Shandie looked up expectantly. “Now can we have that council of war?”
“Was just going to suggest it,” King Rap said cheerfully. He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. “The signifer says he is with us, also.”
All eyes flickered briefly to Ylo.
“I never doubted him for a minute,” Shandie said.
Startled, Ylo glanced around. He met the faun’s eye and looked away quickly.
“I don’t doubt anyone here,” the imperor added. “I notice that the one person you did not ask was my wife.” He smiled at her.
Now the attention went to Eshiala, down on the rug with Maya. She glanced up, cold and beautiful as the Qoble Mountains. “What exactly is the question, your Majesty?”
Shandie blinked, which was about as close to showing surprise as he ever came.
The faun studied her intently for a moment, then said, “The dwarf Zinixo has stolen the Impire, and we are going to overthrow him and steal it back. Are you with us?”
“You are questioning my loyalty to my husband and the Impire?”
“I am asking where your first loyalty lies.”
She frowned, then suddenly colored. “To my child.”
“Eshiala!” the imperor exclaimed, his normal impassivity cracking.
“Steady!” the faun said softly. “She’s absolutely correct.”
Eshiala lifted Maya and hugged her. The marble calm seemed to crack for a moment, showing fires of panic within. “My only concern is her welfare! I don’t want to see her serving a dwarf all her days. If we fight, then we’ll be discovered and captured. I just want to hide! Some safe retreat where Maya can grow up in peace and freedom—that’s what I want.”
The king nodded. “But she would be healthier and safer in the palace than in poverty and hiding.”
“I don’t agree at all!” the impress said sharply. “I despise the court!”
“Eshiala!” Shandie exclaimed again. Had he never realized that? How could a man so perceptive be so blind to his own wife’s feelings?
The faun raised a hand to silence him. “Now you see why I didn’t ask her! She has no choice, and we have no choice in her case. The princess would be almost as valuable to Zinixo as yourself. Ma’am, we are unanimous in seeking only safe refuge for you and your child. To have the two of you fall into the dwarf’s hands would be disaster.” He scratched his tangled hair ruefully. ”Not that we aren’t in a disaster already, of course! But if the enemy were offering prizes, that little beauty might have a higher price on her head than even Warlock Raspnex or myself.”
“We are agreed, then,” Shandie said testily. “My wife and child must go into hiding. But she will require companions. Proconsul, would you and your wife be willing to accept such an exile?”
“We should be honored, sire,” the old man said, flushing, and his wife nodded vigorously, her chins flexing.
“I am grateful! I wish I could say that the term will be short, but obviously I cannot. And you will need a trusty guard—Ylo, or perhaps Centurion Hardgraa. Possibly Doctor Sagorn would like to join you, also?”
Ylo carefully kept his eyes on the scruffy rug in front of him. Let them all go off and fight an army of sorcerers! Looking after the impress was certainly the job he could handle best!
The old jotunn cleared his throat. “I think not, Sire.”
Ylo glanced up in surprise, and everyone was staring at the old man’s grim smile.
“I should think that a safe sanctuary would be your choice!” Shandie said, frowning suspiciously.
“A jotunn is never too old for battle, Sire!” The sinister old man exchanged smirks with the faun and then addressed the imperor again.
“I have near as much to fear as you do, your Majesty. I have never admitted this in public before. I know a word of power.” He glanced around sardonically, assessing the reaction. “One word only. I am, in the occult sense, a genius. My native talent is intelligence. That is why run-of-the-mill scholars, like Acopulo there, always seem so slow to me. As I understand the situation, Zinixo has been hunting down all the words he can find. If he catches me, my lot will be torture and death. Have I stated the case fairly?”
“Very,” Raspnex rumbled, with a hideous leer.
Sagom sighed. “My motives are as strong as your own, therefore. And I think my friends will agree, when they have had time to think on it.”
What friends? Frowning faces told Ylo that others were wondering the same as he was. King Rap was smiling, however, in his wry way. There was something very odd about the old sage—the way he had appeared so quickly the previous evening, and the way the minstrel Jalon had disappeared. Perhaps there was more than one word involved, for one word did not produce miracles. Sagorn was hinting at more than he had admitted.
“I do not question your motives or loyalty,” the imperor said tactfully. “I was merely thinking of physical stamina and endurance.”
“His help and counsel will be very helpful,” King Rap said innocently. “And he does have much to lose.”
“Such protestations are unnecessary!” Sir Acopulo snapped. The little man had been glaring with loathing at Sagorn. “As I understand the situation—in my slow way—Legate Ugoatho is presumed to have been enthralled by the usurper. Therefore anyone who was present in the Throne Room last night is on his proscription list, and that means all of us.”
“Then you do not comprehend the situation at all,” the jotunn retorted sharply. He curled his long lip. “We are not talking of any normal rebellion, or proscriptions.” He sneered the word.
Acopulo colored furiously. “Perhaps you will explain for the benefit of us run-of-the-mill mundanes?”
“Gladly. Listen carefully. You are in no physical danger, and to fall into Zinixo’s hands might even be to your advantage. Let us take Signifer Ylo as an example. By supporting the imperor in his bid to overthrow the dwarf, he becomes a hunted outlaw—cold and hungry, friendless, and perpetually risking his life. On the other hand, if he merely grabs the first opportunity to betray Emshandar to the Covin, then they will both be turned into loyal supporters.” The old man’s water-blue eyes seemed to burn brighter as he threw the awful words across at Ylo. “As a vassal, the imperor’s primary duty and desire will be to protect the dwarf, which will mean keeping his hegemony secret. His Majesty will therefore proceed to rule as much as possible as he would have done anyway. Do you follow? As far as his overriding loyalty to Zinixo permits, that is. And obviously that will include rewarding his own supporters. His former signifer will certainly be granted advancement.”
Everyone was staring at Ylo. Why had he been picked out to endure this? ”Slanders!” he shouted, fighting a rising panic. Advancement? Duke of Rivermead? “If you were younger, sir, and a gentleman, I would call you out for those words!” He thought he might even mean that, although he had never fought a duel in his life.
The old jotunn granted him a sinister smile. “Of course the same is true of the others. I merely use you as an example, Signifer—why do you take this so personally? Indeed, it goes further. Once Emshandar is bound in fealty to the dwarf, he will feel enormous gratitude to whoever has led him to see the error of his former recalcitrance, and—”
“That’s enough!” the faun barked. “We know that we are fighting a dreadful evil. You need not labor the point, Sagorn. I had rather face a horde of goblins than what threatens us now.”
Easy for him to say, but could any of them trust Ylo from now on? Could he trust any of them? Worse—could he even trust himself ? What exactly could he hope to gain by supporting this ludicrous revolution? Eshiala, of course, but what after that? Now he saw why the faun was so interested in people’s motives. Zinixo had all the imperor’s powers plus his own sorcery. Perhaps he would reward Ylo with a dukedom if he betrayed Shandie? Or handed over the faun, even?
God of Horrors!
“Let us progress to business!” Shandie said impatiently. “If this were any normal rebellion, I would hasten at once to the nearest legion.”
“The army would rally to you, of course, Sire,” Count Ionfeu said softly. “No imperor has ever been more popular with the army.”
“Thank you. But that won’t help in this case, will it?”
“No.” The faun sighed.
“So what can we do?”
“Sorcery can only be fought with sorcery. We must gather an opposing covin.”
Shandie’s dark eyes narrowed. “Last night I was told that was impossible.”
“It may well be,” Rap admitted. “The first question is, where can we even begin to look? The warlock said last night that his nephew had gathered up every sorcerer in Pandemia. He now admits that he may have been exaggerating.”