“Come,” she said, and led the way across to a pair of divans, upholstered in ivory silk and set at an angle to each other. “Don’t be too proud, child. Warlocks are accustomed to gratifying their whims. If you do too good a job of impressing him, you may find yourself … surprisingly eager to accommodate his wishes, shall we say?” She laughed softly, but her eyes were mocking Inos’s shock. “Do sit, though. We have a little time to kill. Wine?”
“Er … thank you.” Inos sat and fussed at arranging her train, but eventually she forced herself to lift her chin and look across and meet the sultana’s scornful gaze.
“Your Majesty, I behaved very badly the last time I was in this room. I did not thank you for rescuing me from the imps. Truly I am grateful and I apologize again for my discourtesy.”
A slight movement of Rasha’s lip seemed to convey more than a whole shrug might have done. “You were overwrought, and besotted by a man. Girls are subject to such fits of insanity. I hope you have recovered by now?”
“I shall never forget Rap. What he did for—”
“Your aunt told me. Whatever he did, he did for one reason only. Everything men do is aimed at possessing and using women!”
In Zark that might be more true than Inos had first thought. Rather than argue, she just smiled.
“You don’t believe me?” The sorceress stretched out a hand and cupped the crystal goblet that stood on the table beside her. There was another on the table beside Inos, who had not previously noticed even the tables.
“You have much to learn, child,” Rasha said. “Now I must warn you of something.” She stabbed a stiletto fingernail toward a small rectangular rug. “Our visitor tonight will appear there.”
Inos might have guessed that, for the mat was so positioned that anyone standing on it would be facing the two women, putting the three of them in a logical triangular grouping. She wondered why no chair had been provided; that seemed very inhospitable.
It was a curious mat, patterned in metallic tones of gold and silver and fiery copper, but as thin as paint. Even the knife-edge joints in the smooth mosaic floor seemed to show through to its surface, yet Inos could imagine that this strange carpet was not resting on the floor at all, but was somehow suspended above it, and the shiny spirals in the metallic surface went round and round while a faint, high note like a distant viol—
She jumped.
Rasha had snapped her fingers. “Don’t look too hard at the mat, Inosolan. It’s powerful stuff for a mundane.”
“Er … yes. Thank you.” Shakily Inos took a mouthful of wine, still aware of a faint singing in her ears. The patterns seemed to have daubed themselves on her eyes, dancing faintly in the air between her and anything she looked at.
“They’re known in the trade as welcome mats,” Rasha remarked. “So much power tends to leak a little. As I said, our guest will materialize there. There could be danger.”
“Danger?”
“Yes, danger. And not just to your precious virtue, either!”
Why did she keep raising the stakes? Of course there were old tales of sorcerer wars and battles where occult powers had been loosed, but Inos had never paid them much heed.
“The sorcerous rarely trust one another.” Rasha lowered her long dark lashes, and for a moment looked as untrustworthy as could be imagined. “Olybino may attempt a strike at me.”
“Oh?” Inos wondered darkly which team she should be cheering.
“He may seek to lay a loyalty spell upon me. The wardens are particularly fond of that abomination—I expect they all do it. Of course, I might prove to be the stronger, and then he would be mine.” Rasha smiled in thoughtful silence and sipped her wine.
Inos debated which question to ask first. Apparently she was expected to ask something. “Is there any way of … Can you judge in advance who—”
“Who’s stronger? Not usually. It would require extensive intelligence work, and of course a sorcerer will normally seek to invoke the aid of his votaries. Battles between sorcerers can mushroom into occult wars with dozens involved on each side. That was what destroyed Shing Pol, and Lutant. Even the water in the harbor boiled at Lutant, so they say … I’m sure Olybino has been around long enough to have collected quite a few votaries.”
“Slave sorcerers?”
