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Two: To The Appointed Place

 

1

About an hour past the top of the pass, the phaeton emerged at last from the clammy white mist. Angling down the side of an enormous valley, the road had just reached the tree line, where a few stunted pine pioneers seemed to be leading the forest in a general migration upward. Sunlight shone in silver on a lake far below.

"There!" Ylo said proudly. "Scenery!"

"Gorgeous. Are the tops of the hills pretty, too?"

"So I'm told. They've been temporarily removed for cleaning. Let's find a place where we can eat. I'm famished."

There was so little traffic that he could have just stopped on the highway itself, but he seemed reluctant to do that He drove on for a while, until the trees began to crowd in more thickly. Then he reined in, but he jumped down and led the roan up a gentle slope and around behind a thick clump of conifers, the chaise lurching along behind. Eshiala passed Maya down to him and then accepted his hand to descend, wondering but not commenting. She knew Ylo now, and he would have his reasons. He would also have his reasons for not telling her his reasons.

The sun had begun to peek through the clouds, and the day was warmer. They ate lunch. Maya became engrossed in trying to feed, or possibly catch, a ground squirrel.

Lying back on the cloak Ylo had spread on the grass, Eshiala watched him through half-closed eyes. He was leaning his arms on his knees, staring at nothing. Thinking? Worrying? The sun glinted blue highlights in his black hair and traced out the angles of cheekbone and chin. He was quite the handsomest man she had ever met.

She wished her darling daughter would curl up and go to steep and leave the two of them alone. This would be a very suitable spot to learn about outdoor loving, even if there weren't any of his precious daffodils about. The wind was warm and gentle, the only sounds the roan's steady munching and an occasional rattle of harness.

Whatever was she going to do when they reached Gaaze and Ylo left her? How could she fend for herself and her daughter? Her share of the gold Lady Eigaze had given them was still intact, because Ylo had insisted on spending his and not hers, and it would suffice to buy a little store, a grocer's store, like her father's. She knew how to serve customers in a store, but she knew nothing about buying stock or keeping books or hiring helpers, and she did not think Imperial law allowed a woman to own anything like that anyway. So she would have to find a man to help her. What man could she trust? What man could ever be as satisfying as . . .

Ylo raised his head. Hooves beat a slow tattoo on the road. Harness jingled, wheels rumbled—a carriage coming up the hill. He relaxed again. The sounds died down until the wind wiped them away. He leaned on an elbow to spot a kiss on the end of Eshiala's nose. "Asleep?"

"Almost. What's my dearest daughter doing?"

"Stalking."

"Stun her with a rock, will you? Gently, of course."

He grinned, eyes close above hers. "Don't be greedy."

"Why not? You taught me to be greedy." She would not have Ylo around to make love to very many more times. They were in Qoble now; at Gaaze he would leave her. That had been the agreement. The dream was almost over. She sighed, and stretched, and then laid an arm around his neck, trying to pull him down. "Time to go, I suppose?"

He resisted, frowning, listening, "In a minute."

More hooves, and this tune faster—a horseman, descending. He went by. He stopped, suddenly. The roan looked up and whinnied and was answered.

Ylo sat up, breaking free of her. His hand slid to his sword hilt, but she suspected he was unaware of it.

The hooves returned, slowly. Then the sound ended, as the horse left the roadbed. Eshiala sat up. Ylo floated to his feet, graceful as always.

The rider came into view around the pines, a legionary, mail flashing bright in the sunlight. A swarthy and surprisingly youthful face peered out from his helmet. He reined in a few feet away and saluted.

"Signifer Ylo!"

Ylo hesitated. His fists were clenched tight. Then he laughed. "Hawk! Well, well. Hawk, you old rascal!"

Hawk nodded. His eyes flickered momentarily to Eshiala and then away again. "On vacation . . . sir?"

Ylo was out of uniform. The man's tone was respectful, but it indicated that distinction somehow.

"More or less," Ylo said. "They don't call you Hawk for nothing, do they?"

"A blind bat could see those wheel tracks." The youngster looked pleased by the flattery, though.

"Transferred to first cohort, I see. How's Anlya?"

