by Dave Duncan
The grubby little room was still crowded. She wondered briefly who lived in this cramped squalor, and what it would be like to spend a lifetime in it. A bed, a stone chest, a couple of stools, and a table—no pictures, no flower vases, no rugs or bright cushions.
“We came a long way for nothing,” Shandie said sadly.
“Not at all!” Only Raspnex had remained standing, solid as a granite tombstone on his great boots. He rubbed his beard, making a scratchy noise, and his expression was the grimace he used as a smile. “The plan remains unchanged!”
“It does?”
“Certainly. Officially the old rascal wants no part of it, but you heard what he said at the end. He was telling us to go ahead—and definitely warning us against his successor!”
Deniability, Inos thought. Gath was sitting on the floor, peering between his bony knees at her. He was grinning, too, which was an ominous sign.
The imperor sighed. “Explain.”
“Tomorrow we gatecrash,” Raspnex said jovially. “Remember that I’m still warden of the north as far as that bunch of mineowners, wheelwrights, and ironfounders is concerned. If I march into one of their meetings and demand a hearing, I’ll get one.”
Shandie was uncomfortably perched on a coal scuttle. “So how do you know there isn’t a Covin agent in the hall?”
“That’s where he comes in!” the warlock proclaimed, jabbing a thick finger in the direction of Gath. “He and I stand by the door as they convene. If I see a votary spell going in, I depart, smartly.”
Shandie frowned. “Why Gath?”
“Because he’ll know if I’m going to, so he’ll tell me beforehand. He’s our advance warning! If he foresees disaster while we’re speaking, again he’ll tell us before it happens.” The warlock shot an apprehensive glance at Inos, who was breathing fire and pawing the ground, figuratively.
“Can my son foretell the future better than you can, your Omnipotence?”
He waved his hands like shovels. “Not better, no. This is hard to explain. I can foresee things. Most sorcerers can, some better than others. But it’s a noisy, conspicuous thing to do, and most of us don’t do it much, because it can be extremely confusing, and even dangerous. Sorcerers have been known to fall into unbreakable trances trying to decide between conflicting futures, and others stumble upon their own deaths. Your son does it all the time because he can’t help it, so he’s learned to live with it. If he wasn’t the sort of young man he is, it would have driven him insane. Fortunately his range is short, and his power is so weak that it barely shows up. It’s sort of diffuse. Like a fly buzzing in the background. Unless you’re looking for it, you don’t see it. Hear it. Whatever.”
Gath was positively leering now, watching Inos. Perhaps bait was not quite what Raspnex had in mind for him, but it was close enough. She clenched her fists and restrained her temper, waiting to hear what Shandie would say.
He was obviously unhappy. “And if you detect Covin agents, what’s the alternative?”
“Then we try to spread the word privately among the other directors, as many as we can reach. Later, in small groups.”
The imperor glanced around the little room, studying the faces of the dwarves and goblins. He seemed to find little comfort in them. “That kills any chance of reaching Nordland by midsummer.”
“We’ll have to split up anyway, sooner or later.”
“I suppose so. If that’s the best we can do, then we have to risk it. How about the escape afterward? The proctor was right, you know. The Covin will want to know what’s been discussed, and it can certainly find out.”
Raspnex shrugged his massive shoulders. “You and I and the boy remain. The others should leave right away. Jarga’s got a boat waiting. As for us—as you may have guessed, this cottage is shielded. I know of several other shielded houses. We’ll hole up in one of them and wait until the hue and cry dies down.”
Shandie said, “Umph!” He did not look at Inos. Nor did he look overjoyed at the thought of half a year under house arrest in beautiful downtown Gwurkiarg. Gath was still grinning.
“Give up, your Majesty?” Raspnex jeered.
Shandie scowled. “I don’t like it, but as they say you can’t make chickens without breaking eggs.”
The warlock turned to Gath. “You willing, young ‘un?”
Gath sniggered. “No, sir.”
Raspnex glared. “No?”
