The nine worshippers made no sound. Perhaps they were merely stuffed replicas of worshippers. None of them had stirred since Inos entered. Her heart hammered unnaturally, an ache in her chest.
“We have brought back a trophy of war,” Rap said softly. “We almost brought two. This one should be delivered to somewhere called Dreag, in Zark, and given to the prisoner who is kept there, and he should be freed. He is what draws Azak away.”
“Leave it here when you depart,” the rustly whisper said. “I informed Azak that it would be delivered to Dreag.”
“Indeed?”
“And my word is important to me.” Stubborn faun!
“But not to me.” The woman, if it was a woman, spoke again, before Rap could argue further. “The threat will suffice. You have earned your sanctuary. We are grateful.”
He growled. “Holiness, there are several sorcerers with that army, and it seems the Covin—”
“They do not concern us!” The voice was no louder, yet it seemed to echo through the great hall. Again Inos felt her scalp prickle.
“But, Holiness—”
“Silence! The war does not concern Thume. The Covin does not. We will never let ourselves be drawn into the affairs of the Outside. I said you have now earned the sanctuary that had previously been freely given you. Your help was freely given, also, was it not? You did not bargain.”
“No,” Rap admitted angrily. “But—”
“No buts. You and your loved ones may remain here, in a haven safe from the storm without. That is recompense enough. It is recompense indeed.”
The dark figure had gone.
Rap snarled and hurled the jeweled sash clattering across the floor. He sprang to his feet. Inos jumped up, also, wary of his rage.
“Who was that?” she demanded, and then realized that the rest of the congregation was rising from their obeisance. So they were alive!
“That was the Keeper!” Rap said, as if pronouncing an obscenity. He drew a ragged breath. “These, dear, are the titular rulers of Thume, the archons. Archon Raim, my dear wife, Inosolan, the exiled queen of Krasnegar.” He was certainly making no effort to conceal his bitterness.
“Allies?” Inos said, peering at the indistinct form of the man presented. All she could make out were the oddly angled eyes.
Memories of her last visit to Thume crowded in on her like wraiths and she edged closer to Rap.
“Just friends, ma’am,” the pixie said. He sounded young. He seemed stocky. “There is someone who should speak with you first, though.”
Inos said, “Who?” and felt a hand touch her arm. Kadie said, ”Mama?” in a small, uncertain voice.
As mother and daughter persisted in their tearful embrace, Rap turned away.
“Archon Toom,” he said harshly, “why is it that women weep when they are happy?”
“I don’t know, your Majesty,” old Toom said, peering at him curiously. “Why do you?”
Manly foe:
Give me the avowed, erect and manly foe;
Firm I can meet, perhaps return the blow;
But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send,
Save me, oh, save me, from the candid friend.
— George Canning, The New Morality
TEN
A necessary end
1
Sunlight filtered down through greenery. Dew sparkled on every blade of grass as if the world were a virgin bedecked in diamonds and come to her wedding. Fresh scents of summer promised a long, hot, carefree day. Horses grazed nearby with steady crunching, while somewhere on the blue doorstep of Heaven a skylark sang plaudits to the morn.
Roasted, that lark would make a delicious start to breakfast. Ylo turned his head in a crackle of dry leaves and peered one-eyed at Eshiala. Her jet-black tresses were a tangle of mystery, her long lashes lay on her cheeks like combs. Sleep seemed to have brought her peace, while his had been tortured by nightmares. He could not touch her, for Uomaya lay between them, sheltered from the night’s chill.
Now morning had come but the nightmares remained. There lay the woman he loved, the only one he had ever loved for more than a week. She carried his child already. He would do anything to win a smile from his lady. All he possessed in the world—wits, half a bag of gold, a fit body, a certain charm—all those were hers for the asking, plus all the remaining days of his life if she would accept them. And he had brought her to this. Hungry. Sleeping under hedges. Hunted.
You have failed, Ylo. Failed!
Today seemed certain to consummate that failure in disaster. Never again would he waken to see her loveliness beside him. She would be returned to the palace and he dispatched to jail. That was the best that would happen to her and the least that might happen to him. Uomaya would rule the world as puppet for Zinixo.
In a mad chase across Qoble, they had eluded the legion for almost three weeks. That was a triumph for them, especially for Ylo himself, but a humiliation for the legionaries. He had been a hero and he had betrayed their trust, or so they would have been told. He could never hope to make them believe the truth. They might not know his crime, but they would not deal easy with him when they caught him, as catch him they must. His very success in evading capture for so long would count against him
He felt Maya stir, Impress Uomaya. In its time the Impire had known perhaps a dozen reigning impresses, but surely. none of them had ever had to sleep under bushes. Some of the imperors had done so, doubtless, but never an impress regnant. For the sake of the child this chase must end.
And for the sake of the other child, also—his, the unborn babe.
End it must. End it would. Yesterday the fugitives had ridden north, no longer daring to ask directions, but hoping to find a pass through the mountains. The road had petered out at a goatherd’s hovel. They had retraced their path, but any prey, when it backtracked, was headed into the jaws of its pursuer.
A league or so down the road lay a hamlet whose name he had not bothered to ask. The legionaries would be there by now, or if not there then at the fist crossroads beyond. They would have maps and the Cooperation of Law-abiding Citizens. They must know that their quarry was just ahead, trapped in this dead end. They would be ready to move out at dawn. Dawn had already come. The day had begun.
He was hungry, filthy, and unshaven. His clothes were ragged and dirty. No longer could he overawe the peasants by playing gentleman. Now he looked what he was, a hunted outlaw.
“Mommy?” a small whine said.
Eshiala’s eyes opened. She could not have been as much asleep as he had thought.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m hungry.”
Eshiala looked at Ylo—without reproach, but without illusion, either. Sadness and resignation. Interrogation.
“I was thinking about roast skylark,” he said.
She smiled faintly. “We could eat gold.”
“So we could,” he said, stretching. “We’ll go and buy a meal at the nearest farm and linger over it. One, big, satisfying bloat!” He thought about the fare in Imperial jails. That was the second-best way to get rid of an appetite.
Toilet was easy, consisting mainly of brushing leaves off. The two horses looked up reproachfully as their owners emerged from the thicket. Kindly people, their sad eyes said, do not hobble us.
Ylo scanned the landscape, seeing a dismal vista of empty fields and pasture, with no houses close. The Qoble range was a hard white bulwark to the north; he had learned to hate it. He should not have come so far into the hills. Nearer the coast there was cover. He should not have strayed into the countryside at all, for concealment was easier in cities. He should never, never, never have come to Qoble; it had been a trap from the start.
Two arms came around him from behind and hugged. “You are giving up?” she said softly, her head against his shoulder.
“We must give up. For the children’s sake.”
“I do not want to give up. Another day will not kill us.” This day might.
He turned within her grasp so he might embrace her also. “Look at us! Bedraggled serfs! Who will trust us? Who believe anything we say? I have run out of credible tales to win assistance.”
“If you use gold you can buy anything.”
“And risk being knifed?” He sighed. “My darling, I have failed you. The perils grow worse.”
“What’s over there?” Eshiala pointed to the rising sun.
He had no idea. He was hopelessly lost without a map, but to say so would only worry her more. The land rose gently to a crest not a league away.
“Another valley, I assume.”
Eshiala set her jaw. “Let us go and try it, then. It cannot be worse than this one, can it? If they are waiting for us there, then we can give up there. If not, then we have won another day.”
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