Rasha smiled, catlike. “But he has not had time to bring any to Arakkaran by mundane means, and I haven’t detected any occult intrusions. I might have missed them, of course.” She did not seem very worried; indeed, she seemed to be looking forward to whatever was going happen. “As I said, he may be too cautious to come himself. Even if he does, he will probably materialize very faintly, just a transparent wraith. In that case we shall merely have a civilized little chat, and he will depart again. If we wants to use any sorcery here, then he must project more of himself, and if he steps off the welcome mat, we can be sure his intentions are hostile—he will be trying to bring in help. I doubt that even a warlock can manage to do that and hold me off at the same time, but you had best take cover if it happens.”
“Take cover where, your Majesty?”
“Downstairs. Run like hell,” Rasha snapped. That was the first real flaw Inos had detected in the aristocratic impersonation. The accent was still pure Hubban aristocrat, but the words did not ring true, even as humor.
“Run swiftly,” Rasha said crossly, “to the stairs and get below floor level—understand? Apart from this chamber, the palace is shielded. That doesn’t mean he can’t come after you, of course, once he has dealt with me.” She took another sip of wine, again regarding Inos carefully as she did so. “Or he might try to steal you away from me. Refuse any invitations or instructions to approach the welcome mat. Your aunt would miss you.”
So that was why Kade had not been invited! Inos was a token in the evil game, and Kade was a hostage for her good behavior. Inos reached for her glass again, conscious that her hand was shaking again. She hoped that was only from anger.
“Tell me about him,” she said.
Rasha smiled like a satisfied cat. “He is about my age, and an idiot. He likes to play with soldiers, and yet he has no more sense of strategy than a pigeon. About a year ago, the dwarf Zinixo appeared out of nowhere and slew Ag-An, the witch of the west. Had Olybino had any sense at all, he would have hailed the new warlock and tried to make friends. Instead he let himself be talked into a counterattack with Lith’rian, the elf. Elves hate dwarves, of course, but what had that to do with East? Nothing! Anyway, they failed miserably! So East has made a dangerous enemy. Whatever he may tell you, just remember that he is a very worried warlock!”
“Worried, ma’am?” What on earth could worry a warlock?
The sorceress nodded gloatingly. “He fears the dwarf’s grudge. Only his alliance with Lith’rian protects him; he certainly can not trust mad old Bright Water to take his part, especially now his legions have despoiled her fellow goblins. So he needs the support of the imperor. He can vote, too, remember, if the Four split evenly.”
Inos nodded dumbly, wondering what this had to do with her.
“Olybino has two thousand men stranded in Bright Water’s sector, likely to be destroyed by jotnar as soon as the ice goes out. What will the imperor say to that, mmm?”
“I know that, but where do I come in?”
“You,” Rasha said with obvious relish, “are extremely important!”
“I am?” Inos felt a tremor of excitement and hope.
“Yes, you are. If the warlock aids his troops against the jotnar raiders, then he violates the Protocol, because they are reserved to the witch of the north. If he tries to withdraw his men, then the goblins will attack, and Bright Water may come to their assistance. Again, he would provoke an occult war between wardens.”
“So he needs a peaceful solution!” Inos cried. Who would have dreamed that events in tiny Krasnegar could have such far-flung repercussions? But Kade had been right all along to trust Rasha! Cool heads must prevail, she had said.
�
��And a peaceful solution needs you, Insolan. If the wardens agree to put you on your throne, then they can force Kalkor to withdraw his claim, and the imperor, also. You are the only solution that may be acceptable to both sides.”
Foronod and the hometown jotnar could not resist the wardens, either. They would just have to accept a reigning queen whether they liked it or not! Wonderful! Inos took a drink in celebration.
The sorceress lifted her own glass and sniffed, testing the fragrance of the wine while regarding Inos carefully over the rim. “Azak lusts after you.”
Damnable woman!
“You blush, so you already know that.”
“I have seen no evidence of it; he avoids me utterly. And any lady would blush at such a statement.”
“Lady?” the sorceress muttered. “What exactly is a lady? Never mind. Give me your opinion of our self-styled sultan.”
“He is crude and violent, a barbarian!” Of course, if all a woman cared for was muscles and size, then Azak was unsurpassed. But what sort of woman would want a human stallion?
