Jarga’s concern for the old man might stem from nothing more than friendship—Inos herself was anxious for him to be restored to health—but it might have darker roots. Votarism was rank evil, a slavery of the soul. Rap’s hatred of it was much in character and nothing new. If Raspnex used his powers to gain sexual satisfaction, he would merely have been following an ancient tradition. If he did, Inos decided, he would not impose his wishes by force, he would make his victim willing. He would make her love him. That was well within the powers of a sorcerer, and only marginally less evil than outright rape. On the other hand, the grumpy old scoundrel did seem to have mellowed in the past few months. What had caused that?
They had all changed. Minutes ago, Shandie had praised Inos’ eyes in an easy, offhand compliment that he would never have managed when she first met him. It had been a meaningless pleasantry, a social grace like a smile, valued only for its own sake. The Shandie of last winter would not have seen the need for such flippancy, would not have attempted it if he had, and would certainly have stammered and blushed if he had tried.
And she? She was not conscious of change in herself, and yet there must be some. She had lost her husband, her kingdom, her children, and had no hope of regaining any of them unless Rap could somehow overthrow the Covin. Such burdens must change anyone.
“Faster!” Jarga roared, bringing her rail down hard on the donkey’s back. It brayed and lurched wearily back into a canter.
About to utter a protest, Inos stopped herself just in time. Gods! she thought. Am I learning patience?
Or am I just growing old?
The gully was so gentle that it would have escaped attention had there not been a stream and a ford. Trees closed in on either hand. It was a shaded, gloomy spot, and rain had begun to fall again.
“Here?” Inos said as the cart rattled to a halt. “Where?”
“All around,” Jarga said, dropping the reins. “The road runs right through it, or I wouldn’t have noticed, because I wasn’t consciously farseeing.”
“Why would anyone ever put shielding here?”
“Ambush,” Shandie said. He was standing by the horse, letting it drink. He frowned at the murky tangle of undergrowth. “How far back does it run?”
“Quite a way. Would hold a cohort or two.”
“Let’s hope it isn’t occupied at the moment.”
“It isn’t,” the sorceress said. She had twisted around to haul the cover away from Raspnex.
“How long?” he asked in his familiar deep growl.
Inos gasped with delight, seeing his eyes open. He was upside down from her viewpoint on the driving bench, but he looked better already.
“Five days, they say.” Jarga was smiling happily at the results of her sorcery. She very rarely smiled.
Sorcerers did not need long convalescence. Raspnex sat up and already his color was returning, changing from clay buff to his normal gray sandstone hue. Glowering under craggy brows, he flickered his pebble eyes from Inos to Shandie, who had come to stand by the side of the cart to grin.
“I owe you my thanks,” he muttered. Dwarves were as effusively demonstrative as glaciers.
“You owe us an explanation!” Shandie said. “Who did it?”
“I did. It was the first thing that came into my head.” The imperor shot Inos a glance of exasperation and then tried again. “Why did you do it, then?”
The warlock heaved himself to his feet. Even standing, he was barely taller than the two women sitting on the bench, but the cart rocked under his weight. ”My nephew tried something new. He came looking for me in the ambience.”
“Zinixo himself?” Shandie said, startled.
“In a meld of the Covin. It was a personal thing, though. I recognized him—heard his voice, you could say. I had only seconds before he located me. I had to disappear fast, so I slugged myself.” His ugly face twisted in pain. ”Even that was a risk. Sorry.”
How often did one hear a dwarf apologize?
“Any risk was better than having you perverted! What do we do now? How can you leave this shielding without being caught? Unconscious again?”
Rain pattered faster in puddles below and trailing branches overhead.
“He can shield himself,” Inos said. “Mundane disguise.” The warlock bared his teeth. “You’re very free with advice today, aren’t you?”
“It would be torture!” Jarga roared. “He would be blind and deaf and crippled.”
“He’ll get used to it! My husband hid his sorcery that way for years.”
