The imperor murmured agreement. “But the new protocol will do no good unless the sorcerous can learn of it, and I know of no sorcerers except yourself and the wardens.”
The faun sipped his wine thoughtfully. “The wardens are important. They have votaries to form the basis of an army, but we also need their authority and support. We have your signature on the new protocol, and Raspnex’s. We must try to collect the other three also. They will give us authority, and credibility. Lord Umpily will get word to Lith’rian if anyone can. Your Omnipotence, have you any idea at all where Olybino has gone?”
The dwarf grunted and shook his head. “Not a clue. He may well be dead.”
“Why do you say that?” Sagom demanded. The old scholar had chosen a high, hard chair, which stressed his height. He had been following the conversation intently. With beak nose and scraggy neck, he resembled a hungry vulture looking down on a battle far below.
“Because he’s a very old man,” Raspnex said. “It’s sorcery lets sorcerers live so long.”
“Ah! And now he does not dare use his power lest he give himself away?” The jotunn beamed fiercely and turned to the faun. “There is an advantage you overlooked, lad! The Covin is a threat to free sorcerers in a way we had not thought of !”
The faun nodded, but with a quiet smile that hinted he had already seen the possibility. “And what of Witch Grunth?” The warlock shrugged his big shoulders. “She probably went back to the Mosweeps.”
King Rap sighed. “So one of us will have to go there.”
No one made any encouraging noises. Ylo drained his goblet. If anyone tried to volunteer him for such a mission, he would desert at once—defection beyond the call of duty! Of course a troll would go to the Mosweeps to hide. Trolls were not exactly inconspicuous people. But to find anyone in that soggy, impenetrable jungle would be impossible, and trolls were the most solitary of races, with no social organization at all.
“There is another reason to look for sorcery in South Pithmot,” Acopulo said, smirking as he did when he thought he was being clever. ”Someone has been freeing slaves there.”
“Slaves?” The faun raised an eyebrow. “In the Impire?” Shandie grimaced. “Not officially. My great-grandmother abolished slavery a hundred years ago, but the army has been flouting the law. It’s common knowledge that the army trades in trolls. That was going to be one of the first things I looked into . . . will look into. But for the last year or two, these so-called penal workers have been escaping with surprising frequency. Legionaries trying to track them down have been blocked. Someone has been using illicit sorcery in the Mosweeps.”
“Grunth?” The king looked to the dwarf.
“Naw.” The little man pulled the gruesome expression he used as a smile, and scratched at his beard again noisily. “She denied it. Said it was nothing to do with her, but it was in her quadrant and she wouldn’t let Olybino interfere.”
“Why didn’t he complain to the Four?” Shandie demanded.
“He did.”
“Grandsire told me he hadn’t heard from the Four in a couple of years . . . How did the vote go?”
“Well, Grunth voted against him, of course, and so did Yellowlegs. So he lost.” The dwarf’s pebbly eyes twinkled. There was a pause. Shandie smiled. Then Sagorn. The others were catching on, one after the other . . .
The only politics Ylo knew was what he had picked up as a child from listening to his father, plus some tips he had gained from Shandie. Everyone else in the room was grinning by the time he worked it out. A dwarf would never willingly side with an elf, so when Lith’rian supported Grunth, Raspnex had just abstained. If he’d voted against them, the Four would have been evenly divided and the decision would have gone to the imperor. Had Emshandar still been capable of understanding, he would inevitably have supported the army. So Raspnex had let Grunth have her victory without actually backing the same side as the elf—typical occult politics.
“Well, that settles it,” King Rap said. “One of us must go to the Mosweeps. And probably go on to the Nogid Archipelago, too.”
Shandie looked disbelieving. “Why there?”
“Because the source of—” The faun winced and shook his head. ”Can’t say. Because the Impire has never managed to subdue the anthropophagi. It hurts sorcerers to talk about sorcery, did you know that? Just take my word for it, the Nogids are a very likely place to find sorcerers.”