Red fire burned within the ice—Rasha’s eyes glittered at Inos over the top of the glass. Inos wondered nervously what she might have provoked, and why, but all the sorceress said was, “You have not told me what you think of my wine.”
Inos reached for her goblet. “It is quite delicious, ma’am. Elvish, is it not?”
“No, it’s only the local rotgut, but I upgraded it. Glad you like it. Where have you tasted elvish?”
“At Kinvale, at Winterfest. Well, my father let me try it once …”
Rasha sipped thoughtfully, still playing the part of haughty aristocrat to perfection. In what way was this cryptic sorceress hoping to impress the warlock? Inos could imagine her floating into any ladies’ salon at Kinvale without ruffling a single eyelash—except of course the conspiratorial mothers and duennas would indulge in mass suicide on seeing their marriageable wards and daughters so utterly outclassed. A mere adept, knowing only two words of power, could master any skill with ease, so Kade would have found a sorceress a miraculously quick pupil.
Coursing after hounds with Azak suddenly seemed like a very relaxing occupation compared to this sinister soiree.
“Your quarters are satisfactory, your Majesty?” Rasha laid her goblet carefully on the table and smiled.
So now it was conversation time? Inos hastily gathered her wheeling wits and began enthusing politely about her quarters. The small talk danced rapidly around Arakkaranian horses, Kade’s life in Kinvale, and comparisons of climate. To babble such trivialities with a sorceress was a weirdly unexpected experience, but Inos was quite willing to cooperate. Peaceful solution! Extremely important!
If Rasha was now seeking to put her at ease, then she was being very skillful, and of course even the Imperial gowns, more familiar than djinn costume, might be designed to help. Alternatively, the sorceress might just be practicing her own acting technique. Or both.
Inos prattled on in the approved Kinvale fashion, saying nothing, playing the game. When she had first been introduced to small talk, she had found it a deadly boring pastime. Then she had discovered that it had little rules, and she could keep score, and play it as a contest. She had confessed this once to a couple of other girls at Kinvale and discovered that they were doing the same. Even their respective sets of rules had turned out to be similar.
Rasha was holding Inos to a tie.
“Your aunt Kadolan is a remarkable woman.”
Ah! Two points for compliments about a relative.
“I love her dearly. She is all I have left.” One point for sickly sentiment.
The sorceress nodded and for a moment seemed to brood. “There is something about her … She is a lady, I suppose. So she regards herself. My experiences of so-called aristocrats have rarely been pleasant, Inosolan. I was prepared to despise her. I thought that ‘lady’ meant ‘parasite.’ I deliberately told her something of my history and background. I expected contempt.”
Silence fell. Lose the match for going serious … Inos said softly, “She pitied you. She still does.”
“Yes, she does. And that surprised me, I admit.”
“Despite her affected ways, Kade is a very genuine and sympathetic human being. There isn’t a mean bone in her body.”
“No, there isn’t. I have learned much from her in the last two weeks. As you have noticed?”
Inos took her courage between her teeth and said, “You can read my thoughts?”
Rasha glanced at her quizzically, then laughed. “You can usually tell when someone is lying, can’t you?”
“I … I may suspect.”
“A sorcerer knows. Mundanes give themselves away all the time, as obviously as dogs wagging tails or cats arching backs. That is most of it, a talent called insight. Sorcery can go further, of course, but I don’t like to pry, because it takes all the fun out of things. Other people’s minds turn out to be as disgusting as one’s own, and mucking about in them is depressing. It also tends to addle their brains. Torture is cleaner.”
Inos shivered, and Rasha chuckled. Then she glanced over at the east window and frowned. “He is late!”
She was forgetting her illusion of youth. No woman of her apparent years, a mere girl, could ever radiate confidence as she did. At Kinvale Inos had met maidens of great beauty and such elevated breeding and self-esteem that they could hardly breathe, but none of them had been as assured as this seeming innocent. And she was criticizing a warlock, no less.
