In remote Krasnegar the customary revelry was as boisterous as ever. Yet even there the usual sparkle was oddly dimmed by a sense of someone missing. The royal ball was less riotous than usual, with very few serious injuries. Of course only a small fraction of the population could ever attend court functions, but the humble folk were not neglected. Traditionally, anyone planning an affair of any size notified the palace in advance, and either king or queen would drop in for a few minutes. Rap held the current record of eighteen parties in one day, although Inos’ great-great-grandfather was reputed to have managed twenty-nine once and almost died in consequence. This year the queen had to manage on her own, despite her elder daughter’s earnest offers of assistance.
In the little speech she repeated over and over, her majesty made her first public reference to the king’s absence. “My husband and I,” she said, ”have always taken great joy in these Winterfest celebrations, and regarded them as an occasion to reaffirm the bonds of loyalty and service which bind us to you, and you to our family. He will be truly regretful that he cannot be here with you this morning/ afternoon/evening. As you know, he has been gone for some time now on a mission of great secrecy, a mission vital to all our well-beings. I am sure that you look forward to his return with almost as much anticipation as do his children and I . . .” And so on. She did not explain where he was or what he was doing, though.
To the south, on the far side of the taiga, the impish garrison at Pondague stood to arms all through the festive season, for a goblin attack at that time had become traditional. That year nothing happened. The forests remained quiet—eerily so.
So began the year 2999, and the peoples of Pandemia hunkered down to endure the long dark in expectation of better days to come. Even the rich, who could afford candles, found winter tedious.
In Malfin, Sir Acopulo fretted and fumed, hunting in vain for any ship willing to set sail in the continuing stormy weather.
In the southern provinces of Pithmot, a somewhat roadworn coach meandered on its way, frequently detouring from one country house to another as Thinal befriended local worthies. Whenever his cheating, embezzling, or filching became dangerously occult, Rap would quietly intervene to stop it. As the weeks went by, though, the little scoundrel perfected his technique to the point where he could elicit sizable gains without rippling the ambience hardly at all. He no longer talked of abandoning ship, even when Rap made him replace his loot where he had found it. He was using the journey as a training course.
Ylo’s abduction of the imperor proceeded without a hitch, aided by Centurion Eemfume (Retired) and his three friends. On the road, in bed, at board—even when he went to the latrines—Shandie was never out of sight of at least two of them. He sulked, ranted, argued, and ordered, and was treated with the polite sympathy due a deranged. aristocrat. Ylo was able to relax and enjoy the journey, wenching his way across Julgistro.
Gradually the days grew longer. In Thume it was the rainy season.
SIX
Life’s young day
1
Snowflakes big as feathers danced in the air, tickling eyelids and turning the sun to a brilliant blur. The air was warmer than it had been for days. Hooves clopped on the smooth stone of the Great West Way, and winter scenery drifted by in a monochrome of white and gray. Even the grasses of the ditches were colorless.
“The turnoff’s just ahead, as I recall,” Centurion Eemfume said.
“All great friendships must end eventually,” Ylo responded. He had been lost in a reverie about waitresses, trying to decide whether he preferred the slim, energetic ones or the plump, comfortable ones. It was a difficult choice, although not a very important one. He enjoyed both very much.
He realized that Eemfume had arranged this discussion, edging his horse aside and thus Ylo’s also. The others were several paces back, out of earshot.
“You’ll be all right now, Signifer, I think,” the centurion said cautiously.
Ylo laughed. “Perfectly! Did you ever see such a change in a man?”
It had happened only three days since. Shandie had gone to bed still a wild-eyed, bearded maniac threatening terrible torments on all those who kidnapped their rightful imperor. He had awakened sane, icily furious, demanding a razor and hot water.
Even his guards, who had never known him before, had recognized his authority from that moment on. Indeed, if he and Ylo were to give contradictory orders now, it was more than likely that Eemfume and his friends would obey the imperor.
The Covin, in short, had given up.
“Course we can come all the way to the door if you feel it’s needful, Signifer,” the centurion said wistfully. Never in his life had he earned money as he had these last few weeks.
“No, I’m sure we’ll be all right now—thanks to you and your friends.” For the mythical Yyan and Yshan to turn up at the lordly estate of the rightful marquis would provoke embarrassment, to say the least, as no one there would have ever heard of them. “Yshan was talking about giving you all a bonus, if that would not hurt your feelings?”
The old warrior pursed his lips. “’Twenty-five years in the ranks, and you think we have feelings?”
Ylo laughed again. “Well, it was just a thought. We are very grateful, both of us!”
He meant that. Shandie was cured and could take charge of his quest again. Now, at last, Ylo was free to implement his own plans—return to Yewdark and Eshiala, defection and seduction.
The turnoff appeared on schedule, a track winding off through the leafless black trees and over the iron-gray hills of winter. Somewhere along that trail Eemfume and his three friends would find their childhood homes, half-forgotten relatives, perhaps wives and future children, plus shelter for their old age. A milestone reported Mosrace itself close ahead on the highway. Somewhere thereabouts was the estate to which Ylo and Shandie were supposedly heading.
The parting was gruff and manly. Gold clinked. Shandie thanked each man in turn, shaking his hand and making sure of his correct name. Ylo could guess that there would be further rewards in future if the imperor won back his throne. With a few final jocular remarks, the two parties separated.
Shandie kicked his horse to a canter, and Ylo rode at his side. The fluffy snow whirled by playfully.
“Good men!” Shandie said. “Fine men! It’s men like those that made the impire, not us fancy rulers.”
“Believe me, those four were much better than most.” Ylo spoke from experience, having served in the ranks.
They rode on for a while without speaking, both aware that there were things that would have to be said, now the two of them were alone together for the first time since Newbridge.
“There’s supposed to be a fair inn at Mosrace,” Ylo remarked.
“There is. I know it well.”
“Food good?”
“Superb, last time I was there. Feeling like a celebration?” Shandie shot a sideways smile at his companion.
“Why not?” Ylo said innocently, thinking it might well be their last evening together. He must start back to Yewdark soon, or he would miss the daffodils—not that he was about to mention those, of course.
The horses thundered by a creaking wagon loaded with firewood.
“Ylo,” Shandie said, speaking loudly over the beat of hooves, ”I am not one for sentimental speeches . . .”
“I’m not much of one for listening to them.”
“Well, you’re going to listen to one now! At the moment I can offer you only my heartfelt thanks and my eternal gratitude. When I regain my throne, then whatever reward you want will be yours. Political office? You can be consul, proconsul, senator—name it. Lands? I offered you a dukedom once and you turned it down. I shall not be refused again, I promise you! I thought you deserved it then because of what Grandsire did, but by the Gods, Brother Yyan, now you’ve earned anything I have in my power to give!”
Ylo found that idea funny, somehow. How about your wife?
“What did I do? Kidnapping the imperor, you mean? You’ll set a dangerous precedent if you give me a dukedom for it.”
Shandie turned a steady dark gaze on him. His face was windburned by the long winter journey, and he was even leaner than he had been before. His hair was longer, so he seemed more like a civilian than a soldier, but there was no hint of madness there now, only a dangerous, implacable purpose.
“You saved me from the Covin. I was dead set on going back to Hub, absolutely determined. I was convinced the whole thing was a fraud. I thought you’d lied to me, Rap had, Raspnex had—everyone! At times I thought Emthoro had set up the whole thing to steal the throne. And, I’m profoundly ashamed to say this, but I even suspected you of having designs on my wife!”