“Ask my mother, sir.”
All eyes swung to Inos. Her skin prickled. What she was about to suggest might provoke an attack by the Covin within minutes. Faking a calm she did not feel, she smiled innocently at Shandie. “I believe you made my husband a promise?”
The imperial scowl deepened. “I did. I’m not sure it’s still valid, though. I take it you don’t approve of your son being involved in this?”
“I think it’s the craziest nonsense I ever heard and I certainly won’t let him be dragged in. I won’t have anything to do with it myself, either. I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”
The men all stared at her, and she wondered if the sorcerers were prying into her mind. They might find a few surprises in there.
Raspnex had certainly become very thoughtful. “Tell us.” She pointed to a little shelf above the hearth. “Can you make that candlestick fall down?”
“Yes.”
“Can you make it fall down tomorrow?” He nodded, his eyes like agates.
“When do you rattle the ambience, as my husband calls it? Now, when you cast the spell, or later, when it takes effect?”
“I dunno.” The warlock scratched his beard again. “Let’s try it.”
There was a moment’s silence, and then the candlestick fell off the shelf.
“Well?” he demanded, looking around.
“When it works, mostly,” Moon Baiter said, and the others were nodding.
“I felt almost nothing at the beginning,” Jarga said. “What I thought,” the warlock agreed. “That’s when the power acts. Holy rocks! She’s got it!”
With a surge of relief, Inos turned to the jotunn beside her. “How long would it take us to run to your ship and set sail?”
Jarga smiled broadly. “About an hour. Less.”
“Gath?”
He nodded vigorously, as if so full of mirth that he did not trust himself to speak.
“And he does it?” she asked.
More gleeful nods. “Yes he does, Mom.”
“Wait a minute!” Shandie barked. “You’ve lost me.”
”Oh?” Inos said. “You need me to spell it out for you?” He glared. “Please!”
“Quite simple. The warlock appears before the Directorate in a couple of weeks. But he does it now. Then we depart.”
Shandie blinked. “Is that possible?”
Raspnex had his gruesome leer back. “I don’t see why not. I’ve never tried it, but if I can do it to a candlestick, I can do it to me.”
“And the Covin won’t notice you doing it? Now, I mean.”
“How can it? I told you this room is shielded. I transport us two weeks into the future. Proctor said they’d still be in session in two weeks, so we might as well use that time. I send us there for ten minutes, or an hour, however long we think we need. We do what we want to do, and then we’re not there anymore.” He uttered a dwarf’s millstone chuckle, more amused than Inos could ever recall seeing him.
Shandie looked ready to tear his hair. “How do you get the power through the shielding? I thought—”
“Don’t. We walk out that door two weeks from now and I transport us to the Treasury.”
The imperor shook his head disbelievingly. “This is really going to work?”
“Ask Prince Gathmor.”
“We do go on the ship,” Gath said quietly. “Gurx? That’s its name. Her name, I mean. I saw that earlier. All of us, and the ambassador, too.” He pulled a face. “And dreg Vork.”
The imperor wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “God of Madness! We go before
the Directorate two weeks from now, but they can’t follow us because we left today? Inos, who taught you this?”
Triumph felt very, very good. “I worked it out. It’s just an extension of the kind of paradox Gath pulls off all the time. I don’t suppose it would work backward, would it?”
“Ugh!” Raspnex shuddered. “Go and do it yesterday, you mean? I certainly won’t try that! But I can’t see why not tomorrow, or two weeks from now.”
“And you can take me, too?” Shandie asked uneasily. “You don’t go!” Inos said. “I told you you’ve been going at this the wrong way. Forgive me, Omnipotence, but I don’t think begging is the best way to influence a collection of, er, mineowners and whatever else it was you called them.”
Raspnex was glaring now. So, she saw, were Frazkr and old Wirax. They must be reading her thoughts.
So, apparently was Jarga. “Gang of ornery, miserly, bullheaded, rockbrained dwarves,” she remarked with a smirk.
