by Dave Duncan
“I never imagined anywhere so big, either,” he added.
“You’ve never been there?”
“Once, when I was very small. We weren’t on the main line, you know.” Great-uncle Yllipo had been a distant, awesome figure in his childhood.
“Well, you are now,” Shandie said, gnawing on a hunk of sausage. “The first thing I do when I regain my throne will be to make you duke of Rivermead. That’s a promise!”
“It looks like an awful lot of work. All that grass to cut!”
Shandie flickered a grin. “It’s virtually a small kingdom within the Impire. Most of the great dukedoms originated as warlord fiefs during the last interregnum. But if you’d rather have something closer to the capital, then you’ll only have to ask. I mean that, Ylo. I will grant you any honor within my power!”
Ylo chewed for a moment in silence. So that was Rivermead. Now he had seen it, and there went the last of his excuses.
He had never meant to come so far with Shandie on this journey, but one thing had led to another. First there had been the Covin’s siren call, and the need to save the imperor from that, with the aid of Eemfume and his three friends. When the Covin had given up, he had decided to hang around for a few days to make sure that was not just a trick. And then there had been the opportunity to pervert Shandie’s too-rigid code of ethics by introducing him to the arts of wenching and debauchery.
That had been a lot of fun, but the need for further education seemed to be over. The imperor was still a reluctant lecher, but he was a great deal more competent than he had been. He could roister with the best of them now, and Ylo never heard complaints from the next bed anymore. Shandie was a lot more human than he had been. In fact, he was excellent company, and that was the root of Ylo’s problem — he was enjoying this excursion. Somehow he always seemed to put off his departure for one more day. Recently he had justified his procrastination with the never-to-be-repeated opportunity to take a look at Rivermead.
There it was. Now what? If he did not depart soon, he was not going to make it back to Yewdark in time for the daffodils. Who was he to negate the prophecy of the preflecting pool?
“Wonder what that is?” he muttered, pointing westward. A faint haze of dust on the skyline looked eerily familiar — looked, in fact, like the dust raised by a marching army.
“What what is?” Shandie asked. He rose to his knees and stared.
2
At the bottom of the hill, Rap eased back on the reins and let the team come to a halt. He set the brake and jumped down to the dirt. As he stretched to ease his stiffness, Thinal peered out the coach window. For the last hour, Thinal had been expertly shaving dice.
“Something wrong?”
“Just letting the horses have a breather.”
The sun shone low in a cloudless blue sky. Here in the dry lands it gave real warmth even so early in the year — Rap wiped his brow. All around him, the land was rumpled and brown, bereft of signs of human habitation except for a few crumbling cattle pens in the distance. In another month the grass and scrub would turn to a brief green lustiness before summer burned them dry again. An ominous line of cloud to the south concealed the icy summits of the Mosweep Range, the highest mountains in Pandemia. This side was almost a desert; the far side held the great rain forests that were his destination.
He strolled forward to comfort his weary stock. Thanks to some skillful trading, they were a far better collection of horses than he had set out with, but they had had a long day already.
Thinal climbed down and looked around with disgust.
“Desert does not appeal,” he remarked sourly.
“Quite.” Rap walked back to confront him — that being the main reason for the halt. “By evening we should be in Ysarth.”
“So?” The thief’s ratty face became even more cagey than usual.
“So tomorrow I’m going to sell off the coach. It’s served its purpose.” Here, in the south, fauns would be less exceptional, and there would be few observers anyway in a land so thinly inhabited.
“Horseback?” Thinal muttered, pouting.
“Horseback. Quicker.”
“Not my style.”
“’Fraid of that. Besides, I promised to tell you if I smelled danger. I don’t, yet. But I feel I’m going to, soon, if you follow me. Can you call a replacement now?”
Thinal hesitated, as if making some internal test. “Yup. It’ll be an effort, but yup. Who do you want?”
