by Dave Duncan
At first she worried about the effect these horrors would have on her children, but she soon realized that they were adapting better than she was.
“It’s the way they were brought up, Mama,” Kadie assured her. “Papa explained it to me once. They don’t know any better.”
“And they have their own rules,” Gath added. “They don’t kill women.” This was true. Women and girls were mainly spared anything beyond rape, and punching if they resisted. Even when they resorted to weapons, they would be disarmed if at all possible, or else cleanly slain. In their way, goblins had standards. Inos had suggested that Kadie should find some boys’ clothing. Kadie had retorted that she was much safer as a girl.
“There would be no danger,” Gath suggested cheerfully. “They would take your clothes off before they did anything to you.”
“Maybe you should dress as a girl!” Kadie snapped.
“Same problem!” Gath said, but he spoiled his worldly grin with a blush.
They were adapting, Inos was both relieved and proud. Even Kadie had picked up goblin dialect much fester than she had. Gath seemed to use his freak prescience to foresee what understanding would eventually be reached and then just leapfrog over the preliminary confusion. It was paradoxical, but it worked.
The evenings were the worst — bonfires and feasts and the inevitable torture sessions. However blighted the countryside seemed, the goblins always turned up a few male prisoners to brighten their evenings. Cruel and destructive, they were like children, the evil part of children. If the countryside was strange to Inos, it was even more strange to them. Often they would demand explanations from her — what a cobbler’s last was for, or a butter churn. When she had explained whatever it was, they would smash it.
Eye Eater was a monster, as was to be expected of a chief. His capacity for rape was incredible, his cruelty unsurpassed. Even his own men seemed to go in fear of him, and Inos certainly did. Once or twice he asked her meaningfully if all Krasnegarian women were as hard to tame as Kadie, but the memory of Quiet Stalker’s mysterious death protected mother and daughter both. They were not molested, and Inos did not need to use her occult royal glamour. She assumed that it would be needed again eventually; she hoped that it would always be effective.
Young Blood Beak was disconcertingly unpredictable. At times he swaggered with the worst, relishing his newly won adult status and the resulting right to join in the raping and torturing. At times he tried to assert his royal status as the king’s son — Eye Eater would tolerate his antics for a while, and then deflate him with mockery. At other times, the youngster showed another side of himself, a keen intelligence and a desire to learn. He would trot for hours alongside one or other of the Krasnegarians, questioning shrewdly. He wanted to know how and why they had been at Kinvale, where Rap was, why Inos was going to visit his father, and a million other things. At first Inos pretended not to understand much of what he was saying, but as the days went by that excuse began to wear thin. She worried what dangerous information he was worming out of Kadie and Gath. She worried even more about the way he looked at her daughter. Several times he told Inos that in his opinion every chief should include at least one chief’s daughter among his wives.
For the first two days Gath sprawled on his horse like a tethered corpse. Then his head injury seemed to heal overnight, and he rapidly became his normal placid, contented self. Of course neither he nor Kadie had ever seen countryside like this. They did not know how it should be. The hills, the woods, the ruins were all equally new to them, and equally fascinating. They marveled that the weather should be so warm, although it was midwinter and the ditches were frozen solid. They were impressed by the comparative absence of snow and the dark furrowed fields. They were young and they were having an adventure. They hardly seemed to comprehend their mother’s abhorrence.
Welcome though it was, their lack of concern distressed and puzzled her at first. Eventually she decided that Kadie was armored by her romantic ideals, turning a blind eye to the atrocities just as she had ignored the bland tedium of Krasnegar. But Kadie had killed a man. Tentatively Inos inquired if that worried her.
“He was evil!” Kadie snapped.
“Yes, he was.”
“Then he got what he deserved, didn’t he?”
End of conversation. Romantic heroines were within their rights in slaying villains. Indeed if was their duty. A discussion of real-world ethics would have to wait for better days.
As for Gath — a seer had no need to worry about the immediate future; by nature he did not worry about tomorrows either.
Inos was grateful for her nestlings’ immunity, but she knew that every day was moving them farther from the sea that was their only road homeward. War rode ahead of them and Famine trod behind. She could not believe that any of them would ever see Krasnegar again. She steadfastly refused to think about the dread prophecy a God had given Rap.
Six days’ riding… five nights huddled with her children under hedges or in stinking burned-out ruins, which did no more than keep the wind off. The goblins were indifferent to the cold. Some of them would sleep on the frozen ground without as much as a shirt. They existed on a diet of scorched meat. Inos was terrified that she might sicken and die, leaving her two fledglings alone in this hell of war.
At the sixth sunset, though, Eye Eater led his troop over a hill and into a valley that twinkled with campfires from side to side like a starry sky. Inos caught a glimpse of a spectacular row of arches against the darkling sky and guessed that it must be the famous Kribur aqueduct. At least she knew where she was, then, although the information was not very helpful. Kribur had always been regarded as being about three weeks’ journey east of Kinvale.