The wine was superb. Inos was grateful for the warmth it poured through her. Despite the white glare of the dome overhead, this was nighttime in Arakkaran and the sweet-tempered wind was cool now on her arms and shoulders.
“It is nearly three weeks since your father died.”
Inos sobered. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Three weeks since he gave you his word of power.”
Very sober! “I don’t think he did give me a word of power, your Majesty. I think he tried, but he was too ill, too weak. He said something, yes. It was only gibberish.”
Rasha eyed her thoughtfully. “They are all gibberish. No one knows what language they are in or what they mean, if anything. If you heard it, you must remember it. Can you remember it?”
“No, ma’am, I can’t. I mean I can just remember bits of it. Like a long ‘ooo’ sound near the end.”
What if Rasha demanded the word of power and Inos couldn’t tell her? What if the warlock did? Red-hot hooks or addled brains? Inos’s hand tightened around her goblet, and she reminded herself yet again that she was a queen and must play politics with truly royal nerve.
Now the scrutiny was longer. “Everyone is good at something.”
“I beg your pardon?” Inos said politely.
“Everyone has a talent for something. Gulth’s was thinking like a fish.”
Inos peered carefully to see if the sorceress was trying to be humorous. “Did you say, ‘Thinking like a fish,’ your Majesty?”
“When I was twelve, my parents owed much money to an old man called Gulth. He took me in part payment.”
“Kade told me. Tragic.”
Kade might not have a mean bone in her body, but Inos was uncomfortably aware that she herself had quite a few.
“Mmm. Gulth had a word of power. His native talent was a skill at fishing. Even without the word, he might have been a success. With it, he was a genius. Always he knew where the nets should go, where the fish would be that day. Had he also had any real brains at all, he might have grown rich. He didn’t. Even so, he was the least poor man in the village.”
“Least poor! You are being ironic, Majesty?”
“Meaning he had two blankets and his roof was the only one that didn’t leak. He taught me what I must do to please him. It was better than being beaten.”
“But not much better, I expect? Not at that age.”
“Very much better. Obviously you have never been properly beaten. And I had a natural talent for it.”
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sp; For being beaten? Surely not! Inos wished that the warlock would arrive soon and interrupt this dangerously personal conversation. “Talent for …?”
Queen Rasha’s lip curled in either contempt or sarcasm. “For pleasing men, your aunt would call it. Gulth was old and weak. He was also greedy, once he understood what he had in me. He told me his word of power!”
Inos didn’t think she understood that, and might prefer not to.
“Shared it. He whispered it in my ear one cold, damp dawn, and I, too, became a genius, a genius at pleasing men. But he was old and sick. I expect the word had been helping to keep him alive. He weakened his power by sharing it, you understand? And then he overexerted himself.”
“Doing what?”
“Being pleased.”
“Oh.”
“So I was a widow and just turned fourteen, but I was a genius at pleasing men.”
“Ah!”
“And my talent was even stronger after he died, of course. A self-defeating talent most of the time!”
“Why that?” Inos inquired foggily, thinking of Azak for some reason. Did big men need more pleasing than little men?
“Babies.”
“Oh.”
“And what is your natural talent, Inosolan?”
“Not politics, certainly. Perhaps riding and hunting—”
“No,” said the sorceress firmly. “You used no occult power on Evil that first day. I saw that episode. You ride well, but only as a mundane.”
Shocked, Inos said nothing. The sorceress stared at her darkly.
“You don’t seem to have one, do you? You’re certainly not hiding anything from me. You just don’t know the answer. I’ve watched you from time to time, but I don’t know, either!”
“Could I have a talent for just being a good all-rounder?”
Rasha laughed abruptly and took a sip of wine. “That’s a contradiction in terms, I think. We shall have to wait and see. Perhaps one day you’ll discover you’re the world’s greatest ventriloquist, or vase painter—but when you say you don’t remember what your father said, you’re lying.”
Inos started to protest and the sorceress raised a hand to stop her. “It adds to your value. Let us talk of pleasanter things.”
A Man of His Word Page 52