Rap smiled. “What’s my choice?” Obviously Thinal could not call Sagorn, who had called him.
“Andor or Jalon.” The thief grinned back. “I can’t call Darad for you this time. You might be safer with someone who can, if things are going to get dicey.”
Jalon would be good company. Andor would not, but Rap would have to deal with Andor sooner or later. “Let’s have your brother, then.”
Thinal nodded. “How’s your war coming. King?”
He had never shown the slightest interest before. Was he mellowing, or was he only concerned with his own chances of surviving in a world ruled by the Covin?
“Not much happening,” Rap said. He pulled out the magic scrolls and skimmed through them. They were all blank. “The warlock’s disappeared completely. I’ve had nothing from him. Umpily seems to be still at large, which is incredible. Acopulo was last heard from dying of seasickness. Shandie had some problems at first, but young Ylo pulled him through.”
“Ylo’s still with him? Ain’t that a purple chicken, then?”
Rap raised eyebrows. Thinal was a very shrewd judge of people. “Meaning?”
The thief grinned. “Thought he had other ideas. Every time he looked at the impress, his pants just about strangled him. Oh, well, we can’t all get what we want out of life, can we?” His eyes twinkled mischievously as he held out a hand. “Good luck, Rap.”
“Thanks, Thinal.”
Rap found himself shaking hands with Andor. The changes were always like that — instantaneous. They released each other’s grip quickly.
Andor scowled. His face might he a trifle plumper, but basically he had not changed. He was still much too handsome, much too devious. He was freshly shaved, his dark curls neatly combed.
“Welcome to the great cause,” Rap said.
Andor snorted. He glanced down at his garments, which were obviously tight on him. “My brother’s taste in clothing has not improved, has it?”
“He has, though. He helped a lot. I was impressed.”
The dark eyes flickered contemptuously. “And you want to know if I will?”
“Please.”
Andor surveyed the empty hills. “Think you’ll be safe here to impose a little compulsion on me if I get awkward?”
Rap shook his head. “No. There’s still no sorcery being used, not even here in Pithmot. The Covin’s being quiet, but it’s still there, and it could hear me here if I did anything very much.” He reached out with his premonition, cautiously. The great evil lay far to the northeast, now, over distant Hub, but it still dominated the ambience like a black mountain. “I don’t detect any excitement in the immediate future.”
Andor shrugged. “My primary aim has always been to keep my blood inside my skin, your Majesty. You know that. But I’ll stick around.”
His reservations showed to a sorcerer. He was no more trustworthy than his larcenous brother, and he would undoubtedly seduce any pretty girl who came within reach. Fortunately Andor’s talent rattled the ambience much less than Thinal’s did. Rap was not about to admit that to Andor, though. In fact, he ought to give him a warning lecture…
Tremor!
Rap jumped, and turned to stare at the north. For a moment he reached out, querying — and then hastily restrained his power before he gave himself away. At least, he hoped he had not given himself away.
Andor had noticed. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure. Felt something.”
He had felt Inos, a faint glimmer of Inos. Now it had gone. Imp
ossible! His feeble sorcery was not nearly strong enough to scrutinize Krasnegar. It must have been imagination.
“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “Nerves, maybe. Those clouds are the Mosweeps. How do you feel about lady trolls?”
Andor shuddered. “Don’t even joke about it.”
Rap had little desire to joke. He wished he had not felt that sinister little premonition of Inos in danger. Still, she would soon be warned about Zinixo and the Covin, because Shandie must be almost at Kinvale now.
3
Goblins! There were a dozen or more of them packing into the little room — thick, short men in buckskin breeches, some in tunics, others bare-chested, with khaki skin shining greasily. They all bore swords, and some had bows and quivers on their shoulders also. Their ugly, angular eyes were bright and angry within ugly arabesques of tattoo.
Absurdly, as she struggled to her feet, Inos could think only Thank the Gods that Kade did not live to see this!
