“I was trying to find a rhyme for ‘whelk,’ “ he explained without a blush. “Forgot to watch the compass. Now, what is going on?”
Rap grinned at him in disbelief. “Have you ever wandered out of the house in the morning without remembering to dress?”
“Oh, yes!” Jalon looked surprised that his friend would even ask. ”Dozens of times.” He was apparently unaware that his present shirt was inside out. “Now, please, what is going on?”
Rap studied the sails for a moment, taking the ship’s pulse. She was coming round slowly, turning her bowsprit to the dawn. He was coming around slowly himself, recovering from the extremely weird experience of being in concert with the other sorcerers. He had spent the last hour as part of a meld of sorcerers, and being just Rap again required some adjustment.
“We were scouting.”
“I thought that was too dangerous?”
“We decided we had to risk it. It’s pretty safe if we all work together. So much power is just about impossible to detect.”
Jalon pulled a face. “Sounds backward. So what’yu find?”
“Dragons.”
“Still?”
“Still. Just about every dragon in the Reach, we think. He’s got them flying north. It’s an incredible display of power, because they keep trying to scatter. He’s holding them together, though. The Covin is. And we’ve found his target, we think.”
“Well?”
“Goblins.”
“Goblins?” The minstrel scratched his flaxen mop. “I know I’m no scholar, but I am sure it’s a long way to goblin country! . . . isn’t it?”
“The goblins are in Pithmot, at a place called Bandon The Impire’s got five legions lined up against them.” Rap yawned. He was intensely weary, and sick of the alien taint of dragon in his mind. Goblins almost on Home Water! Yet why should he be surprised by that? Years ago, the Gods had decreed that Death Bird would live to be the scourge of the Impire. They had not mentioned dragons, though.
Jalon’s blue eyes were wide. “You’re quite sure Zinixo’s on the legions’ side?”
“That we are about to find out,” Rap said grimly. “A few minutes more. We think he’s going to destroy the goblins in front of the legions to demonstrate his power and compel respect. That’s the best idea anyone’s been able to come up with.”
The minstrel shuddered convulsively, as if seized by a sudden ague. ”That’s awful! Can’t you do anything?”
“Now, don’t you start!” Rap had the ship under way again. He had spent half the night in argument with trolls who wanted to warn everyone in the dragons’ path and anthropophagi who wanted to turn the blaze aside. Just a gentle nudge would be enough, they said, because if the worms once scattered not even the Covin would ever regain control. Knowing that, they said, Zinixo would not dare resist a little sideways nudge.
It had taken every trick and skill and argument Rap could muster to win his associates around to his own view—the sensible view, of course.
“We’re going to do nothing!” he said. “We could make very little difference, and possibly make things a great deal worse. We might let the blaze scatter over half the Impire. We’d give ourselves away to the usurper, and that would be the end of the game. So we sit on the sidelines and puke, that’s all we can do.”
Jalon looked aghast at this cold-blooded decision. “You’ll let dragons attack people and not even try to rescue them?” “That’s what we decided.”
But would it work? Would all those kindly trolls be able to restrain themselves when the burning started? Would the anthropophagi be able to resist the lure of battle—not to mention the occult view of people cooking? And could the Covin continue to control such an enormous blaze once it had tasted metal? There was potential here for one of the greatest disasters of all time.
Rap would find out very shortly.
He smiled at the minstrel’s woebegone expression. “Don’t sing too many laments for the goblins, buddy mine. They didn’t get to South Pithmot by hitching rides in haywains. Our old friend Death Bird has probably left a trail of bloody footprints all the way from Pondague. I’m sure there isn’t a soul in that mob of his that doesn’t deserve what’s coming!”
Easy to say! Dragons were a bad way to die. The Gods had crafted Death Bird’s destiny for him and he could not have evaded it. His ultimate end must be ordained, too.
Rap decided a few minutes alone with the wheel were just what he needed to soothe his tattered nerves. “Why don’t you go and find me some breakfast, of buddy?” he asked. “I’ll finish your watch for you.”
Jalon nodded, blue eyes deadly serious. “I’ll check out the galley. Which would you prefer—spruce bough salad or housemaid’s knees?”
Before Rap could answer, a voice roared in his head. SORCERERS, ATTEND! BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE ALMIGHTY!
“Rap?” Jalon said. “Rap? Rap, what’s the matter?”
5
Dawn found Kadie already awake, gritty-eyed and sourmouthed, huddled in the corner of a stone wall that enclosed an orchard. She had slept very little, if at all. Goblin preparations for battle included more than the usual amounts of torture. Perhaps the screaming was partly intended to frighten the enemy, although the legions had been far out of earshot when darkness fell. More important, apparently, was the effect on the spectators, because the victims had not been impish prisoners but goblin volunteers, who had directed the honors being inflicted on themselves. Thus few of the goblins had slept, either, and now they were roused to manic bloodlust, twitching and jabbering with excitement. Many of them bore bloody relics hung on strings around their necks—fingers and even more gruesome tokens, freely donated by their original owners.
There had been no opportunity for escape, and she could not hope for any now.
The orchard was to be the command post and was already full of goblins. Several of the trees had been lopped off and a platform built upon them to provide a lookout. Death Bird had yielded to his son’s hysterical pleading and agreed that he might join in the assault instead of being held in the rear. The king himself was going to lead the first charge. To Kadie it all seemed very much like a suicidal last stand.
Death Bird had detailed a half-dozen men to guard her. They stood around her, sulking mightily, and glaring at her from their hideously angular eyes. They felt slighted, obviously, and she was convinced that they would cut her throat as soon as the battle began, so that they could go and join in. The one thing no goblin wanted was the shame of being taken prisoner.
She had eaten nothing the previous evening. Allena the Mare had disappeared, and had almost certainly provided the skimpy provisions she had seen handed around. Somehow Kadie resented that more than almost anything. How could they be so cruel?
Then Blood Beak came striding through the trees. He had his bow already strung in his hand, sword and quiver slung on his shoulders. A shapeless piece of raw flesh dangled in the center of his bare chest; it had dribbled blood all over him.
“Is almost time!” He bared his big teeth at her.
She cowered smaller, feeling the stones of the wall cold through her cloak. ”Good-bye, then.” She still had her magic rapier.
“Come! Will watch from lookout.”
He was trembling with excitement. He would drag her there if she refused. Reluctantly she rose. The surly guards closed in around her, and they all headed off through the trees.
There was no proper ladder, only a log with a few stumps of branches still attached. She clambered up, awkward in her long cloak and anxious not to trip over her sword, following Blood Beak. The uneven nest on top was already packed with chiefs, creaking under their weight. She found a place to sit, aware that her guards could see her and were waiting underneath.
The sky was blue already, with a burning wound in the northeast showing where the sun was about to rise in molten gold. A lark sang its heart out far overhead, and lesser songsters whistled and chirruped in the trees. She had never heard birdsong like that in Krasnegar. It was a beautiful day to die.
“Are coming!” a man hidden from her proclaimed. She recognized the king’s voice. The legions did seem closer, a wall of men and bronze, advancing slowly.
If I am to be rescued, then now is the moment, she thought, but her childish ideas of rescues seemed very foolish now. She was not going to be rescued. She was going to be killed by the goblins long before the imps arrived. As soon as Death Bird left, probably. Her parents would never know what had happened to her. She would never know what had happened to them, or Gath, either. If Gath was here, he could tell her what was going to happen. Of course she was glad Gath was not here—but it would be nice to have someone.