by Dave Duncan
“I am not deaf,” Inos said coldly. “And I resent being called a mule. Now, let’s go over the seating, shall we?”
Kadie reluctantly switched back from deadly swordswoman to royal hostess, but she used the rapier to point. “Me here. Gath, there. Nia … Kev … Brak …”
“Brak won’t be coming.” Gath was staring off to the other end of the hall, suddenly tense. His face had lost its merriment and gone very wooden. Inos felt a twinge of alarm.
“Why not?”
“He just won’t.”
“Why not?..”
“Concussion. ” Gath dropped his book on the table. “Thanks, Kadie. No, I can’t!” Then he spun around and ran.
“Gath, wait! ” Inos cried, but she had already been answered. Her son vanished out the side door.
Mother and daughter exchanged worried looks.
“Go and find him,” Inos said quickly. “Tell him to come straight back here at once! No, leave the sword. “
She bit her lip as Kadie went scurrying off, holding up the hem of her gown. When she left the hall she took four or five young pages along. The palace cubs would have a much better chance of finding Gath than Inos would.
Ylinyli was still there, a look of concern on his chubby impish face.
“Concussion?” Inos said. “He did say `concussion’?”
“I fear so, ma’am.”
Rap, Rap! I need you!
She pulled out a chair and sat down.
It made no sense. If Gath had foreseen an accident, then he could have warned Brak, surely? Gath’s strange prescience didn’t work for other people, or so Rap had thought. Gath could only know ahead of time what he was going to know anyway. That was Rap’s theory. But if Brak was about to have an accident, Gath would learn of an accident eventually.
She smiled uneasily at Ylinyli. “I expect it’s some sort of prank. “
He bit his mustache. “I shouldn’t say this, ma’am …”
“Sit down and say it.”
Frowning, he leaned on a chair back and dropped his servant voice. “Inos, they’ve been picking on him. Didn’t you know?” She shook her head. But Gath had been rather morose lately. Shed blamed Rap’s absence. Concussion? Brak was the son of Kratharkran the smith, older than Gath and about twice the size. A red-haired jotunn lout! Oh, my baby!
“Why?” she whispered, horrified.
The major-domo squirmed. “Because … I don’t know, ma’am.”
“Sit down! “
Inos spoke quietly, but she still wore the occult royal glamour Rap had laid on her years ago. Moving like a flash of lightning, Ylinyli sat.
“Now tell me,” she said. “Because of his Majesty.”
“That is ridiculous!”
Still she did not raise her voice, but Ylinyli quailed.
“Of course it is, ma’am! But you know children!”
Inos forced calm on herself and reassured the major-domo with the best smile she could muster. “Oh, Lin! I don’t need secret police to be a queen, but I do need friends to be a mother! ‘ Now, please, tell me?”
Typical imp, Lin brightened and said hopefully, “First dance at the Winterfest Ball?”
“Granted! Now, what do they say?”
“That he’s run away, Inos.”
Rap had been gone for six weeks, in the dead of winter. As far as his loyal subjects knew, there was no way he could return before summer. Inos had never announced why he had gone, or where. How could she? What could she say? That he was a sorcerer and had had a premonition? That he’d gone rushing off to save the world? Rap would never forgive her.
She tried to see the situation as they must see it, the humble folk of Krasnegar. The stableboy king had run away-deserted his wife, the true queen. Another woman, perhaps?
The adults would just gossip, but children were sadistic monsters.
“They bait him?”
The imp’s fat jowls wobbled as he nodded.
Of course they would. She could imagine what the boys would say, and Gath would have to defend his father’s name. This was Krasnegar. Even the peaceable Gath would have to fight. Oh,
my poor baby!
Lin was the nosiest, most gossipy man she had ever known. He was quivering now with the urge to ask impertinent questions.
“Do you know the ringleaders?” she asked. “I could call in their fathers and talk to them.”
Lin shook his head regretfully. “There would be just as many the next day, Inos. Maybe if you made a general proclamation …” But his face said it wouldn’t work.
“Why haven’t I heard?” she demanded angrily.