“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Inos said gratefully. “But remember that Dwanish and the Impire are at war. If Sh—if his Majesty appears before them, claiming to be rightful imperor, it is going to distract . . . Well, let’s say that the debate may stray from the subject you wish to discuss.”
There was an ugly pause, then Shandie said tactfully, “I can see how the discussion could become quite prolonged.” It would take hours, or weeks, and achieve nothing. “What are you suggesting?” Raspnex growled, but there was a sudden glint in his stony eyes.
“I think that a push might work better than a pull, your Omnipotence. I think the man who gatecrashes the Directorate should be Zinixo himself.”
Shandie said, “Holy Balance!” and started to smile. The two goblins laughed aloud.
Then so did Raspnex. He guffawed. “Have you been talking to elves, ma’am? I see! Well, this could be more fun than I thought! A lot of them will remember . . . I wonder if I can match his taste in foul language? Insults? Threats? Absolutely forbid them to tell anyone about the new protocol, of course?”
“Make it up as you go along,” Inos said. Now the tension was flooding out of her and she was beginning to shake. “Don’t forget that rockbrained bit.”
The warlock glanced around at the others, the sorcerers. “Any arguments? Good. Then let’s try it. Help me with the change.”
He flickered and became Zinixo. Inos caught her breath. It had been almost twenty years, and he was no longer a youth, but she would never forget that sneer, that vicious face.
“Well, swine?” He laughed sepulchrally, and she remembered too how incredibly low-pitched his voice was, even for a dwarf.
“You’re not dressed for the part,” she said shakily. “Gold chains and jewels.”
“He doesn’t! I mean, I don’t.”
“But it will impress the Directorate.”
“So it will, so it will. There!”
Gems and silks—now the fake usurper glittered in glory. He couldn’t quite match dear Azak, perhaps, but he would certainly rile any dwarf who saw him. Frazkr looked nauseated already.
“Any last advice?” the imposter rumbled. “No? Jarga, why don’t you take the mundanes down to the ship right away, just to be on the safe side? Then I’ll go and tell those moneygrubbers what I think of them and what I’ll do to them if they help me, er, you. Us, that is.”
“Don’t threaten their profits,” Shandie said weakly. “Or you really will scare them off.”
“Ha! By the time I’m done with them, they’ll be so mad they’ll take up a collection!”
As Inos rose, Gath jumped up and banged his head on a beam, which was a remarkable error for him to make. He used a word she hadn’t known he knew. Rubbing his yellow mop, he turned around in a crouch and grinned at her. ”Well done, Mom! I knew you’d do it!” He reached the door at the same time as the imperor. “Are we really going to the Nintor Moot, sir? I get to come?”
Shandie smiled at Inos, wearing a very appropriate shamefaced expression. ”You’ll have to ask your mother. She’s the strategist.”
It was a fair apology—she bobbed a curtsey.
He bowed her out ahead of him, and they blinked in the daylight and drizzle. The air was about as fresh as it ever was in Gwurkiarg, and welcome after the stuffy cottage.
Shandie glanced behind him and then said quietly, “That was brilliant!”
She grinned at him, still shivering a little with relief. “Oh, it was nothing, Sire! Live with Gath for a while and you begin to think backward and sideways.”
“No, that was brilliant, too, but the Zinixo thing! Of course they’d never have listened to us. As you said, the best way to move a dwarf forward would be to try to push him back. How did you ever think of it?”
“Just muddled female thinking,” Inos said demurely. She was tempted to explain that she’d been married to a faun for eighteen years, but it would sound disloyal.
Gath emerged behind them, still gabbling with excitement. “Mom? I don’t have to fight Vork, do I? I mean, you don’t mind that he calls you a fraud, and—and worse things?”
“What are you . . . who’s Vork?”
He pulled a face, showing the broken tooth that always annoyed her so much. ”Red-headed idiot. I mean, you told me not to listen when Brak insulted Dad, so you won’t mind if I ignore what Vork says about you, will you? You should hear what he calls me . . . Never mind. He spits on my feet!”
