by Dave Duncan
The old man must know every thought in her head. “Oh, yes. Many years ago.”
“That is good news. And Ugish, and the other children?”
“Ugish and two more of my sons died at Highscarp.”
Awkward silence.
“I am sorry to hear that, Ishist,” Inos said. “Are you still Dragonward?”
Shandie twitched.
“No, I retired,” the gnome said. He leered, showing innumerable sharp teeth. “His Omnipotence released me, as is his wont with those who have served him well. My only binding now is not to oppose him. Imp, you did not answer my question.”
Shandie cleared his throat harshly. “Yesterday I wanted to speak with, er, General Oshpoo so that I could advise him of the usurper and the Covin and the counterrevolution. Today that is no longer necessary.”
“No, it isn’t. The letter you received was written before the drama in Hub. So why did you accept the invitation?”
“Because I believe there are other important matters he and I should discuss. I am impressed by his power.”
“What power?”
Shandie chuckled. “Your power, perhaps. The usurper Zinixo controls the greatest concentration of sorcery the world has seen in a millennium; perhaps ever. For half a year he has tried to catch me. He came very close, but he failed, thanks to a loyal servant of mine, Signifer Ylo. And yet General Oshpoo located me in a day? Clearly he has no small power at his command.”
“He does,” the sorcerer said in his squeaky whisper. “And the warden of the east died today.”
Meaning, perhaps, that the legions were unprotected now, or that the anti-Covin faction could not defend its own. Shandie did not turn to the lure. “I had never thought… No one has ever mentioned gnomish sorcerers in my hearing. But of course sorcerers are solitary people. They must often die alone, and yet to die in peace they need tell their words to somebody. I suppose gnomes are often the only ones around?”
The grubby little man nodded, black eyes shining bright in the firelight. “And gnomes die beside other gnomes. We may have more sorcerers amongst us than any other people.”
“Which is what I realized when I saw that letter,” Shandie said. He turned to share a smile with Inos. “Rap once told me that words could be looted. I don’t think even he had realized that they could be scavenged, also! How many gnomes serve the Covin?” He flashed the question at Ishist.
The sorcerer scratched his caked beard. “None.”
“Why none?”
“Because few gnomes ever bother to use their power much, so they rarely get caught. When they do, the dwarf takes their words and puts them to death.”
“Then the gnomish sorcerers will aid our cause?”
“You are our enemy, Imperor.” The little man raised his voice for the first time. “Why should we seek to restore you to your throne? Why should we restore the wardens? Why should we not just stay neutral and let the day folk fight out their own battles? That has always been our gnomish way.” He bared his needle teeth.
“That is what I wish to discuss with General Oshpoo.”
The black-button eyes stared hard over the lime fire for several very long seconds. Then the tiny shoulders shrugged — Inos could almost imagine grime flaking off.
“I think you are honest,” Ishist said. “Leader, it is safe.”
Another gnome advanced into the firelight, clutching what seemed to be an old log under his arm. He was indistinguishable from any other gnome, so coated in dirt that his color and age were impossible to make out. Only his beard showed that he was not just a filthy child. He moved nimbly to sit down beside the sorcerer, then looked across at Shandie without expression.
“Speak, then. I am Oshpoo.”
“I honor a noble opponent.”
“I hate you. I would lay your carcass at my door and dance on it every day until it rotted to mud.”
Inos glanced at the imperor to see how he had taken that, but Shandie’s face was never readable at the best of times.
“After Highscarp you told me you wanted revenge. I think you got it at Abnilagrad.”
“Not enough. Not enough to wash out a generation of killing and oppression.” Something about Oshpoo’s thin voice made Inos think of snakes. Or perhaps it was the unwinking stare of hatred.
The imperor did not try to argue the point. “We are both outlaws now. You understand that? An imposter rules in my place. Nothing I say tonight has any validity in law.”
“Say it anyway so I can refuse.”
“I want the help of all free sorcerers in the world to overthrow the Covin and the usurper — including gnomes.”
“I am not a sorcerer.”
“But you have many supporters who are.”
“Why should they help one who has killed so many of our young men and enslaved our land?”
“Because the alternative may be worse.”
Inos wondered how many eyes watched from the surrounding darkness. All she could hear was crickets and the fire crackling. She wondered how many bows and spears were out there — how many more sorcerers. She wondered how reliable a gnomish safe-conduct was.
“Worse than you?” Oshpoo asked with his mouth full. He had laid the rotted log across his knees and was picking things out of it, eating them with evident enjoyment. “Worse than the Four? Without the warlock of the east meddling, we can use sorcery against your legions. The new order holds promise for gnomes.”
“Rubbish,” Shandie said calmly. “If Zinixo guesses that you have sorcerers at your beck, then he will blast you without mercy. He has pulled half the legions out of Guwush. Don’t think that makes him a gnome supporter. I am sure he is setting a trap for you, although I admit I do not understand it.”
Oshpoo sneered, showing even more teeth than the old sorcerer had. “Having no army you now try to defend your realm with words?”
“I think you believe the same, General, or you would have moved by now.”
“I am no general. My name is Leader. Your flattery sickens me.”
“How many spies do you have at court?” Shandie was keeping his voice flat and steady. His hands lay relaxed on his knees.
“That I will not answer.”
“And how many sorcerers here in Guwush?”
“That I will not answer, either.”
“Will you ask them to help us against the Almighty when the trumpet sounds?”
Oshpoo shrugged his tiny shoulders. “Why should I? Why should they agree? What can you offer gnomes, Imperor?”
“Surrender.”
Inos shot a startled glance at Shandie. Diplomats would not approve of his style — he negotiated with a broadsword. The two gnomes showed no reaction.
“Explain!” Oshpoo broke off a piece of wood and evidently found some treats under it.
Shandie took a moment to gather his words. “This war is costing the Impire far more than Guwush is worth,” he said. “More in gold, more in men. I make you this promise: When I am restored to power, I will offer you a treaty withdrawing all the legions from your land and recognizing Guwush as an independent realm.”
“On what terms?”
“Merely that all imps may leave safely within, say, three months. That is all I shall ask, uncontested withdrawal.”
Oshpoo’s beady eyes gleamed in the firelight. “No imperor has ever signed a treaty with gnomes.”
“Wrong. There was a treaty in 1342. And I will sign this one.”
“The Senate would not ratify it.”
“I can handle those old relics,” Shandie said grimly. “If they balk, I shall threaten to pull out the legions unilaterally, and they cannot stop me doing that. The money being wasted here will compensate the losers amply.”
Oshpoo took awhile to think, obviously suspicious. “And what exactly do you want of me now?”
“Nothing. Almost nothing. I give you my word without conditions — if I win, I withdraw the legions, whether your sorcerers have aided me or not. But they may tip the balance wh
en the battle is joined, and I hope that you tell them so. If I win, I shall retire to the borders Abnila recognized. If Zinixo wins, he will rule the world and everyone in it. I am your better bet.”
“Bah! Promises!”
The sorcerer said, “Gods, Leader! He means it! He really does!”
This time the silence was even longer, as the rebel balanced future hope against old hatred. He had forgotten his supper. Inos thought she could hear whispers amid the crickets’ chirps now, rustlings of excitement like dry leaves out in the dark woods.
“He means it now, perhaps.” Oshpoo sneered. “Because the dwarf has a sword between his thighs. But if he wins he won’t. Imps forget humility very easily.”
“I cannot do more than swear,” Shandie said softly. “I told you — anything I sign tonight is worthless.”
“And so is anything you swear.”
The woods had fallen silent, even the crickets. The offer had been made. Apparently it had been refused.
Inos swallowed and wet her lips. “I witness the imperor’s oath,” she said, “and will see that my husband is informed of it. If gnomes aid his battle, he will know on what terms they fight. He is a man of his word and he has never left a debt unpaid in his life.”
Oshpoo turned his baleful black gaze on her and snarled. “He is king of an arctic trading post. Will he curb the imperor?”
“Yes.”
Everyone seemed startled by that monosyllable, even Inos herself. It left an ominous aftertaste of truth, though. If the counterrevolution succeeded, then its leaders would rearrange the world, and not necessarily to the old pattern.
“Ishist said earlier that my husband stands out of the light,” she said. “He will not buy with false coin. For what it is worth, Leader, you have my oath on this matter also — that I will do anything I can to make Emshandar keep faith. I do not believe that my efforts will be needed, though.”
Ishist nodded.
The gnome leader glared at Shandie. “You would shake hands with a gnome on this?”
Shandie laughed, seeking to break the tension. “I will embrace you on it!”
“Oh, you really must be desperate!” Oshpoo stood up.
Shandie rose to his knees and held out a hand to him. “Forget Highscarp, forget Abnilagrad, forget all of them. Let us put aside the past and agree to make a better world!”
“I will tell my friends what you have promised and let them decide for themselves.” Ignoring the offered hand, the rebel leader turned and walked away quickly into the trees, still carrying his log.
Imperor and queen looked to Ishist. The old sorcerer winked. They had won.
3
The sun was setting in Qoble.
Thaïle sat under a willow on a riverbank, chin on knees, watching peaty brown water swirl below her. She wondered how water could be bright and dark at the same time. Opaque brown-black depths hinted at danger and currents and hidden trout, yet shreds of evening sky lay on the surface like pale silk. Cattle placidly grazed the lush pasture at her back and behind them in turn lay farm buildings, hedges, and orchards. A road led off to a town somewhere. This sleepy land was the Impire, populous and prosperous and peaceful, and months would drift by before those contented rural folk learned of the massacre at Bandor. By then the harvest would be garnered and the men would be readying their bows and dogs for the hunting season. Yet behind the summer of their lives lurked the menace of the Almighty and the shadows of war. It was all rather like the river, bright and dark at the same time.
The far bank was lower. There the river chattered over a stony spit, innocent and simple, skirting a marshy area of bulrushes and sedge. The woodland beyond that bore no sign of cattle or farms or people — undisturbed nature. A league away, a rounded hill humped up to form the skyline, but no chimneys or spires or haystacks rose over the trees. Innocent and simple? No, that land was Thume, and nothing was innocent or simple at all.
She felt heartbroken with longing and homesickness, and at the same time repelled by that sinister forest — she, a pixie who loved woods and wild places! She was reacting to the aversion spell, of course, and she could block it out if she wished, but her premonition told her that great danger lurked ahead if she crossed the river. She could see the sorcerous barrier like a faint mist, blurring the trees. Possibly her attention had already alerted the archon. Probably she had never been out of the Keeper’s ken since she left.
What was she to do? Danger or not, duty summoned her homeward. Thume was in peril. The College was in peril. Whom do we serve? The Keeper and the College. Duty and upbringing were calling her back. The ghastly evil of the Covin and the Almighty drove her. As the Keeper had warned, pixies were a legend now. Everybody knew that pixies were extinct; there was nowhere Outside where a pixie would be welcome or could rest. True, Thaïle could make herself look like a dwarf, or a jotunn, or an oak tree, but even her paramount power would be hard-pressed to fashion a glamour invisible to all other sorcerers. Where would be the joy of it? She would live a lie all the rest of her life.
She must go home, across the river.
But what was she to do with the girl, this strange half jotunn, quarter imp, quarter faun? This black-haired, green-eyed young beauty? This queen’s daughter, sorcerer’s daughter, friend of imperor and warlock? Surely she was significant in some way.
Kadie was lying on the grass at her side, leaning on elbows, sucking a grass stem and contentedly watching the cows. She never strayed out of arm’s reach. As long as she was close to Thaïle she seemed happy enough, and secure, but months of nightmare as the goblins’ captive had left her fragile as a soap bubble. Even sorcery could not cure a wounded soul.
Kadie, too, needed to go home, to family and friends and safety. She needed a long space of love and comfort and healing, but her home was blocked by the Covin; her family at best was scattered all over Pandemia. At worst they were all dead.
“There it is, Kadie,” Thaïle said. “That’s Thume.”
Kadie rolled over and sat up and regarded the far bank distrustfully. “It doesn’t look very inviting.”
“That’s sorcery.”
“What happens if someone from this side goes across?” She frowned uneasily.
“They rarely do, because the spell makes them stay away. Sometimes people try, and then the archons see them and tell the Keeper. The Keeper decides. Usually they just vanish.”
“You mean she kills them?”
“Sometimes. Or turns them around and sends them back. It’s entirely up to the Keeper. Some Keepers have been more ruthless than others. Whole armies have disappeared in Thume.”
“But you’ll be all right?”
Thaïle nodded sadly, thinking of that book of prophecies she had not been allowed to see. “I’m sure they’re expecting me back.”
“Then let’s go!” Kadie said bravely.
“You don’t really want to.”
“Yes I do! I know that’s just an aversion spell making me want not to. Back home we have a door like that. There’s a secret word you have to use if you want to go through it.”
Thaïle smiled in wonder. “For a mundane, you have an astonishing knowledge of the occult.”
“Papa is a sorcerer. I told you. Even Gath is prescient.” She grinned nervously, still studying the far bank.
Thaïle sighed. “And that’s another problem! The College would certainly class your family as Gifted. It means that you may have a Faculty for magic, too.”
Kadie glanced at her with apprehension. “Me?”
Thaïle nodded. Gifted families were rare and seemed to be becoming rarer, although their women were not limited to two children apiece, as all others were in Thume. The College would only be following its normal practice if it decided to impose a background word on this waif to find out if she had Faculty. There were background words in Krasnegar, too, and one of them had turned her twin brother into a seer.
Even if Kadie had no Faculty of her own, the College might regard her as valuabl
e breeding stock, a brood mare to improve the strain. Thaïle could not bring herself to put that obscenity into words. She must make an effort to warn, though.
“Kadie, nobody from the Outside has been allowed into Thume since the War of the Five Warlocks, a thousand years ago. Even if I take you, the Keeper may send you away. Or she may make you stay forever.”
Kadie’s fear exploded like red flame in the ambience. “You’re not going to leave me here!” she said shrilly. “You promised!”
After all those months of terror, she had seized on Thaïle as her rescuer and protector — and in truth she had no one else to rely on and nowhere else to go. She was almost as much a victim of this terrible war as the legionaries had been.
“Are you quite sure that’s what you want?”
Green eyes lit up with relief and excitement. “Why not? I want to see Thume!”
“Let’s take a day or two to think about it,” Thaïle said. It felt strangely, sadly inevitable. Premonition told her of danger and horror if she went home, but it also hinted at far worse futures if she did not, and in some vague, unlocatable way, it suggested that returning and taking Kadie along might be the best choice of all. Only one thing felt certain — she had a destiny to meet, and a duty.
4
Rap had been wrong; Thrugg had been right.
Rap had thought he would have several days in which to perfect his plans. Thrugg had foreseen the storm. Dreadnought was hurtling through Rip Channel like a trout in a water pipe, and leaking at every joint.
The hammocks and sea chests littered around showed that the fo’c’s’le had been sleeping quarters for eight men. It was low and smelly and loud with the groans of the ship. Although he was in many ways a most unusual jotunn, Sagorn had a typical disregard for the perils of the sea. He was sleeping like a very long baby in a wildly swaying hammock. The darkness was complete, and Rap risked a flash of power to light a lantern. A chorus of protest in the ambience complained that he was breaking the ship’s rule against using sorcery.
Sorry! We haven’t much time! “Doctor?” he said aloud, shouting over the tumult of wind and waves.
