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

The land was an artist’s dream, prosperous yet beautiful, a blend of garden and apparently virgin nature that only elves could have achieved. It seemed uninhabited because elvish buildings, no matter how picturesque, were always tucked away out of sight. Rap said that the amount of agriculture in the district showed it must normally support a large population and he debated where all the people had gone, and why. Since the first day, the intruders had seen no one at all.

There were advantages to that, of course. Soon they began a little discreet looting-eggs from the farmyards, fish from the ponds, smoked hams from the larders. They took to sleeping in elvish beds. About the third night Jalon discovered a lute on a high shelf. It had been so coated with dust that he felt justified in taking it with him when he left the next morning, certain that its loss would not upset its owner. He would never steal a musician’s favored instrument, but this one had obviously been superseded. After that he could play upon the road, and the leagues seemed even lighter:

As Rap pointedly pointed out, he did not lose the lute as he had lost the pack and the sword.

The land rose steadily. Far to the south, two more sky trees came into sight like ghostly pinecones and then vanished again behind the bulk of Valdorian. Valdorian itself grew ever more enormous, day by day, until it obscured the sky and overhung the world. Its summit was no longer visible, only the ribbed undersides of the great petals. At their fringes they shone bright as diamond, darkening inward to the trunk in rich translucent tones, like a glass mountain.

Then one day, just as Jalon finished the “Lament of the Lonely Sisters” and was adjusting the tuning on his E string, Rap said, “Hold it a moment.”

Jalon said, “Mm?” and took stock of his surroundings. There was nothing especially interesting in sight, even the road itself, which had just reached the sad end of ill-starred Loah’rian and was doodling in arabesques and chinoiserie before starting another tale. The scenery was concealed by high grassy banks. A dull patch like this invariably hinted at something spectacular just around the next bend; it was designed to clear the palate.

“Let’s take a brief break here. Come and sit down.” Uneasy, Jalon followed his companion to the verge and settled beside him on the grass. They traveled light now. Rap had retained only his boots and sword and long breeches, abandoning all baggage. Jalon wore cerise elvish shorts and mauve bootees, while his third layer of skin was coming in tanned. His slim build and fair hair might escape notice at a distance, but elves were golden, not red and peeling.

Oddly, Rap never wore short pants. Funny guy—you could tease him about his hair or his face, you could even address him as “Master Thume” because of the word tattooed on his arm, and he would smile tolerantly—but breathe one word about his furry faun legs and a dangerous jotunn glint would flare in his gray eyes. It was nice to know he was human enough to have tender spots.

A faun and a jotunn in elfland—add a sword and a lute, and you had the makings of a ballad; like “The Minstrel and the Knight,” for instance. He hadn’t sung that one since . . .

“If you don’t mind?”

Jalon started. “Sorry, Rap. You said?”

Rap smiled fondly. “Is the sun bothering you, then?”

“No.” Jalon looked upward. “Oh!” They sat in shadow. The noon sun was almost vertical and the underside of Valdorian’s first petal completely overhung them, a pellucid roof whose depths gleamed in indigo and parrot green.

“We’re almost there, Jalon.”

“Yes . . . I didn’t hear what you asked, Rap.”

“I would like to consult Sagorn, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t,” Jalon said, with an outward smile and an inward sigh. He had been so much looking forward to another visit to a sky tree, hopefully a much longer visit than those few hours he had enjoyed in Valdostor, years ago. Now he must go, and the next time he was called he might be a thousand leagues from Wane. Still, this mission of Rap’s was important, and he must settle for these few idyllic days he had been granted. Without argument he called:

3

Sagorn screwed up his eyes against the pink glare, wincing as the seams of his breeches exploded and his toes were crushed—why did that moronic artist never learn to think? Why did he never consider that he was the smallest of the five of them, except for Thinal? Sagorn never called Darad without loosening his clothes first—not that he ever called Darad unless he had to. All it took was a little foresight. Knowing he might be returned in daylight, he always closed his eyes if he had to call a replacement when he was in a dark place, like Dreadnought’s fo’c’s’le.

He risked a peek through slitted lids and saw the prognathous smile of the king of Krasnegar. After a moment he blinked his eyes fully open and strained awkwardly to remove the boots.

Rap said, “Morning, Doctor! Or possibly good afternoon.”

“Have you tried lifting your shielding at all?”

“No!”

Mm? That dangerous? “You did not explain the hazard very clearly to Jalon, or if you did he didn’t listen.”

With the unconscious suppleness of the young, the faun rolled back to lean his elbows on the grass. “It’s quite simple. Zinixo had melded with the Covin, or some of them, and was hunting for me in the ambience—me personally. It’s almost impossible for a sorcerer to hide there.”

“But you don’t know if he is persisting in his endeavors?”

“And I don’t intend to investigate. One clear glimpse and he’d have me.”

“He can utilize this technique to locate any sorcerer known to him?”

“Undoubtedly. At these distances it requires enormous power, but he has that.”

“So Witch Grunth and the two warlocks are likewise in danger?”

The faun pulled a face, which made him look even more grotesque than usual. ”Yes. I just hope they were as lucky as I was, being within easy reach of shielding when it happened. Making a shield is a very conspicuous use of power.”

“But shielding is not common as crabgrass, surely? We must assume that most or all of the wardens have now been apprehended and perverted.” The enemy continued to grow stronger.

Rap nodded in glum silence. Sprawled back with his shirt off, he looked like a common quarry worker, but he was more than mere brawn. He had worked out the evil tidings and chosen not to burden Jalon with them.

“So why hasn’t the Almighty—”

“Please, Doctor!”

“All right,” Sagorn said sourly, thinking that the name seemed more appropriate all the time. “So why hasn’t Zinixo tried this before? No, never mind.” There were at least four possible reasons, and the point was moot anyway. “This occult cloak of yours—it is substantially identical to the immurement you once imposed on him?”

“You do like big words, don’t you? Yes, it’s the same, except that mine I put on myself, so I can take it off. When I shut him up, years ago, I was mightier than he was, so he couldn’t break out of the shielding.”

“You explained that adequately back in Hub. But he must be out of it now, if you saw him in the ambience?”

The faun scowled. “I saw only his eyes, but yes, it was him. You’re right, of course.”

The deduction was satisfyingly obvious and yet Rap had apparently not realized the terrifying corollary that could be drawn from it. Sagorn decided to save that insight for later.

He glanced around at the hollow. There was nothing to see except scrubby grass—which was why the spot had been selected, of course, for privacy. The underside of the sky tree loomed overhead like a ceiling. He would not have believed that any mineral growth could support its own weight over such a span, but he noted how the ribs were cantilevered to channel and direct the stress. The great vaulting swept downward steeply and obviously must reach ground level just over the rise. The road would end there.

When the next question did not come, he glanced down to meet the intent gaze of the recumbent faun. “You called me to ask how to get in, I presume?”

Rap nodded morosely. “I’m not even a beetle-sized sorcerer now, Doctor. I’m more of a mundane than you have ever known me—more of a mundane even than you. I need your insight.” He plucked a blade of grass and tucked it in his mouth, playing yokel. His flattery would be more effective if it was sincere.

“Well, I cannot assess the occult defenses. We may even be within shielding here.”

The faun shook his head. “I don’t dare take the risk of trying to find out. We’ll have to chance the sorcery—occult alarms may ignore mundane intruders, you agree? But I can’t guess how to avoid even mundane alarms, or guards. I assume there will be guards, and locks, and so on. Valdorian has a resident warlock to defend it, but most of the trees must rely on ordinary precautions, so I expect it has those, also.”