The legionary's mount began to prance, and he brought it under control with more effort man a skilled horseman would have needed. "She's fine, just fine. Deeded me a big bouncing son couple of months ago." He beamed proudly. "Young bullock, he is."

"Hey, great! Congratulations. Give her my regards."

"Will do." Again Hawk glanced briefly at Eshiala, and then at Maya, who was watching from a safe distance. He regarded Ylo appraisingly.

His horse began to fidget again and he swore at it "Signifer . . . I think this brute may be going to go a little lame, you know?"

"Want me to take a look?" Ylo asked hesitantly, puzzled.

The legionary shook his head in a blaze of sun on bronze. "It'll slow me, I mean. I may be late arriving. Er, just past the second ford, there's a track goes off to the left. It's a bit rough for wheels, but it takes you around Pinebridge."

Ylo's fists relaxed. "Ah. Thanks, Hawk. Appreciate that information."

"Useful shortcut." The legionary smiled grimly. "Try and stay out of trouble, Signifer." He patted the dispatch pouch at his belt thoughtfully.

"Trouble tells a man who his friends are."

"Well, there's that. The Good be with you. My lady."

The kid nodded, wheeled his horse clumsily, and headed back to the highway. A moment later, hooves clopped on the paving.

Ylo stood stock still, staring after him. Eshiala climbed to her feet, heart thumping.

"Now tell me what all that was about." She waited, aware that she was starting to shake. "Ylo? Tell me!"

He shrugged and turned to smile at her. "It can't be the Covin, obviously. So it's mundanes."

"Who?"

The smile became wooden, a mask hiding his feelings. "Hardgraa, I expect. We made a fool of him, locking him in the cellar. Aunt Eigaze did."

Eshiala moved closer, wanting comfort. "Spell it out, darling, please!"

"It's my own evilish fault!" he said, suddenly furious. "Back at Yewdark I blabbed about looking for a warmer climate. Hardgraa's a lot smarter than he looks. He must've guessed I meant to head back to Qoble. He's still loyal to Shandie's memory. He thinks it's his duty to turn your daughter in at court."

Eshiala shivered. Suddenly the wind seemed much colder. "He's only a centurion!"

Ylo shook his head. "Everyone in the XIIth knows he's Shandie's man. He wouldn't need papers and warrants. He could've reached Gaaze ahead of us, easy. And talked to the legate. The XIIth guards the passes."

"They're going to arrest us?"

His anger was obvious now. "Detain us for questioning. He won't have mentioned who you are, of course. He's probably told them some tale about a high official's wife and the imperor being furious but not wanting a scandal. Hardgraa can spin yams like that by the league. That would be my guess. And the legate's told them to look out for me."

"They all know you!"

He nodded. "And my reputation."

If he wasn't going to initiate a hug, then she would have to. She stepped close and put her arms around him. He did not respond, just stood there, looking down at her coldly. "Well-earned reputation!"

"The finest lover in Pandemia," she countered.

"Finest seducer of beautiful young women!" he said bitterly.

Surely he was not having an attack of conscience? Not Ylo! "And a hero to the army. Hawk was offering to commit treason for you, darling—wasn't he?"

He blinked in surprise and then laughed uneasily. "I suppose it would be mutiny at least, if you want to put it that way."

Strange and lovely man! Ylo was very conscious of his good looks and sometimes lately he seemed just a little ashamed of the use he put them to, but he never, ever gave himself credit for all his good qualities. Like heroism.

"The legate would put it that way!" She squeezed him tighter. "Hawk's risking his life for you, delaying that dispatch. That's something Hardgraa won't have thought of!"

"Mutiny? Young idiot! You're right." Ylo grinned devilishly. "Know something funny? That son he mentioned? It could be mine. The timing would be right."

Eshiala released him and turned her back. "Pretty, is she, his Anlya?"

"Er . . . Well, I thought she was dazzling. Since I've met you I know she was a squint-eyed, flabby, poxy dwarf." Now he tried to put his arms around her and she stepped away.

"So this shortcut could be a trap? Hawk and his friends?"

Ylo gulped audibly and she turned.

He shook his head. "No. Hawk's too impulsive! If he even suspected that, he'd have ridden me down, or run me through right here. He wouldn't set traps, it's not his way. Anlya told me how—well, never mind. If he says we can bypass Pinebridge, then we can bypass Pinebridge. We can skip Gaaze and head east, to Castino or Angot . . ."

