“Come!” Inos pushed past the two chancellors without waiting for formal summons or announcement. She strode forward, hearing the charcoal on the floor crackle behind her as the children followed. She swung around the fire, positioned herself directly before Death Bird, and curtseyed. In her soiled fur cloak it was not a very dignified curtsey, and she did not make it a very deep one. But she felt better for it. She would not kneel like all the others unless they clubbed her down.
Death Bird’s eyes seemed larger and squarer than she remembered, which probably meant he was surprised. In the Name of Evil, he should be! And if he didn’t speak, she—
Then he laughed and slapped his bulging belly with both hands. “Queen Inosolan! An unexpected pleasure.”
He had spoken in impish, and that was a huge relief. The other goblins were excluded, therefore. The dwarves would likely follow the talk easily enough.
“Indeed, Cousin, it is an unexpected pleasure for me also.” He chuckled at the formal address. “The timber shortage must be extreme if you follow me here to trade!”
It was the first real joke she had ever heard from a goblin. Of course he was no ordinary goblin. He was wise, crafty, arc utterly deadly. Already he had written his name in history among the bloodiest. She had better find some humor of her own tc respond . . .
“Right now I will settle for enough lumber to build a chair.” He shrugged. “Long Tooth!” he bellowed to someone by the door. ”Bring seat for chief woman!” He smirked up at Inos again. “This is not Hub, Inosolan. Not yet. Where is Rap?”
The question came out as a jarring bark.
“I don’t know. That’s one of the things we must discuss.” He grunted, then gestured with a thumb at his co-leader. “General Karax-son-of-Hargrax. Is Queen Inosolan of Krasnegar.”
The dwarf scrambled to his feet, scowling. The scowl didn’t matter—dwarves always scowled. He bowed, and that simple politeness was a heart-stopping relief.
“Your Majesty.”
She curtseyed again. “A pleasure, your Excellency! Cousin, may I present my son Prince Gathmor, my daughter Princess Kadolan?” For a moment the absurdity made her head spin. Not Hub, indeed! Death Bird was playing with her, and perhaps the dwarves were, also, but at the moment the play seemed harmless enough, and it was a great deal better than most of the alternatives she could think of.
And it continued. She was sweating in her furs, standing before a roaring fire, but she played the game, greeting near-naked goblins and mailed dwarves. The dwarves copied their general’s example, rising to bow to her, then sitting down again quickly. The goblins pouted and nodded, and stayed seated. Even the need to nod probably made them feel insulted, but they took their cue from their king.
As the last of the chiefs was named, a goblin hurried forward with a barrel for her to sit on. It was just in time, too. She sank onto it gratefully, wishing it were a little farther from the fire. Gath gasped, and whispered, ”Mom!” in her ear. “Later.” One trouble at a time!
Death Bird spoke to Karax, but loud enough for the others to hear, and he spoke in goblin. “Are good friends in Krasnegar. Much trade for goblins, dwarves.”
“But why is her Majesty here now?” the dwarf rumbled, staring up at her suspiciously with stony eyes. “Does she bring her army to aid our just struggle?”
The goblin on Death Bird’s left muttered a translation for his companions.
“This is a very confidential matter,” Inos said.
“Have no secrets from Dwanish friends,” Death Bird countered quickly.
Gath said “Mom!” more urgently.
Still Inos ignored him, looking thoughtfully along the line, meeting the scowls with her best regal indifference. “I am very tired, your Majesty. Perhaps you and his Excellency and I can have a talk tomorrow, when I have rested. Just the three of us. If you wish then to take the rest of your companions into your confidence, then I shall have no objection at all.”
“March at dawn!” Death Bird snapped, without waiting for her speech to be translated to the others.
“Before dawn, then.”
He shrugged. “Tonight, after feasting.” He showed his tusks in a menacing grin. “General, can you offer a tent for the lady? She might even enjoy a bucket of water. I expect she has a decadent impish dislike of grease.”
“We shall be happy to provide quarters for her Majesty.” The dwarf did not look happy, but he was probably doing his best.
Before she could thank him, though, Death Bird spoke again. “Tonight we have a feast, Inosolan. You will be an honored guest.” His tusks flashed even more ominously than before. “We shall provide some excellent entertainment, too.”
The interpreter smiled; the dwarves all grimaced. Inos suppressed a shudder.
When in Hub, do as the Hubbans tell you . . . “I shall be happy to attend your feast, your Majesty.” She had endured six of those barbarous entertainments; she could endure another without going mad.
“Bring son!” Death Bird’s tone implied dismissal.
Inos rose to her feet with all the poise she could muster, grateful for a helping hand from Kadie. “As you wish, your Majesty. Your Excellency, I accept your hospitality until then most gratefully.”
She tried not to lean on Kadie as they walked around the fire, but she was staggering with both fatigue and the release of at least some of her tension.
Gath was right beside her. “Mom!”
“Yes, dear? What is it?” Whatever it was, she was sure it was bad news.
They reached the knot of supplicants by the door, and a way was cleared for them. They moved out into the chill dark of the night. All around were campfires and tents, goblins and dwarves. Horses whinnied plaintively.
A short man loomed out of the shadows. “Follow me, ma’am.” His bass voice identified him as a dwarf. She had never thought of dwarves as lovable before.
“MOM!”
“Yes, dear?”
“They’re going to torture more men tonight!”
“I’m afraid so.” Inos sighed, stumbling as she followed her guide. She was in danger of losing him amid the teeming crowd. Despite the shortness of his legs, he was setting a dangerous pace—over tent ropes and horse tethers, between baggage. “We can’t do anything to stop them, and we can’t possibly witness anything worse than we have already. Just try to—”
“But, Mom!” Gath sounded almost incoherent. “But, Mom, tonight I recognize one of them!”
God of Mercy!
“Who?”
“The imperor!” Gath wailed.
She whirled around and grabbed him, turning him so that light from the nearest campfire illuminated his face. “You’re crazy! How can you possibly know that?”
The boy was close to tears, eyes staring, overcome by too much horror. His voice warbled crazily up and down from treble to tenor. “He’s the man I saw on the beach! The imperor! I’m sure he is, Mom! They’re going to kill him.”
5
Far away to the southeast, a lone young man rode like a maniac along the Great West Way. He reeled in the saddle with exhaustion, but he was a fine horseman, who could coax the utmost from his mount, or even doze in the saddle at times. He had been traveling for days; he had weeks of road ahead of him yet.
Now he had even outridden the panic. Doubtless Imperial couriers were already nearing Hub with the terrible news, but the civilian population knew only vague rumors. The scale of the goblin disaster was too incredible to be believed anyway. Eventually all the mounts would vanish from the posts, as they had farther north, but here the lone rider could still hire horses.
He was no longer worried about the Covin. In himself, he was unimportant. Even if they still kept watch on the highways, the sorcerers would not be looking very hard for him, and certainly not be expecting him to be heading homeward.
Ironically, even the sorcerers did not know what he knew. Nobody did! How strange that only he, in all the world, was aware of the terrible truth—Shandie was dead. When the two of them had fled from the goblin ambush, Shandie’s horse had been killed under him. Only Ylo had escaped. Even if Shandie had survived to be captured, goblins always slew prisoners.
The true ruler of the Impire now was a two-year-old child. As Ylo pounded along the highway, angling farther south every day, the weather was warming. Here and there, he saw green shoots beginning to thrust up from the soil in the annual miracle of spring. By the time he arrived at Yewdark, the daffodils would be blooming.
Day will end:
O, that a man might know
The end of this day’s business, ere it come!
But it sufficeth that the day will end,
And then the end is known.
— Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, V, i