Pale-faced, Rap ran a hand through his hair. “I am not guiltless, I admit. I did not invent the spell, though. It dates back more than a century. The five of them had aided me, I was in their debt. I released them, but then they asked me to replace the sorcery. I fear I was wrong to do so.”
“You were certainly wrong to include this vermin. Without the ability to disappear at will, he would have been apprehended and destroyed years ago!”
Rap nodded sadly. “But I was in his debt, also. He had saved my life—how could I desert him? I hoped, I suppose, that the others might restrain him.”
“They did not do so now!” the warlock snarled. “He will be thrown to the winds.”
The gaggle of pretties all cheered, and Darad could not even grind his teeth at them. He strained uselessly.
“You had best do it soon, Omnipotence,” shrilled one, “or I fear he will burst his heart with anger.” The little yellow-asses all laughed. Only Rap stared down sorrowfully at Darad.
He would kill them all. He would cut their guts out and watch them die. He would rape the women and then slit them open.
And the one who called him is equally to blame!”
“No!” Rap said sharply. “He did not plan this. You startled him, and he invoked the spell without thinking.”
“He should have thought!”
The elves twittered loudly in agreement, but Rap held up a hand.
“When you dismantle that spell, your Omnipotence, observe carefully how it is constructed. See what it does to Thinal: When a man is startled, he reaches for the courage within him, correct?”
“So?” the warlock asked warily.
Rap nudged Darad with a foot. “There is Thinal’s courage.” The warlock shrugged. “I will look.”
“Rap! What sort of a shipmate are you? Get this triple-accursed spell off me and let me fight!”
“You brought this evil upon us, faun!” the warlock said grimly.
Good! If xap was threatened he would need Darad, and then he would do something. Rap was a sorcerer, too.
“Not I! Thinal was brought in by your orders.”
“Ha! You told us he could not call a replacement.”
“I’m sure he could not, not consciously. But you terrified him. A man should not be punished for an act of desperation. The fault, again, was yours.”
The elf snarled. “Did I not fancy having Minstrel Jalon’s art to enrich our vigil here, I would have this brute dealt with as he is, and let the others fall with him. But I can think of no reason to desire your presence, faun. You will go now—freely, or by force.”
Rap set his big jotunn jaw. Here it came! Good old Rap! But no—
“I had hoped to remind you of past glories, Warlock. Pandemia has known no greater heroes than those of Ilrane. Zuik’stor and your own forefathers, Danna’rian and—”
The elf reddened. “Silence! We need no halfbreeds here to lecture us on honor.”
“Indeed, I think you do!” Rap shouted. “Not two years ago, seven thousand elves prepared to lay down their lives on Nefer Moor to protest the Imperial invasion. And now. you will just give in to a dwarf? A dwarf? I wonder the trees themselves do not fall down from shame!”
“The cause is hopeless!” The little elf could roar like a bull when he wanted. That had to be sorcery. “Your followers are a tiny, scattered rabble. The Covin outnumbers them manyfold. There is no power in all Pandemia can stop him now. Thus we shall—”
“There may be!” The faun’s voice cut through the outburst like a razor.
The elf stopped. That had shaken him! Didn’t want to show it, but it had.
“Where?” The hall fell silent.
Rap hauled up his sleeve to show his tattoo. “Thume. There is a spell of inattention upon the Accursed Land.” Sounds of protest swelled and Rap raised his voice. “You know such an enchantment could not have prevailed unattended since the War of the Five Warlocks. What power maintains, it, your Omnipotence?”
“Rubbish! Utter nonsense! There is nothing in Thume!” The onlookers twittered in agreement.
“There must be something in Thume!” Rap said stubbornly.
“No! I will not believe it!”
“I believe it.”
“Then you may go and seek this chimera for yourself!” the warlock yelled. “Vice-armiger Fial’rian-remove this mongrel from our presence and evict him!”
