“Your father will escort us to Nordland?” Inos inquired cautiously.
“That depends on many things, ma’am. Will the local authorities allow you to leave? Will the usurper catch us? And timing is important. We shall be pressed to reach Nintor by Longday, and there is no reason to visit Nordland except to attend the moot.”
Inos shivered. “I have never been to Nordland but I have seen reckonings fought.”
Jarga sighed. She gazed over Inos’ head, and for a moment seemed to stare intently at something far off. “I never have,” she said harshly. ”I could go—I am a thane’s daughter. To attend the Nintor Moot has long been an ambition of mine.”
Her bony jotunn face had turned hard and melancholy, stirring prickles of the uncanny on Inos’ scalp.
“Then why do you not do so?”
The sorceress blinked and lost her preoccupation. She glanced down at Inos with a wintery smile. “Even a thane’s daughter may not set foot on Nintor unless accompanied by her husband, and he must be a full thane. There are limits to my ambition, lady!”
Inos grinned. “Your father might tell you to guard your tongue!”
Jarga dismissed the grin with a scowl. “He does not take his belt to this daughter anymore! But come, ma’am, there goes the warlock.”
“Is this to be a council of war?”
“So I understand, ma’am.”
“Then I think I want my son present.”
“That might be very wise.”
Grr! Obviously the jotunn sorceress had been told more than the mundane queen had. Angrily, Inos went off to find Gath.
That decision proved to be an error. Gath was not to be found and when she went in search of the meeting itself, everyone of any importance had disappeared, also. Eventually she tracked them down, in one of the nearby cottages. The room was tiny, and now crammed with people. Two men had to move before she could even squeeze in through the door, and others stood in front of the tiny windows, blocking the light. She made out Jarga’s pale hair, and then—to her intense annoyance— Gath’s, also. There was nowhere left to sit, so she stood where she was, head bent under the low ceiling.
An elderly dwarf was speaking, and the others’ respectful silence showed that he was someone of importance. All she could see of him was a white beard.
“. . . remain in session at least two more weeks. Everyone is very anxious to head home at this time of year, you understand. Crops to plant. Rivers open.” He coughed. “But of course we shall certainly spare time to hear an address by the warlock of the north.”
Raspnex’s guttural voice came from roughly the same direction. “Who else? Suppose we produced, oh, let us just assume that the new imperor was passing by and wished to convey his respects? Would the Directorate agree to hear him?”
“If he was brief.”
Inos felt a sort of silent chuckle shimmer through the group, but no one laughed aloud. There were complex politics at play here. The Nordland ambassador was going to be told what had transpired, but did not wish to attend in person. Superstition was only an excuse; he had other reasons. The imperor was present, but not officially, because officially he was a prisoner of war. That assertion would declare the imperor in Hub an imposter. There was a lot of deniability about. Dwanishian politics were notoriously labyrinthine at the best of times.
“And what of the queen of Krasnegar, were she here?” Raspnex inquired.
The old man sighed. “If the proctor insisted her topic was important, the directors might stay for her opening remarks. She would find herself addressing an empty hall very shortly, though. We have no business dealings with Krasnegar, you see.”
“Could you arrange for such a session without announcing who the guest would be, Proctor?”
There was a long pause. Inos was thinking furiously. Dwanish was ruled by the Directorate, and the proctor was the current presiding officer, so that white beard belonged to the ruler of the realm, as much as there ever was one. The two goblins were standing together off to her right. Frazkr was probably present somewhere; Gath and Shandie and Raspnex certainly were. Who the four or five others were, she had no idea. If any of them was a spy for the Covin, surely Zinixo would not be able to resist such a catch?
“You frighten me,” the proctor said, as if his thoughts had followed her own. “Even if I convene a secret session, suppose the usurper learns of your presence? He may smite the hall with thunder.” Clearly he was well aware of the situation.
Raspnex spoke harshly. “He would prefer to take us alive, I think. But is Dwanish prepared to submit already? Will you tender your allegiance with no struggle at all? Before he even threatens?”
“The Directorate would have to discuss the matter.”
“What course of action will you offer for its approval?” the warlock demanded angrily. “Debates require a motion.”
“Tell me what you plan to ask of us.” The old man was wily.
Raspnex sighed. “Only that you spread the word of our resistance so that all the sorcerers may hear of it and take hope. We ask their aid; the usurper extorts it. We cannot alert them occultly without revealing ourselves to the enemy. Mundanes will not be involved otherwise.”
The old man coughed painfully. “You underestimate your nephew. I remember him as a child. As soon as the meeting breaks up, he will know of it, if not before. He will learn you are in Dwanish and will hold our land to ransom. How do you plan to depart?”
“Quickly!”
“Not quickly enough. If you go by sorcery, he will follow. If you take a boat, he may boil the river.”
There it was. The proctor had expressed the problem exactly.
Raspnex sighed. “We shall ask each member of the Directorate to keep the secret for two weeks. During that time, we shall make our escape.”
The old man snorted. “Three hundred men? Keep a secret from sorcerers? Most certainly the usurper has agents in Gwurkiarg, and they will be curious to know what the Directorate discussed in camera.”
“The risk is ours.”
“No. You may bring down vengeance on all of us. I know his spite. Your petition is refused.” The old man stirred, as if to rise.
The warlock shrugged. “Your term expires when?”
“In ten days. You are of course free to approach my successor. He may reopen the matter or not, as he chooses.”
“If we decide not to do so, would you allow my friends to depart in peace?”
The proctor was shuffling toward the door. “The ambassador has interceded on their behalf. We have no quarrel with her Majesty of Krasnegar or her son, and the imp obviously cannot be who he claims to be. Personally I wish you all good fortune. Go with my blessing.”
Men scrambled to their feet from the floor and’the scanty furniture. Inos moved away from the door. The fresh air that poured in was a big relief. As the room emptied, she slipped over to the solitary little bed and sat down beside Jarga.
In a few moments the dignitaries had departed. The door remained open, giving welcome light. She glanced around and saw only the pitiful handful she expected—Raspnex, Shandie, Frazkr, Gath, Pool Leaper, Moon Baiter, Jarga and herself. Old sorcerer Wirax was there, too, and she had not known he was back.
The grubby little room was still crowded. She wondered briefly who lived in this cramped squalor, and what it would be like to spend a lifetime in it. A bed, a stone chest, a couple of stools, and a table—no pictures, no flower vases, no rugs or bright cushions.
“We came a long way for nothing,” Shandie said sadly.
“Not at all!” Only Raspnex had remained standing, solid as a granite tombstone on his great boots. He rubbed his beard, making a scratchy noise, and his expression was the grimace he used as a smile. “The plan remains unchanged!”
“It does?”
“Certainly. Officially the old rascal wants no part of it, but you heard what he said at the end. He was telling us to go ahead—and definitely warning us against his successor!”
Deniability, Inos thought. Gath was sitting on the floor, peering between his bony knees at her. He was grinning, too, which was an ominous sign.
The imperor sighed. “Explain.”
“Tomorrow we gatecrash,” Raspnex said jovially. “Remember that I’m still warden of the north as far as that bunch of mineowners, wheelwrights, and ironfounders is concerned. If I march into one of their meetings and demand a hearing, I’ll get one.”
Shandie was uncomfortably perched on a coal scuttle. “So how do you know there isn’t a Covin agent in the hall?”
“That’s where he comes in!” the warlock proclaimed, jabbing a thick finger in the direction of Gath. “He and I stand by the door as they convene. If I see a votary spell going in, I depart, smartly.”