Then one of the men grabbed Kadie in a one-armed hug. He pushed his mouth on hers, bending her over backward in a forcible kiss, choking off her scream. His companions laughed, or jabbered in guttural amusement.
“Stop that!” Gath shouted. He tried to stand, and a goblin banged him with a knee, knocking him flying — more laughter. Then Inos was on her feet and the nearest goblin reached for her also, grinning white tusks through the bristly fringe on his lips. The reek of rancid bear grease made her stomach churn. She backed away, and felt a chair blocking her.
“Stop!” she yelled.
He blinked, and stopped, looking puzzled and then angry. Released, Kadie staggered away, retching. For a moment no one spoke. There was noise outside — screaming, and much coughing, and a muffled roar. Smoke billowed in through the open doorway. Someone shouted urgently in the corridor.
Somehow Inos had to get back through the portal, and take her children with her. She couldn’t speak goblin. She mustn’t let the raiders discover that secret way into Krasnegar. Where was all that smoke coming from?
A goblin lifted a table and smashed the nearest window, and that broke the spell. The leader shouted orders. Inos was seized and dragged, her shouts ignored. In a pack of stinking, half-naked goblins she was hauled out into a smoke-filled corridor. Coughing and weeping, she tried to struggle free. A leathery palm slammed into her face, dazing her.
* * *
The outside air was cold, but enormously welcome. The pale sun of a winter afternoon was blinding, sparkling in the tears that streamed from her eyes. She was hauled along by a single stocky goblin, whose hand seemed nailed to her arm. He ignored her efforts to break free or resist, until she thumped at him. Then he slugged her across the face again. She stumbled; he held her upright without effort and kept on going. She called out, “Gath! Kadie?” and thought she heard an answer… She was tossed forward in one easy gesture as she might throw away an apple core. She sprawled, rolling into a group of people sitting on the ground, provoking cries and shouts of protest.
Hands were helping her sit up…
“Mom!” That was Kadie, kneeling beside her, her face a white blur.
“I’m all right, dear.” Inos clutched her daughter’s hand. “You all right?” Ignoring pain, wiping the torrents from her eyes, she looked around. She was within a group of thirty or forty people, all sitting on the flagstones of the south terrace, penned against the stone balustrade. The ground was dry, but icy cold. There was no snow anywhere. Half a dozen goblins stood guard with swords and bows. Others were still streaming from the burning mansion. She saw Gath approaching, being dragged by the scruff of the neck. She began to rise and the nearest guard came forward, swinging the flat of his sword at her head. She sat down again quickly. At best, it would have stunned her. He leered big goblin fangs and said something mocking.
Gath was tossed into the heap. His mop of golden hair disappeared, then popped up again, so he was conscious. He looked around wildly, saw Inos, and registered relief on chalk-white features.
The west wing was an inferno, flames roaring into the sky. Nearer windows were streaming black smoke, so the whole place was going up. Oh, that beautiful mansion! What would Kade have said? And what was all that terrible screaming? There were goblins everywhere Inos looked. This was no small raiding party; there were hundreds of them in sight. Most of them were bare to the waist, oblivious of the cold. She was shivering convulsively inside her heavy Krasnegar furs, but perhaps that was mainly from shock.
The other captives were mostly women in servant dress. She recognized some of the faces vaguely, but there was no one she knew by name. If any of them recognized her, they were too terrorized to speak. From time to time others were dragged or driven from the house and added to the group huddled along the balustrade. A body draped over the rail wore a feathered arrow protruding obscenely from its back, so there was no escape that way.
Part of the roof collapsed with an ear-splitting roar. Fire leaped to the skies. Even the nearer windows were starting to explode as the flames spread. Oh, Gods! The magic portal was in there! There was no way back to Krasnegar now.
Gath came wriggling through the crowd on hands and knees. His lips were blue and quivering, but he seemed quite conscious and somehow he had hung on to one of the blankets. Inos peeled off her own fur robe and insisted he wrap himself in it. She took the blanket and bundled all three of them together snugly. She started to say “We shall have to —” and sudden enlightenment changed it to “What happens now?”
