by Dave Duncan
“Why? What is there in Thume?”
“You don’t know?” the queen said coyly. “You mean you will just march in without knowing?”
“We embark tomorrow to sail to Ollion.”
The old familiar grin. “Azak! Really! Those ships in the harbor are deserted. The hills are thick with soldiers and livestock. If you were planning to embark all of them tomorrow, the harbor would be a madhouse. It’s not. It’s a morgue. Your shipping may fool the imps, but it doesn’t fool me.”
He had forgotten the root of her appeal — the deadly combination of beauty and brains. To match wits with a woman was a stunningly unfamiliar sensation for him, and it aroused him as he would not have believed possible.
She seemed to guess his thought, because she grinned mischievously at him. “I’m not one of your broodmares, Azak. I never was.”
“No. You never were. After what happened the last time, I do not know why you should wish to return to Thume.”
She frowned, and white silk rustled as she crossed her legs. God of Lust! He remembered those hard, slim legs, the honey-colored down where they met, the skin more fair than any in Zark, the firm breasts and rose-pink nipples. Never had he laid a hand on her!
“We know,” she said, “you and I know that there is some unfathomed power in Thume, even now. It seems to be unpredictable, and it is apparently masked by some sort of inattention spell that selectively discourages sorcerers. But it exists.”
He nodded. The pearl in his ring remained white.
“I hope to enlist that power in my husband’s war.”
Furkar’s voice whispered in his ear for him alone: “She is talking nonsense, Majesty!”
But the pearl had stayed white. What she said might be wrong, but she believed it to be true.
“I love you,” Inos said.
“What?”
“It’s the pearl? I wondered why you kept staring at your hands. It changed color then, didn’t it?”
He glared at her and she smiled.
“Not a broodmare, Azak!”
He raised his hand, crooking his fingers to display the pearl. “I think I still love you!” he said thickly.
The pearl darkened.
“Lust after you,” he corrected.
The pearl turned white again.
Color poured into her face and she dropped her eyes to her own hands, clasped upon her lap. Yes, now she understood her danger. Better!
He waited, and waited, until finally she broke the silence.
“Our adventure in Thume was an ordeal. It was hateful. And yet… I admit… Those were the days of our youth, Azak. The horror has faded. The joy has not!” She looked up appealingly. “Do you remember how we rode through that romantic forest, so full of enchantment, and you lectured me on dog scats? I am grateful for the help you gave me then, Azak. I am grateful that you came to say good-bye to me in Hub, and sorry I was not there to receive your farewell. Let us cherish those memories, forget the harsh words, and go forward as allies.”
Still he did not speak. The big room was silent, except for the buzz of mosquitoes. Moths whirled crazily around the lanterns.
Now her apprehension was obvious. No color in her face now. “Am I still your wife, here in Zark?”
He shook his head. “I signed a decree of divorce as soon as I returned.”
She nodded gratefully. “It must have been a difficult time for you.”
“The court was amused that I had lost my foreign bride. The imperor’s treaty I brought back with me helped. And I declared war on Shuggaran right away.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Then I was responsible for what you began then? That was the start of it?”
“It was. A scorned sultan does not rule long, but a war will bind the factions, at least temporarily.”
Golden fireflies played over her hair as she shook her head. “I am glad you managed to survive, but I dislike the means you employed. And now you carry the war to the Impire? You realize that you are walking into a trap?”
Ah! “You had best explain that remark.”
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows. “Rap came to see you once, long ago. Apparently he detected power being used within the palace, although he never mentioned that to me. I assume that you had some sorcerous assistance in your climb to power?”
“You know how I detest sorcery.”
The quirky smile returned briefly. “You were always good at evading questions. All right, how much do you know of the present situation?”
“What should I know?”
“Rap and Shandie sent you letters.”
“I never received them.”
The frown returned, stronger. “That’s strange! The messenger was reliable, I was told. Well, they wrote to you last winter. Things have changed… If you have sorcerous counsel, you must know that the imperor in Hub is an imposter: You must know that Zinixo, the former warlock, has overthrown the wardens and calls himself the Almighty. And you know that my husband is leader of the counterrevolution.”
“Ah, Rap! He is still alive, then?”
“As far as I know,” Inos said cheerfully.
The pearl dulled briefly.
She hopes so, Furkar whispered. She is not sure.
Unaware, Inos continued with apparent confidence. “The mundane world knows nothing of this. The fake imperor has withdrawn forces from the frontiers. You see your chance to invade. So, doubtless, do Dwanish and Nordland. Guwush will rise in revolt. That is the plan.”
A woman talking military strategy! Why should this obscenity, this perversion, make Azak’s blood race so? How dare she lecture him? He struggled to hide his rising fury. “And the payoff?”
“The Almighty will step forth to reveal himself as savior of the Impire and smite you all.”
Furkar had mentioned this possibility.
“You know what he did to the goblins?” Inos added.
“You are suggesting I postpone my campaign?”
“I would, if I were you.”
“If you were me, you would not be here.”
She smiled another of those heart-stopping smiles. “True. But you do see the risk? It is the only possible explanation for the Impire’s present vulnerability.”