“You’ll get yourself eaten.”
“I’ll try not to. Which reminds me . . . is anyone ready for dinner, or shall we have some more of that rotgut wine?” Ylo took the hint, and went to fetch the ever-lasting flagon and refill the goblets. He was a little more unsteady than the ship’s rolling justified. It was potent stuff.
“So we try to track down Grunth,” Shandie said. “You must have some more ideas than that?”
“The answer lies outside the Impire, I think,” Rap said. “It will be very hard for us to do much here without giving ourselves away. We shall have to start with the mundane authorities, you see, and ask them to spread the news. I can’t think of any alternative. That means the outlying races.”
Shandie laughed. “Nordland, for example?”
“Very much Nordland! Remember Kalkor?”
“Not well. I was only a kid, and in bad shape the day you killed him. You know that. But you mean you’re serious—”
“Kalkor liked to make out that he was only a humble raider, but he was a sorcerer. Yes, I’m serious! Words are assets and can be looted like other valuables—one at a time, of course. I’d bet there’s barrels of sorcery rolling around Nordland.”
“You think the thanes know of it?”
The half jotunn king smiled his faunish smile. “They will deny it vehemently! Sorcery is sissy stuff ! Sailors hate it. Nonetheless, I ‘spect your average thane has a fair idea who within his domain has occult powers. That’s not important, though. All we need ask is that they spread the news. We’re not secret slave-hunters like the Covin. We’re publicly calling for volunteers, and there we have a huge advantage over Zinixo.”
“We’ll need it.” Obviously Shandie was not enthusiastic about Nordland. “I’d sooner argue with a pack of polar bears than a group of thanes.”
“Certainly. Anyone would. But for centuries the jotnar have enjoyed immunity to magic because of the Protocol. They won’t like the idea that Zinixo may now decide to enthrall them.”
“Could be an improvement. Will he?”
“If they annoy him, yes. He won’t feel safe until he rules the world. Not even then, of course, but that won’t stop him. Certainly we must get word to the thanes.”
Shandie frowned. “Jotnar? How about goblins?”
“Goblins. Djinns. Trolls.”
The frown became icy. “You make me feel like I’m rallying the outlanders against my own Impire!”
As if abashed, the faun ran fingers through his shaggy hair. “Sorry, but in a sense you have to. Zinixo holds the Impire now.”
Acopulo coughed. He was wearing his most priestly expression, Ylo noted. If Sagorn was a vulture reading the menu, the little man was a sparrow hopping around a stable yard in total disregard of the great hooves all around.
“Krasnegar, sire? The preflecting pool told you to go to Krasnegar. Wherever the rest of us go, that must be your destination.”
Shandie looked to the faun, who had not moved from his sprawled position, but who suddenly seemed larger, and very threatening. For the first time Ylo saw the jotunn in him.
“The harbor will be frozen for half a year yet,” the imperor said. ”I can’t hope to sneak across the whole width of the taiga without the goblins seeing me. Correct, Rap?”
“Correct!”
“So, Acopulo, how do I get to Krasnegar in midwinter?” The scholar shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Perhaps you don’t, but you should strive to think on a larger time scale. This struggle may well go on for years! The War of the Five Warlocks lasted a generation.” He shot a sly glance at the faun. ”The king got out. Can’t an imperor get in?”
King Rap thumped a fist on the arm of his chair. “The pool did not direct you to Krasnegar. It didn’t show you being there. It showed you my son. He’s your only, single reason for wanting to go to Krasnegar.”
The imperor nodded. “That’s how I understand it.”
“Name of Evil! He’s only just turned fourteen! Today’s his birthday. ”
“My daughter has only just turned two.”
The two monarchs glared at each other. Perhaps they both knew that tragedy was inevitable. As soon as the preflecting pool had shown the boy’s face to the future imperor, the king’s son had been branded a participant.