“W-we w-wait awhile,” Gath said through chattering teeth. “There’s one you can t-t-talk to.”
“Good stuff!” Kadie whispered.
Good stuff indeed! His prescience would be a Gods-send in this mess — except that, if any of them were going to be killed or raped, then he would know ahead of time. He admitted that bad things couldn’t always be avoided. Really bad things were better left unexpected, and some goblin customs were about as bad as mortals could conceive. The shrieks of agony coming from the sunken rose garden beyond the balustrade were mingled at times with bursts of applause. Inos twisted around to try to see between the uprights, but there were too many people in the way.
“Torture,” Gath said. “They’re raping the women and they have the men tied —”
She had never seen anyone look so pale. “Never mind, dear. How are you feeling now?” She knew the question was absurd under the circumstances.
“Head aches,” he muttered, leaning against her. Nevertheless, he was making a very fast recovery.
“Who did it to you?” Kadie demanded.
“Yes, tell us.” Inos knew the question was utterly irrelevant now, with the culprit five hundred leagues away in Krasnegar, but she welcomed the distraction, and she must try to keep him conscious.
Gath sighed. “Brak again.”
Not surprising — Brak was a head taller and twice the weight, but Gath had knocked him out last time. No adolescent jotunn could live with such a memory.
Kadie snorted scornfully. “He’s been after you for months. How come you let him catch you this time?”
“Because it was worth it. I knew. I knew I had to let him have the last punch, too.” Gath sniggered faintly against Inos’ neck. “But you gotta see his face! Oh, you gotta see it! It’s a guts bucket!” He smiled, showing the tooth Brak had broken the last time.
Kadie made enthusiastic noises.
Inos reflected that none of them might ever see Brak’s face again. While Gath described the massacre in detail for Kadie, she glanced around. The captives were mostly sitting with their faces on their knees, not looking at anyone or anything, but she managed to catch the eye of a nearby woman, one who was older than most and might have some wits left. “How long has this been going on?” she demanded.
“All day, ma’am…”
A guard shouted a warning and waved his sword. They were talking too much, apparently.
More roof collapsed. One good thing — the heat from the fire was perceptible now, and welcome in the c
hilly afternoon. The guards were closer to it, but they did not seem uncomfortable. Goblins were notoriously indifferent to temperature.
Oh, that beautiful house! Inos wanted to weep for Kinvale. Paintings, sculptures, gold plate, fine china, carpets — a huge fortune was vanishing before her eyes, climbing skyward in a pillar of smoke. That same pillar of smoke must be visible for leagues, perhaps even as far as Shaldokan. The IXth Legion was quartered at Shaldokan now. The goblins might have fought their way over Pondague Pass — they had been trying to do so for twenty years — but they were not going to remain very long in possession of Kinvale. She felt a little better when she realized that. Unfortunately, murder and rape could be completed long before a legion could march in to the rescue.
Gath had laid his head on his knees and seemed almost asleep. On her other side, Kadie was cuddling close. Oh, poor children! And Inos could not bear to think about her kingdom. The palace must be a madhouse now, with everyone hunting for the royal family. Nor did she want to think about Rap, returning to Kinvale to find his magic portal destroyed. It would be months before any of them could go home by sea.
Three weeping, naked girls came hobbling along the terrace, clutching their clothing bundled in front of them. Two of them had blood on their legs. They burrowed in among the rest of the captives and were given help in dressing. A squad of six goblins trotted up eagerly and began to argue with the chief guard. Grumbling, the newcomers selected two of the younger women and took them away. Obviously they had wanted more than two. Obviously they were going to rape them. Now Inos understood why the prisoners were all keeping their faces hidden, not looking up. Kinvale had supported a staff of hundreds — where were all the rest?