She laughed sadly. "Oh, Ylo, Ylo, my darling! One of these days some husband's going to come after you with a gang of thugs and—"

"Not any more. I'm trying to tell you—"

"But if you think this shortcut's a good idea, then I suppose we don't have anything much to—"

"Eshiala, will you listen to me a moment?"

"I am listening. Hawk won't be able to give us—"

"No you're not. We ought to separate, really, because it's me the men of the XIIth know, not you, and—"

"No!" she shouted.

"I'm a rake."

"I know that, darling. Just now I'm the one being, er, raked, and I love—"

"I'm landless and penniless and the only skill I've got is seduction. I'm a liar—"

"I know that, too." She doubted that he had ever told her one untrue word. She wanted to hold him, kiss him—anything. She could barely keep her hands off him when they were alone, but they ought to be on their way, not standing here jabbering like a pair of parrots.

"I don't lie to the Gods, though."

"We must—What do you mean?"

"Eshiala, my darling, will . . . Will you marry me?"

"Ylo! You don't mean that?"

He shrugged. "Well, I was just hoping. Not just because it'll make Hardgraa's job harder. Not only that. I mean, I'm crazily in love with you, like I've never been with any woman."

"Ylo!"

Wonder in his eyes . . . "I just realized now—when Hawk said . . . I just thought of them separating us, and knew I couldn't bear the thought of ever losing you, but you would be crazy to trust me, and—"

Her mouth was on his. Then his arms were around her, crushing her to him.

Maya came running over and pounded fists on them, wanting to be included. When she began to scream, Ylo broke off the embrace to scoop her up. His face was as flushed as Eshiala knew her own must be, but the sunlight danced in his eyes.

"That means yes?" he asked, clutching her with one arm and Maya with the other.

"Oh, yes, yes!"

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes . . .

 

 

2

The sun was setting in Guwush.

The previous evening, Inos had thought that Highscarp was a horrid little place, ugly and squalid. Now she knew that Yugg was much worse—smaller, uglier, and squalider. The post inn was a hovel of timber and sagging thatch, its stableyard a morass of filth. Yugg looked like it sounded. It smelled even more so.

She thought she would always remember it with love. It was full of birdsong and rainbows for her. Rap was alive!

Grumbling passengers were still climbing down from the stage. The baggage was being unloaded by innumerable gnomes of indiscernible age and sex, grotesque little figures in grimy rags swarming over the carriage like ants. They bore off the booty in streams, four or five to a heavy valise and seven or eight under a trunk, running through the mire, splashing it around gleefully with their bare feet and piping excitedly in high-pitched voices. Whatever their faults, whatever their circumstances, gnomes were usually content.

Inos stood in the mud and stench with Shandie and the warlock, hearing hardly half of what the dwarf was saying. Dragons burning up legions, goblins ripped apart, Olybino dead . . . It was all horrible, yet little of it registered. Olybino had named Rap as the leader of the resistance and the usurper had not denied it, so Rap had certainly not been caught by the Covin and must be assumed to be still at large as far as Zinixo was aware. Rap was alive!

So perhaps one day they would meet again? Back home in distant little Krasnegar, king and queen together once more? That seemed so horribly impossible still, and if it happened she would have to tell him how she had blundered, how she had lost their son and daughter—Gath off adventuring into mortal danger in Nordland and Kadie abducted by goblins. A God had warned him he must lose a child, and Inos had crazily lost two. Even Holi and Eva, back in Krasnegar, might be in danger or even dead for all she knew now. Much as she wanted Rap, could she ever bring herself to look him in the eye again?

Gath might yet survive, but Kadie . . . Oh, Gods! She thought back to what Raspnex had said about the goblins' fate. Not dragons, at least. That had been the legions. Anything would be better than dragons.

"Sorcery?" she said, interrupting him. "What did you say happened to the goblins?"

He peered up angrily under his broad-brimmed hat, an aging human nail keg, eyes like gray agates above a beard of iron turnings. Then his glare softened. "Just naked power, ma'am. I couldn't tell much at this distance. I mean, I don't know if it was specifically directed at the greenies or would destroy . . . Sorry, Inos. I just don't know."