As the weary horses stumbled down the slope, a heavy rumble of noise arose to meet them — deep male voices, frightened cattle, and already the screams of victims. Inos was astounded by the size of the army. She knew roughly how much space a legion needed for its camp, and she thought these savages were packed in much more tightly than imps would be. Even so, the valley would have held six or seven legions, and a legion was five thousand men.
Lights flickered on the road ahead; the newcomers were about to be challenged.
“Tents!” Kadie shouted joyfully. “Mom, they have tents!”
“That’s certainly a welcome sight!” Inos called back. “I didn’t expect goblins to have tents, somehow.”
“They don’t,” said Gath, at her side.
She turned to him with a pang of apprehension — she knew the voice he used when he was about to hurl a lightning bolt. “Then who do?”
“Dwarves, Mom. They’ve joined up with their allies.”
“Gods!” Inos said. Gods save the Impire now.
4
Inos had met Death Bird a couple of times at Timber Moot, but those encounters had been brief, and he had been anonymous inside his winter buckskins, showing little more than two angular, suspicious eyes. She remembered him best from a far-off night at Kinvale, when she had spied on his farewell to Rap. The goblin had gone off from there to meet his destiny, and that same evening she had departed for Krasnegar to claim her throne. Then he had been a youth, callow and unsure of himself. Now she was a refugee, and he was a conqueror.
He was holding court in a burned-out barn. The stone walls remained; the roof had gone. In the darkness outside, a multitude patiently awaited his pleasure. Inside, a bonfire blazed, casting strange shadows on the sooty walls, showering sparks upward to the stars. He sat cross-legged on the ground, wearing only a leather loincloth. His huge chest and massive limbs shone wetly green in the nickering light. He had an unusually dense mustache and beard for a goblin, and tattoos obscured the upper half of his face — even now only the menacing glitter of his eyes was readable. The thick black braid of his hair hung over his left shoulder and down to his crotch.
Flanking him, forming a semicircle beyond the fire, were four goblins and five dwarves. Gray-skinned, glowering, gray-bearded, the dwar
ves wore chain mail and conical helmets. Dwarves were mostly shorter than goblins, but they seemed taller when sitting. They also tended to be broader, but none of these would match Death Bird in sheer bulk.
Inos stood in the doorway within a huddle of other waiting supplicants, and tried to work up a royal anger. She was a queen! She should be granted precedence over everybody else. This was no Imperial court, though, and she did not think outrage would gain her anything at all. She was exhausted, trembling with weariness, barely able to stand; she was also unbearably filthy and unkempt and very close to her physical limits. The stench of the greased goblins around her was nauseating. Only the presence of Gath and Kadie sustained her. She was needed!
This was the first meeting of the allies in the field, and the joint command had many matters to settle. Two chancellors held the door, one goblin and one dwarf, and they argued continuously in whispers — one harsh and guttural, the other dissonant, a couple of octaves lower. When the leaders heard two dwarvish petitioners in succession, the goblin won agreement that it was Blood Beak’s turn.
He stalked forward arrogantly, skirting the fire. He knelt before his father and touched his face to the film of the floor. He sat back on his heels and waited.
Death Bird studied him for a moment, then turned to the dwarf on his right and said something that Inos did not catch. The dwarf responded in a sepulchral rumble, nodding. Introductions followed, but the words were again lost in barbaric pronunciation, the crackle of the fire, and the sea-swell noise of the great army outside. Inos wished she could just swoon and stay unconscious for a century, like the enchanted princesses in Kadie’s romance books.
What had she forgotten? She looked up at the pinched face beside her. She did not like what she saw — fatigue, and windburn, and a febrile brightness in his smoky gray eyes. He had spent a week in the saddle when he should have been in bed. “Gath? What happens?”
He was frowning, biting his lip. “Mm? Oh, they joke a bit, but they make us welcome.”
Relief! “Then why are you looking so worried?”
He blinked. “Am I?” He cracked a wry smile, but it barely touched eyes blurred with exhaustion. He looked very young, and vulnerable. “Because I’m going to be worried.”
Weariness made her testy. “What does that mean?”
“Dunno. I’m going to foresee something bad soon.”
“What?”
“If I knew that then I’d know why I’m going to be worried, wouldn’t I?”
All the leaders’ eyes had turned to stare in her direction. Evidently Blood Beak had broken the news. He was scrambling to his feet, departing, and she could see his satisfied smile. Death Bird himself was inscrutable, but the dwarves were muttering to one another in disbelief. This was it.
“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, and utterly deadly. Already he had written his name in history among the bloodiest. She had better find some humor of her own to 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. “Is 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 Excelle
ncy, 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.