Now the jotunn looked even more dangerous than the dwarf. “And he will be conspicuous! We have an advantage in that the enemy’s loyalty spells show up. A body shielding will show, also. It is unthinkable!”
“No, Jargie,” Raspnex growled. “She’s right, as usual.” Jargie?
Shandie had been scratching his black-stubbled chin. “If the Almighty can pull this personal-tracking trick, then why hasn’t he done so before?”
“Because it requires one-on-one contact, and normally that could be dangerous if . . .” Raspnex winced.
“If the one you seek is stronger,” the jotunn said. “It is much like hand-to-hand combat. But of course the Almighty wields the power of the Covin, so he can be in no real danger.” Pain wrenched her face, also.
“It will work on any sorcerer?” Shandie asked grimly. “Anyone known to him personally.” She took a deep breath. “And I suppose any sorcerer known personally to any member of the Covin. It is a serious development!”
“Powers preserve us,” Shandie muttered. He glanced apprehensively at Inos.
So did the warlock and the sorceress. Rap? Oh, Rap!
“Why has he—Zinixo—not done this before?”
“Perhaps because of Olybino,” Raspnex said. “It happened the next day, remember? When he saw that the opposition could not save Olybino, he decided he had the edge.”
“What odds would satisfy Zinixo?” she demanded, her voice louder than she had intended.
The warlock grunted. “About a thousand to one, maybe. Come on, let’s be on our way.” He sat down on the straw and hauled the wagon cover over his shoulders to deflect the downpour.
“Wait!” The world had darkened for Inos. If even Zinixo was satisfied with his advantage, then it must be overwhelming. “He may have caught Rap the same way?”
Shandie was avoiding her eye. Had Rap been quick enough to react as Raspnex had done, and hide in unconsciousness? Even if he had, did he have comrades available to tend him, or was he lying helpless in some forgotten jungle? For six days she had believed that Rap was alive, and now that hope had been stolen away again.
“He may have captured Rap,” Jarga said brusquely. “This is not a game of thali, this is war. Sitting here wailing won’t solve anything.” She jingled the reins and screamed abuse at the donkey.
Inos grabbed at the side as the cart lurched into motion. “Oh, that’s easy enough for you to say! I’m concerned about the man I love!”
“So am I, “ said a silent voice in her ear, Jarga’s voice.
“Huh?”
“Move, you spavined, illegitimate latrine washing! He has been a sorcerer for a very long time, and this privation will distress him greatly.”
Inos looked blankly at the sailor, who was apparently engrossed in her bullying of the weary donkey.
“Yes, I love him,” the voice whispered again. ”Sometimes I think he loves me. We do not talk of it. He took pleasure of me once, long ago, but only once. After that we never dared “
“Oh!
” What to say, with the warlock himself so close? ”Love does complicate life sometimes.” “Faster, you barnacled, brick-brained son of a pig! Better off without it. Forget what I just said. I was joking. Sorcerers can never love other sorcerers, only mundanes—you should know that better than any, Queen Inosolan.”
2
Randport was a sleepy but prosperous outpost of Impire, a naval base, and, also, a favorite retirement town for officers and civil servants. Its buildings, climate, and nightlife were agreed to be harmonious, monotonous, and picturesque, the order of application depending on the speaker. A few elves down on their luck lived there, prostituting their art to the imps’ notions of culture; gnomes were allowed to enter after dark to remove the garbage; all other races were strongly discouraged. To the military, that meant evicted on sight. Inos saw nothing of Randport proper and had no wish to.
Just over the headland lay Old Town, a major port crushed between a cliff and the battlements of the naval base. The army preferred to stay out of Old Town, even in daylight, and imps were a minority there. It claimed to be the only city in Pandemia where jotnar lived in peace together. Indeed there was surprisingly little fighting in the jotunn quarter, but the jotunn quarter adjoined the djinn quarter, the boundary being marked by a line of fresh bloodstains.