Inos clenched her fists. “Who is Vork?”
Jarga had appeared also, ducking under the lintel. “Vork,” she said, “is the terror of the four oceans, five years from now, my youngest half brother. He’s about your son’s age, and if Gath would just break his neck quickly, he would be doing us all a favor.”
Signifying nothing:
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
— Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, v
INTERLUDE
Spring was mellowing into summer in that fateful year of 2999, and people were on the move all over Pandemia.
As a rock falling in a pond raises a wave, the goblins’ attack had sent a catastrophe of refugees pouring southward, and all roads led to Hub.
Behind the fugitives, the goblin horde zigzagged across the deserted landscape, burning empty farms and deserted towns. Death Bird and Karax had agreed upon a brilliantly simple strategy. Goblins moved much faster than dwarves, so Death Bird would let the Imperial Army catch his scent and thus lure it northward. Then the goblins would be the hammer and the dwarves the anvil.
Like most brilliant ideas, it did not work. They had not considered the refugees.
Four legions stood across the ways to Hub, the wall of bronze Emthoro had described to the Senate. When the human tide surged down upon them, they moved aside to let it pass, but it choked every road and lane with people. Cohorts stood as islands in the flood, unable to advance upon the enemy even had they wished to. The army’s own supplies could not get through. Soon the wall of bronze itself was in danger of starving. Hub trembled as the torrent of frantic humanity swirled into its streets.
Deprived of rape and torture, the invaders became bored. The imps’ apparent inactivity made them apprehensive. Goblins had no tradition of discipline or loyalty to supreme authority; they began grumbling about returning home.
Feeling his control weaken, Death Bird abandoned the agreed plan and struck out southwestward, apparently hoping to outflank the legions. His messengers never reached Karax.
He eventually crossed the Ambly River into Ambel, and continued south. Had he turned east, the capital would have been easy pickings, and his reasons for not doing so were never established. Perhaps he suspected a trap. Perhaps he preferred a rapid advance into virgin country because it fed his men a satisfying supply of victims. The horde raced southward, meeting no resistance. Death Bird
was undoubtedly one of the greatest military geniuses ever to torment Pandemia, but he was also a savage, and limited in many respects. Had he known more history, he would never have led his host within range of the worms of Dragon Reach.
General Karax, hearing nothing of his unreliable allies and being unable to transport any more loot, turned his army around and headed back toward Dwanish. The Directorate later judged this eminently sensible act to be treason and put him to death.
Couriers had already poured out from Hub like hornets to summon the legions. Men in thousands shouldered their burdens, formed up in columns, and began marching. Day after day they wore out their sandals on the endless straight roads of the Impire.
In Gwurkiarg, capital of Dwanish, the former warlock Zinixo burst in upon a meeting of the Directorate, ranting about an obscure conspiracy of sorcerers no one had ever heard of and denouncing the warlocks for attempting to amend the Protocol. Two of the directors were observed to fall on their knees when he entered the hall. They knew that this was merely an occult projection of some sort, of course, but they did not question the actions of their beloved leader. A couple of other Covin agents in the city detected the release of power, but they, too, refrained from interrupting the Almighty. By the time Hub inquired what was happening, the apparition had vanished, leaving no trail to follow. Word of the outrage spread rapidly throughout the land.
By that time the riverboat Gurx had been riding the spring flood down the Dark River for two weeks. That inconspicuous little craft was later to be the subject of a famous ballad, for during those fateful days it bore an imperor, a queen, a thane, two princes, and the second largest collection of sorcerers in the world.
In Thume the rainy season had ended and the dry season begun. Life went on there undisturbed by the clamors of war, as it had for a thousand years. Novice Thaile pursued her studies in the College.
Sir Acopulo, released at last by the elvish officials, took passage on the first available southbound ship, which happened to be a smelly little fishing boat from Sysanasso.