"You all right?" Shandie demanded.

Of course she was not all right! "I'm fine," she said. Oh, Kadie, Kadie!

Shandie glanced at the inn and pulled a face. "We should go get you a stiff drink." He did not move, though. This open yard was a safer place to talk than anywhere indoors would be. He looked down at the dwarf. "Anything else?"

"Isn't that enough? Slag, what a day!" Raspnex scowled, and even for him it was a vicious grimace. "Who's going to believe in us when we pass up an opportunity like that? We let East get blasted and did nothing! Why didn't Rap sound the charge? Why didn't I?"

The imperor shrugged. "Well, why didn't you?"

"Mostly because the dragons were still in the sky. If the Covin had released its hold on them, they'd have run amok."

The imperor nodded. "Then I expect that's why Rap didn't."

The dwarf nodded and stuffed his big hands in his pockets. He stared down at his boots, seeming oddly childlike for an elderly, tough-as-rocks sorcerer. "So now what?" he growled. "We don't have to spread the news anymore. The word's out, may the Gods cherish his soul."

Shandie flashed a meaningful glance at Inos over the crown of the dwarf's hat. The two warlocks had not been friends. From Raspnex, that had been a rare and precious tribute to a dead hero.

"Amen."

The warlock kicked at a lump of filth. "You don't need to bother with gnomish rebels now. We don't have to stay on in this pigpen, thank the Powers. Leave tomorrow."

Shandie drew a deep breath and almost gagged in consequence. "Well, I'll admit that's a relief. For both reasons. Let's think about it" He turned again to face the inn. "Do you suppose they charge by the bed or by the bug?"

Inos thought, Kadie! and squared her shoulders. Kadie might have been dead for months; she could well have died in some much more horrible way than just being blasted by sorcery. She must not dwell on that. Likely she would never know what had happened to her daughter. The Gods would . . . Her hand found something.

She pulled a thin tube from the pocket of her cloak and frowned at it.

"What's that?" Shandie demanded. Very little escaped him.

"I don't know." The paper had a gnomish look to it, tattered and soiled. She unrolled it.

 
I have no quarrel with
Krasnegar and offer safe
conduct to your friend who
wishes to meet with me. The
two of you must come at once to
the temple, unaccompanied. You
will be security for his good
conduct. He knows my hand.
 

"Someone must have just put it there," she said, passing it to Shandie. She glanced around, but the infestation of gnomes had dispersed. The yard was almost empty. Deft little fingers going by could easily have slipped the paper in her pocket without her noticing; She had been in a daze anyway.

Shandie's face was as wooden as a log pile.

"Is it his writing?" Raspnex demanded. He had not been shown the paper. He was a sorcerer.

"Could be. It's been a long time." The imperor shook his head as if to clear it. "Son of a mule! What matters is that whoever wrote this knows I have seen Oshpoo's hand." He laughed mirthlessly. "Brazen cheek!"

"How do you know his handwriting?" Inos asked. She had never considered the idea that gnomes might read and write, and discovering that blatant prejudice in herself annoyed her considerably. Why shouldn't gnomes read and write?

"After Highscarp he sent me a letter congratulating me on my success." Shandie was being much too casual.

"And?"

"And promising to get even." He smiled wryly, passed the letter back to Inos. "Looks like he may have found his chance."

"You're out of your mind!" Raspnex snapped. "I just told you—you don't have to go talk with mundane leaders anymore. All the sorcerous know about the new protocol now."

"But there are other things I might discuss with that gentleman. I use the word loosely." Shandie was regarding Inos. His dark eyes smoldered with an intensity that she had seen in them only rarely. She thought of that as his imperor look. It was the only thing that would ever make him stand out in a crowd. He was asking if she was willing to put her head in the noose with his.

Right now, more than anything, she would enjoy a hot bath, but that would not likely be obtainable in Yugg's sole hostelry. Besides, the bath would be more appropriate after meeting with gnomes, not before. And if Emshandar V by the grace of the Gods et cetera thought he could outdare Inosolan of Krasnegar, longtime bird's-nest raiding champion of the North Face, then he was due for a shock.

So what if it was dangerous? