way!” Hodwhine stormed, almost purple now.

“Nothing, sir.”

Veins bulged. “I order you to tell me!”

“Yessir. Ylo bragged more than once that he’d been . . . had slept with every officer’s wife in the legion. All those he could get his hands on, he said. A couple were not in Gaaze, of course.”

He’s a lying bastard!”

“I’m quite sure he is, sir,” Hardgraa said, and he was, although as far as he knew Ylo had never made the boast just credited to him. “Now, this report from the priestess. I think it’s the most reliable we’ve had.”

Hodwhine licked his lips and ran a hand through his sweatsoaked hair. He was still wild-eyed. “Why?” he barked. “Several factors, sir. The fact that we had to enlist the help of her bishop before she would talk. The fact that clergy dislike lying. The fact that she heard the child named.”

“Mm? Missed that. What name?”

“Maya, sir.”

Even a minor aristocrat could catch the implications. “You mean short for Uomaya or some such name? Well, this woman Ylo’s supposedly abducted has been using the name of the new impress, so it would be a joke to use the name of the princess imperial for her dau . . . Wouldn’t it?” the tribune asked uneasily.

In the ensuing silence, color faded from his face until he was pale as a jotunn. He made a choking sound. “Whose wife did you say she was, Centurion?”

“I am not at liberty to say, sir. Obviously the matter has potential for scandal, or his Majesty would not be so grievously concerned.”

“But if . . . The child would be the heir presumptive!” Hardgraa shrugged. “Can’t comment, sir.”

Tribune Hodwhine grabbed up his goblet and drained it. Then he set it back on the table with a shaking hand. “What do you want me to do?”

That was more like it.

“Well, I suspect the target is heading eastward, sir. I can line up most of the best sightings. He’s obviously avoiding military personnel, so he may not know yet that the XIVth’s been withdrawn and the XIIth’s sector extended to include Angot.” Hardgraa eyed the tribune’s glazed expression and decided he need not waste time on explanations. “I want the guards on the passes tripled. I want maniple signifers assigned to those posts and at least one of them on duty at all times. None of them can claim not to know him by sight. Double-check all shipping.”

“We’re already undermanned! How can I possibly requisition men from other cohorts without—”

“Shall I ask Legate Ethemene to assign someone else, Tribune?”

“No! That will not be necessary, Centurion! I’ll speak to him. What else?”

“Post a reward.”

“How much?”

“A thousand imperials. Any more and we’ll be flooded with false sightings.”

Hodwhine grunted. “Getting that sort of money out of the bursar would be like skinning hedgehogs.” A sly gleam brightened his normally vacuous eye. ”My fa- I mean, I could put up that sort of cash personally . . . T’ His voice trailed off in appeal.

“A very noble gesture, sir. I shall see his Majesty is informed of it.”

The tribune brightened considerably. “Anything else?” Hardgraa rose and paced over to the trellis. “Someone tipped him off.” He spun around and headed back toward the gate.