“No, it isn’t!” Azak said grimly. “Yes, I know about the Almighty. I rejoice to see the wardens overthrown. I rejoice to see the imps suffer — and I think dwarves do, also. And jotnar and goblins, too. The Almighty is a dwarf. I think he is telling us we can now take our revenge for all those centuries of aggression!”
Clearly she had not considered that explanation. It shook her. When she spoke again, she was far less confident. “Then why did he destroy the goblin horde?”
“And all those legions, also? That was hardly the act of a savior, loosing dragons on the legions! I think that both massacres were merely a show of strength to impress the free sorcerers. It was followed by orders for them to enlist, as I understand.”
Inos nodded, biting her lip.
Azak chuckled. “I remember that misshapen runt as well as you do, and I am an excellent judge of men. He is spiteful, vindictive. He is malevolent. I say he revels in the mischief he can create.”
“That’s worse,” she muttered. “Evil for evil’s sake?”
Ha! She could not disagree when he pointed out the truth. He had bested her arguments as easily as he could overcome her physical strength if he chose to do so. The prospect was enormously exciting. None of his women ever put up a convincing resistance, even if he ordered them to.
“The Impire is vulnerable, Inos, as it has never been. It lies before us, naked and helpless. It is weak and we are strong. We can inflict what hurt we want and take any satisfaction whatsoever, any retribution we choose for past humiliations. It is mine to take!”
And so was she.
Her green eyes narrowed as she appraised the threat. “But what of Thume, Caliph? What happens in the Accursed Land? Many armies have invaded Thume in the last thousand years, an
d they have vanished without a trace.”
“Not all of them. Some have marched through without harm, seeing not a living soul. Yes, I have sorcerers to aid me. I lead a well-disciplined force that will do no damage to whatever spirit rules that land. We seek only to pass through and be gone. It is a risk, but one I have determined to take.”
“I think you are crazy,” she whispered.
He laughed. Crazy? He would show her what crazy was! His laughter grew louder, echoing through the chamber. She cowered back in her chair, and that amused him even more. “Perhaps I am,” he said when he recovered his breath. “But you should not apply the standards of ordinary men to me. I am one of the great figures of history.”
She seemed to have shrunk. She must know what he was thinking of now. “What did you do with the others who were captured with me?”
“Threw them in a dungeon.”
“A shielded dungeon, I presume?”
He nodded. “So there are sorcerers among them?”
He glanced quickly at his magic ring, but her reply did not darken the pearl.
“Yes. And they are worried about the Covin’s scrutiny, so a shielded dungeon may seem like a welcome refuge to them.”
“Rap himself?” Dwarves, goblins, one jotunn, one imp — there had been no report of a faun, but he might be disguised.
“No, not Rap.”
Furkar: She is holding something back. Majesty!
Let her! It could not matter. Her associates could lie in that dungeon until they rotted. When he returned, Azak would investigate them. Until then, Evil take them!
Silence fell, silence broken only by the hum of insects. Dawn could not be far off, and he should sleep. Already the panoplies would be starting the first preparations — cooking food, harnessing the draft animals. He really ought to sleep, and put off whatever satisfaction he might find in this woman until another night. But why should he? His strength had not deserted him yet. He was thoroughly aroused now. Nineteen years ago he had begun this war because a woman had been stolen from him. Now he was ready to consummate all his plans and preparation by invading the Impire, and lo! — here she was, within reach. Utterly in his power. How wonderfully appropriate!
“You say you were on your way to Thume?”
Green eyes studied him and then she nodded.
“Then you shall go to Thume, and in a style befitting your station. You will go with me, as you went there before, but this time at the head of many tens of thousands.”
She frowned, seeming to consider the matter as if his words had been an invitation and she had a choice. “I trust you will not be expecting me to share your tent, Azak?”
Oh, that was superb! She had style. She would be worthy. “You will do whatever I say, like everybody else.”
“It will not be my preference.”
“No? Will you choose death before dishonor?”
She colored at the mockery and raised her chin in pathetic defiance. “No, I do not expect to become suicidal. If you make advances, I shall not submit willingly, and I warn you, Azak Ak'Azakar, that my husband is a sorcerer and will hold you to account for your treatment of me.”
He sprang to his feet. “Threats? You dare to threaten me?” He moved swiftly around the desk, shivering with joy and anticipation. “No one threatens the caliph!”
She rose, but he reached her before she could run. He grabbed her robe, hauled her to him, folded her in his arms. She struggled, but she was only a woman, small and puny. Not even a djinn! He crushed the breath out of her, caught her hair, twisted her face around to his. He sniffed the scent of her fear, saw the sweat shine on her forehead. No pretense now. Real, real fear.
“Threats?” He was panting and salivating so hard that speech was a real effort. “No one has threatened me since the night my wife was stolen from me. No more threats now, Inosolan?”
“Let me go, you brute!” She twisted vainly.
“Oh, that is trite, really trite. I would have expected better of you. Now let us see some passion!” He pushed his mouth on hers, crushing her even tighter.
