Clerics traveled at a reduced fare, too.
4
“I have the strangest sensation that the ground is going up and down,” Ylo said. That, and the pack on his back, were making him roll as he walked.
Shandie grunted. “Me, too.”
“Of course we’re not really on dry land yet, are we?” The grubby little fishing village was ankle-deep in mud, and blurred by a steady downpour. There were no stores or inns or even streets, only wattle shacks cowering in random disorder along the waterfront. Whatever the place was called—if it even had a name—it would not be on any map. The few locals slopping around in the mud were eyeing the two strangers with undisguised impish nosiness, but even the dogs were too wet to do anything about them. The only brightness Ylo could detect in the gloom was that his current civilian dress included boots in place of military sandals.
He shot a worried glance at his companion. Shandie had never been a chatterbox, but at the moment he seemed unusually taciturn and depressed. Was this merely an aftereffect of seasickness?
“Something wrong, Sire?”
“No. Well, yes, of course. Everything is wrong.” The imperor straightened and smiled with a complete lack of conviction. “I suppose I’m upset about Emthoro. Worried, I mean. Just because he and my wife’s sister weren’t at the enthronement doesn’t mean that they’re necessarily the two impostors. If they’re not, then they must be in real danger.”
“I’m sure they didn’t volunteer.” Ylo could think of nothing more encouraging to say than that.
“No, I suppose not.”
Umpily’s latest devastating message had appeared on the scroll just before the fishing boat docked. It made sense that the fake imperor and impress were the missing Emthoro and Ashia. Even with unlimited sorcery available, some family background knowledge would make such a pretense easier.
Shandie must certainly be upset by the news, but perhaps not quite in the way he had said. Imps put great stock in family loyalty, and Emthoro had not been overly trustworthy to start with. There was no evidence that he had cooperated willingly with Zinixo or was enjoying his new status, but the suspicion was inevitable.
For a few minutes the two men trudged in silence through the weedy soup. Soon they had left the miserable hamlet behind and were shivering their way along a track that was barely distinguishable from the surrounding marshes. Clouds and rain merged with mists and puddles so that heaven and earth seemed to have turned to gray water together.
Then Shandie said, “Ylo—Yyan, I mean . . . This looks worse all the time! Creating an imposter imperor was a master stroke. Now the Covin can take all the time it wants to hunt me down. Zinixo doesn’t even need me anymore! He can have me killed, or just forget about me, even:”
Pessimism was not Shandie. If he ever had doubts, he always kept them to himself.
Startled, Ylo said, “But look on the good side! The Covin won’t be hunting you nearly as hard as it was, or at least as hard as we thought it was.”
“But how can I ever claim my throne? How can I ever prove who I am, even? Anyone I ask for help will dismiss me as a madman!”
“You need Sir Acopulo,” Ylo said sternly. “He would remind you that there’s good in every evil. If the imperor were missing, then everyone would be out looking for him, and you’ve been seen by half Pandemia in your time. With a fake Emshandar dancing at balls in Hub, anyone who recognizes you will just congratulate you on your resemblance to the great man.”
Shandie grunted and said nothing. The next time Ylo spoke to him, he did not answer.
Eventually a stand of firs solidified out of the rainy mist, marking the end of the dismal swamps. Ylo headed for them, braving a ditch and some scratchy shrubs so he could take shelter, crouching under the branches. He was soaked to the inside of his skin, but it was relief to be out of the downpour, even if only for a few minutes. He unslung the pack and balanced it on a tangle of roots. Then he took a hard look at his companion, and did not like what he saw.
Blue-lipped and shivering, Shandie glared back at him. “Are you planning for us to walk to Krasnegar in this, Signifer?” Ylo flinched. The weather was not his fault, and what had happened to their agreed false identities? ”Should be able to get mounts just along this road—Sire.”
“Then go and fetch them! On the double. I’ll wait here.” The imperor turned his back.
In two years, he had never spoken to Ylo like that, even when delivering a deserved rebuke. Neither hardship nor seasickness nor the bad news from Umpily could explain such un-Shandyish behavior. Possibly he was coming down with a fever. More likely he was just testing Ylo’s loyalty again.
“I’ll be as quick as I can, sir.” Ylo ducked out into the rain. He headed back to the trail, striding fast. He would not let a little rudeness discourage him from his purpose. Nevertheless, he had an uneasy feeling that something unexpected was going wrong.
The fugitives dared not use the posting inns, because they would surely be watched. There were no hostelries close, anyway, or so the fishermen had said, nor a horsetrader either. But this was the Impire, so there would certainly be a constabulary within reach, and they had said that it was only a league or so away, along this wretched apology for a road.
The guard would be a retired centurion, most like, or perhaps merely an optio in a desolate nothing place like this. Whatever his former rank had been, he would certainly be a veteran, and the army always looked after its own. Ylo would spin some tale of shipwreck and a legate in distress. The guard would have at least one horse. He would willingly commandeer another from a neighbor—probably two, with a boy to bring all three of them back. They would be cart horses, likely, but better than walking. Ylo and Shandie could ride to the nearest decent-size village and there buy some mounts. It was a fairly obvious plan, but not so obvious that Shandie should not have asked about it.
The fishermen’s league was an unusually long one. The guard turned out to be ancient and surly and very uncooperative, but his horse was worse; it had not been ridden in years and had become almost feral. As he floundered through mud and undergrowth after the brute, Ylo could not help reflect how much less trouble two men would have catching it. Three would do even better.
Still, the horse Ylo could not bridle had never been foaled, and he eventually persuaded the decrepit, spavined, ill-tempered hack of that simple truth and rode it in bareback just to emphasize the point. The guard’s smelly little shed contained a surprising quantity of tack. It was rusty and filthy, but there was plenty of it. By then Ylo was beyond observing niceties of law. He saddled his mount and headed for the nearest farm.
Rounding up was much easier on horseback than on foot. Riding the guard’s horse and leading a stolen one, he set off in search of the imperor.
Somehow, he was not surprised to find him gone.
Any sensible man would have headed to the hamlet by now to find warmth and shelter. But the pack was still there, under the trees. That was worrisome.
The marshes were flooding. Shandie was almost at the little village, wading through thigh-deep water. He staggered at the waves set up by the horses’ great feet, then turned to Ylo with a sour expression.
“I thought you’d deserted!”
Ylo slid from the saddle, wincing at the icy bite of the water. He began tightening girths on the spare mount.
“I was delayed by some beautiful girls and a hot meal. Which hack do you fancy? That one’s Brute and this is Loot. We’ll trade them both in at—”
“Return them.” Shandie began wading again.
“And where the Evil are you going?” Ylo bellowed.
The imperor swung around to glare at him. “I have decided to return to Hub. You may follow if you wish. If you prefer not to, then go with the Good.” He hesitated. “Er—thank you for past services.”
“What? I think I deserve an explanation!”
Shandie’s teeth were chattering. “I mean what we planned was crazy! How could we possibly prevail against the Covin? Pandemia hasn’t seen its like in a thousand years! My duty is to go back to Hub and give myself up.” He was avoiding Ylo’s eye now.
“You? Give up?”
“What else? I know I can do a better job of running the government than anyone else can. I don’t suppose the dwarf will interfere much, as long as he is not threatened in any way. He’ll just stay out of sight and leave me alone, to rule as a figurehead. That’s what the sorcerers predicted. Thank you again, Signifer, and—”