“Far as I know, he’s been doing very well. He thrashed Nev, and Oshi. “
Shed seen young Oshi. “That was Gath did that? Gods!”
” ‘Stremely well. But you know jotnar-it’s always one-onone with them.”
Not always, just usually. And he hadn’t added the obviouswhen imps resorted to violence, they fought in packs. If the imp boys started in on Gath, also, then sheer numbers would overcome his occult ability to dodge.
Oh, Rap! I need you!
“Inos … ” Lin chewed his mustache again. “Gath has second sight, doesn’t he?”
Whatever Lin knew, everyone would know, but the secret was obviously out now. “He has a slight prescience, yes.”
Lin tried vainly to hide his satisfaction at this confirmation. “Well, then! He didn’t say he wouldn’t be at the dinner. Only that Brak wouldn’t.”
Inos felt a huge relief. “That’s right! And he knew there wasn’t going to be any wine! He came in after I told Kadie that, didn’t he?” Today, at least, Gath was going to win again.
But tomorrow, and the day after?
She needed her husband, but Gath needed his father much more.
How long until Rap came home? Where was he, and what was he doing?
2
“Wake up NOW!” Hardgraa said, slamming the cabin door. Ylo grunted. He had been fast asleep, but he had always had the knack of going into or out of sleep quickly. That did not mean he wished to leave his warn bunk.
“You are wanted on deck in five minutes, ” the centurion said. “You will be there. I think you will find it chilly with no clothes on, but please yourself. “
Ylo stretched and rubbed his eyes. “Your mother plied her trade in ditches and paid her customers. What clothes? Where are we? What time is it?”
“Those clothes. Somewhere on Cenmere. About an hour after breakfast. “
Ylo sat up and scratched. A century or so ago, this rotten hulk had been a fancy craft, plying the luxury trade on Cenmere, bearing aristocrats to and from their grand lakeside mansions. Now she leaked and creaked and swilled putrid fluids around in her bilges just the sort of ship a dwarf would choose! The cabin was shabby and stale-smelling. Nevertheless, he had slept extremely well, and he did not feel in the least bit seasick, which was remarkable.
He had left his mail surcoat and_ his wolfskin draped over the chair. A heap of other garments had been laid on top of them. “I’m a civilian now?” he demanded, noting that Hardgraa was garbed in doublet and hose and a warm-looking cloak. “We all are, stupid.”
“Who made those-the dwarf?”
“Ha! Wed all look like mine workers if he had. No, the faun did. They’re plain, but they’re good stuff.”
Ylo reluctantly threw off the covers and swung his feet down to a cold and dirty floor. “Shaving?”
Hardgraa whipped out a dagger and offered it hilt first. “Lots of water outside. Bucket and rope on deck.” He had obviously shaved recently, and without nicking himself. Ylo had never understood how he ever managed to do that, even with hot water and soap, because his face had the texture of tree bark. It might be as tough. Perhaps he used sandstone.
“I’ll think about it.” Ylo began dressing. If Shandie really had ordered him on deck in five minutes, then the centurion would not be bluffing about delivering him there ready or not.
Hardgraa leaned back agains
t the door. “You’ll miss that wolfskin, won’t you? Girls will take longer?”
“At least another ten minutes.” Ylo shivered into the shirt. “You do realize that the imperor is now deposed? Legally he can’t give us orders anymore. “
Hardgraa grinned menacingly. “He can give me orders!”
“Somehow I thought you would see it that way.”
The centurion tested the edge of his dagger with a horny thumb. “Are you telling me that you don’t recognize Shandie as imperor?” The grin was still there, and the menace more obvious.
Ylo pulled on hose. What was his relationship to Shandie now? An imperor could reward his associates with vast riches. A deposed ruler had nothing to offer but danger and hardship. On the other hand, if he ever did win back his throne, then his gratitude to those who had stood by him in his time of troubles ought to be infinite. Obviously a cautious man would assess the odds with great care. Last night the situation had seemed utterly hopeless, but perhaps by daylight there might be some rays of encouragement.
He met the centurion’s steely eye. Hardgraa would not be thinking that way. His loyalty to Shandie was personal and absolute; he would serve Shandie if he had to hide out in a cave until his dying day. He and Ylo were longtime comrades now, but the old legionary would not hesitate to slit Ylo’s throat if he suspected he was a threat to the imperor, and obviously anyone on this ship who was not totally loyal would be a threat. The rule of law did not apply here, as Ylo himself had just pointed out.
“I think I’ll discuss my allegiance when Shandie himself asks me.”
The centurion put his dagger away, but his face alone was still an open threat. “Should have taken that dukedom while you had the chance, shouldn’t you?”
Ylo bent to buckle a shoe. It was a perfect fit. “Rivermead? That was just a rumor, just court gossip. Why would he have offered to make me a duke? Would I have turned it down if he had? “
“He told me he had, and you had.”
Ylo did not look up. He had been very stupid to refuse that offer. The preflecting pool had promised him Eshiala, but even if he still put any faith in that vision, what was a seduction compared to a dukedom? He had hoped to win both-tumble first and Rivermead second.
“I expect you’ll believe him and not me, then.”
“Every time,” Hardgraa said.
Shoes fastened, Ylo rose to his feet, balancing against the gentle roll of the ship. “Any idea where we’re going or what we’re doing?”
Hardgraa’s face was unreadable now. “Not much. The most urgent business is to find a safe retreat for the impress and her daughter.”
Ylo picked up the cloak and adjusted it on his shoulders. “Sounds logical.”
“Of course she’ll need protection-someone will have to stay and guard her. “
Their eyes met.
“Old Ionfeu and his wife, I expect?” Ylo said, but his heart had started to beat a little faster.
Hardgraa nodded. “Plus a fighting man.”
“Then we’ll see who he really trusts, won’t we?”
“Yes, we will, won’t we?” the centurion said darkly. Ylo felt quite hurt by his obvious suspicion.
The deckhouse was bright and reasonably warm. Everyone was sitting around on shabby chairs and well-worn sofas, and the prevailing mood seemed to be one of dark brooding. There was no talking. There was no sign of food, either, so Hardgraa had not been lying when he said that Ylo had missed breakfast. His arrival seemed to go unnoticed.
Shandie was sitting by himself, staring into space, thinking. His face gave nothing away, but then it never did. He was the most impassive of men. Whether he was deciding what to have for lunch or how many thousand men to send to certain death, he always looked like that when he was thinking.
Ylo walked over and bowed. He needed practice in bowing. He had the imperor’s full attention instantly-Shandie never thought about more than one thing at a time. The midnight eyes appraised him with a hint of amusement. “Ylo! Morning! I almost didn’t recognize you without your wolfskin.”
“Nor 1, sir. The back of my neck feels very chilly.”
“It will feel worse, I’m afraid. I’ve appointed you high admiral for the next half hour. The helmsman needs a break. “
“Aye, sir,” Ylo said in a growly Nordland accent. Resignedly he headed for the door. When he glanced back, Shandie was lost in thought again. The general glum silence in the room suggested that no one had found a solution to the problem yet. Ylo went out on deck and crunched across the snowy planks to where the big jotunn heifer was holding the wheel. The wind blowing over Cenmere was colder than a snake’s smile. An inland sea more than a hundred leagues long could raise fair waves when it wanted to. It wasn’t trying very hard at the moment, but imps were never good sailors and Ylo was astonished at his feeling of well-being. Sorcery, likely.
The water was the exact color of lead coffins; the clouds hung low overhead like lids. Snow had stopped falling, but there was enough still up there to bury this unpropitious ferryboat. The horizon all around was hazy, and blank-not a sail, not a trace of land. Ylo’s landlubber impish soul cringed in horror at the sight of so much water.
The big woman did not look as weary as she should if she had been driving this hulk all night. He hated women bigger than himself, and he wanted nothing to do with sorceresses.
“I was sent to relieve you,” he said.
“May the Gods preserve us, then. Do you know how a compass works?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Hold the wheel steady and try to keep that red bit exactly where it is now.”
“Sounds easy.”
“But you won’t find it so.” She crinkled the weatherbeaten wrinkles around her ugly pale eyes, and walked away.
The wood was cold. In a few minutes his fingers were frozen and he was chilled to the bone. The compass needle refused to stay where he wanted; when he looked back he saw the wake was about as curly as his hair. He found that evidence of his own incompetence very irritating, and knowing he could do no better even more so.
How could Shandie fight an army of sorcerers? How could a deposed imperor ever regain his throne against those odds? If anyone in that deckhouse had found a convincing answer, they would not all have been looking so black. Always Shandie had been an inspiring leader, and a generous one, but a sensible man did not stay with a doomed cause. Contrariwise, a band of outlaws did not tolerate potential traitors. Common sense whispered that Ylo’s best course of action was to swear eternal loyalty until he reached shore-and then just vanish. He would never be Duke of Rivermead now. A wealthy, buxom widow was his only hope.
But there was one interesting advantage to the sudden change in his fortunes. The preflecting pool’s prophecy seemed a lot more believable since yesterday. He had never quite believed that he would ever find means to seduce an impress. Royal ladies were always very carefully guarded. His chances were much better now.
Boots crunched on the snow, and the king of Krasnegar arrived with a rush. He grabbed the wheel, began turning it. “Easy, there!” he said, laughing as if he were calming a horse. “You almost had her in irons, Admiral!” He had remarkably callused hands for a king.
“I did what she said!” Ylo protested, stepping back and letting the faun do as he pleased with the wheel, as he obviously knew what he was about.
“The wind shifted on you! And we need to make a course change, anyway. ” He was taller than Ylo, this so-unlikely faun, and he had very penetrating gray eyes. “Stick around a minute. I need to ask you something.”
“Me, your Majesty?”
“We’ve been establishing motives,” the king said. He had the hulk’s sharp end pointed the way he wanted it now, but he didn’t give the wheel back to Ylo. Apparently he was enjoying himself. “In effect we’re outlaws, you know. Even the imperor is! So the question everyone must answer is: Do you want to stay with the team, or do you want out? “
Ylo inspected his surroundings. “And wal
k?” A couple of sails had appeared on the western skyline.
The faun chuckled contentedly. His doublet and hose looked no warmer than Ylo’s, he wore no cloak or hat. Jotunn blood in him, obviously. “No, we can hail a boat and put you on. We’d pick one going north, probably, and you’d have to make your own way home. But that shouldn’t be hard.”
Ylo pulled his skimpy cloak tight and studied the faun’s innocent expression, remembering that this blunt, seemingly open man was actually a sorcerer. “And what happens when I get home?”
“That I do not prophesy. “
And where was home? Ylo had no home, no family, no real friends, even. “What’s the alternative? Where are we going?” He steadied himself with a hand on the rail. The ship had a new motion that he did not approve of, although it had not started to affect his insides yet.
“I won’t tell you that,” the faun said, eyes narrowing. “Not until you declare. But we need a hiding place where the impress and her daughter can remain-a sanctuary, and headquarters. Countess Eigaze had suggested a spot that sounds promising. We’re going to see.”
If he would answer questions so willingly, then Ylo had a bushel of them ready. “Shandie still wants to get his impire back?” That one got a nod. “How?”
The king smiled, but suddenly there was threat in that smile, or at least a hint that walking on lakes was unhealthy. “That also I won’t tell you yet. Are you with us or against us, Signiter?”
“With you, your Majesty. Of course.”
“Of course?” the faun mused. ” `Of course,’ you say? Why `Of course,’ though? What ties you to Shandie now? He’s lost his throne. He can’t shower wealth and power on you. What holds you to his cause? A sense of justice? Loyalty to the Impire? Friendship? “
“Hadn’t thought about it. Gratitude?” That felt safest.
The king did not look very convinced. He pursed his lips. “If this proposed refuge is satisfactory, then the impress will remain there while the rest of us go off to reconquer the world. Someone will have to stay and guard her. “
“I suppose so.”
“The imperor mentioned you for that job.” The iron-gray eyes stabbed straight into Ylo’s heart.