Rap seemed to sway backward. “Wait!” he shouted, and straightened. ”You said the Covin is watching this place. Do you throw your guests to their enemies? Is this what elves understand by hospitality, Omnipotence?”
Glaring, the elf teetered on the edge of his platform. “Very well. Armiger, convene enough power to evict our unwelcome guest unseen.”
Again Rap shouted, “Wait! I may thus escape notice leaving, but I shall be observed arriving at wherever you send me.”
The warlock laughed, high-pitched. “I fancy not! We shall send you like a parcel to the destination named on your label. If there is a conjuration upon the place as you claim, then all will be well with you. Begone!”
Rap spun around and marched away without a word.
Rap! Rap was leaving him alone? What sort of a shipmate deserted a comrade? Just because he’d swatted a lousy, yellowassed elf? What did one puky elf matter? He’d killed hundreds of better men than that in his time.
The warlock scowled down at Darad. “Now,” he said, “you.”
Word in Elfyn-land:
But, Thomas, ye main haud your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see;
For speak ye word in Elfyn-land,
Ye’ll ne’er win back to your ain countrie.
— Traditional: Thomas the Rhymer
SIX
When days were long
1
While her husband and minstrel Jalon had been strolling the sunlit roads of Ilrane, headed for the sky tree of Valdorian, Queen Inosolan of Krasnegar had been leading a donkey through the blighted hills of Guwush. The weather had been inclement, the landscape drear, the experience odious. As she had remarked more than once to his Imperial Majesty Emshandar V, the thing that bothered her most was his constant hysterical good humor. Shandie, who tended to brood, would then smile thinly and explain that it wasn’t the music that upset him, it was the rich food.
They took turns trudging along in the mud at the donkey’s cheek strap, while the other sat on the bench, gathering bruises at every pothole. The donkey steadfastly refused to move at all unless it was led.
“Frankly,” Inos remarked one mosquito-infested evening when they had both chosen to walk, “you disappoint me, Emshandar. For a man whose ancestors have been imperors for millennia, your appearance is sadly lacking in the poise and polish I should have expected.”
“Unfortunately,” the imperor said, “I take after my maternal grandfather the centurion. He was extremely fortunate to escape being branded a common felon in his youth. But you, Queen Inosolan? Your forebears have ruled your peanut-sized realm for centuries. They are mere upstarts compared to my family, of course, but I could have hoped for a little more regality in your mien.”
“Alas! Like you, I take after the wrong side of the family.”
“Which side is that?”
“Thane Kalkor.”
“Oh. Pillaging and rape?”
“Pillaging certainly. I find rape too tiring.”
Some humor! The strain was telling on both of them, Inos thought.
The road was a quagmire; the countryside looked as if it had been sacked by three or four armies in quick successionbroken fences, weed-filled fields, dilapidated hovels sunk in mud. The inhabitants were gnomes, though, and probably liked it that way.
Shandie had named the spavined, ill-natured donkey Zinixo, perhaps because of its drab gray color. It was unworthy of the honor. The cart was ancient, noisy, ramshackle. It bounced endlessly and could be detected downwind for leagues. From the look of the sky, there would be more rain before sunset.
The imperor of Pandemia was gaunt, unkempt, and filthy. Inos knew she looked no better. Because of the cargo they carried, they dared not stop at the official post inns. They had slept under trees or in barns for several nights now, and their money was running out. A solid square meal had begun to loom even larger in her imagination than a hot tub and clean clothes.
Stagecoaches sprayed past them several times a day. Squads of Imperial cavalry would gallop by without even a curious glance. This area was more or less law-abiding, officially classed as “pacified.” Inos’ term was ”crushed,” and although she rarely taxed the imperor on the subject, she was sure that he now agreed with her.
A long silence ended when she asked, “Tell me again how many more days to Randport.”
The muddy gargoyle beside her shrugged. “Two. Perhaps three at this pace.”
“Will he live that long?”
“I think so.” He sighed. “We have done all we can, Inos.”
“The Gods award no badges for effort!”
Shandie did not answer.
Page: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102