She kicked at his shins and bit his tongue. He howled at the sudden pain. She squirmed, she screamed at him.
Bitch! She would scream to more purpose in a moment. He was past speech, past caring, more inflamed than he had felt in years. He took the neck of her gown with both hands and ripped it open. He forced her down on the desk and held her there easily with one hand on her chest, ignoring her efforts to punch and kick. She struggled uselessly while his other hand tore away her garments, exposing her breasts, her belly, then her thighs. Revenge! Justice! He would tame this yellow-haired bitch if it took him the rest of the night. Let her flat-faced sorcerer lover undo it then!
When days were long:
In summer, when the days were long,
We walked together in the wood:
Our heart was light, our step was strong;
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood,
In summer, when the days were long.
Anonymous, Summer Days
INTERLUDE
The long days lengthened in that dread summer of 2999, and men spoke grimly of the coming of the millennium.
Death Bird himself was dead, but the destiny the Gods had given him still echoed through Pandemia. News of the Bandor Massacre spread across the Impire faster than any mundane couriers could have borne it. No one could say where the rumors came from, but they were everywhere and never denied.
In Julgistro, Ambel, and Pithmot, armies of shocked and ragged survivors wandered the wasteland left by the horde’s passing. At first the wake was as sharply bounded as the trail of a tornado; of two towns that had once stood almost within sight of each other, one might be unharmed and the other only ashes. Inevitably the damage spread like a stain, for there were no legions to maintain order. Starving refugees began looting and destroying their more fortunate neighbors. In all the western Impire, no harvest would be gathered that year except the harvest of death. Famine and disease were the reapers now.
* * *
Shimlundox, the eastern Impire, had escaped the goblins. It was ravaged by the imps themselves. Refugees, starving and desperate, had swept out of Hub in a horde outnumbering the original goblins manyfold. They stripped the land like locusts.
West and north toward them came the many legions the imperor had summoned from the borders. As the armored columns trudged along the great highways, civilians stared in amazement and then turned to gaze back where all these troops had come from, wondering what enemy might enter by those now-unguarded doors.
Had anyone known the true situation, the legions might have stabilized matters enough to allow some sort of crop to survive to harvest. Only in the south was there contact between the army and the rabble, and some skirmishing broke out when individual tribunes attempted to restore local order. Before the main forces could collide. Imperial couriers broke through the swarm and delivered new orders — the goblin crisis was over, the legions were to return to the bases they had left months before.
The legionaries cursed and turned around to begin retracing all those wearisome leagues.
Doubtless that recall had seemed like a wise move to whoever issued it, but a legion consumed many tons of food a day. The Imperial Commissariat had worked miracles in assembling depots along the road to Hub; it had not anticipated the sudden about-face. Refusing to watch their men starve, legates turned off the highways to follow lesser roads and began to requisition what they needed. Soon great swathes of the Impire were being looted at swordpoint by its own troops.
* * *
Official mourning for old Emshandar had ended at last. The court was engrossed in preparations for the coronation. Fifty years had passed since the last coronation, and Shandie had decreed that his must be the grandest in the history of the Impire.
The aristocracy, which would normally have retired to its country homes before the hot weather turned Hub into a fever pit, had mostly chosen to remain in the capital. T
he city exploded in a riot of salons and garden parties, making up for the loss of the previous social season. Although Lord Umpily attended many of these functions, he was believed to be in poor health. Not a few of his acquaintances remarked on his pallor. He was certainly jumpy. There were even unconfirmed rumors that he had lost his appetite.
* * *
In Guwush the rebellion raged with ever-greater fervor. Oshpoo had been given a promise for the future, but he had not agreed to stop his war before the unlikely Imperial pretender made good on his side of the bargain — if he ever could. Triumphant gnomes swarmed on the depleted Imperial garrisons like piranha.
* * *
Ollion was a ghost city, haunted by fearful sentries waiting for the djinns. The Imperial Navy had every available ship patrolling the shore, ready for the Zarkian fleet’s attack.
* * *
The dwarf army had returned to Dwanish. Furious, the Directorate deposed General Karax and dispatched its forces down the Dark River to carry the war to Urgaxox.
* * *
Every raider on the four oceans was homing on Nordland, where the thanes had run out their longships. Every male jotunn who could find a lord to swear to was headed for Nintor, for the Longday Moot. No one doubted that this year it would be a war moot. Oarsmen chanted battle songs in time to the racing waves.
* * *
A strange occult campaign was being waged in Dragon Reach. Many of the anthropophagi sorcerers had been betrayed by Witch Grunth and those of her trolls who had been captured with her, but tiny bands still roamed at large, attempting to set their snares under the dread eye of the Covin.
* * *
Sir Acopulo reached a trading rendezvous off the western coast of Kerith and transferred to an impish merchantman bound for Zark, sending Seaspawn on her way with his blessings.
* * *
Rap climbed a sky tree, and then departed from Ilrane much faster than he had expected. Ylo and Eshiala wandered the hills of eastern Qoble, lovers in search of sanctuary, wishing only to be left alone.
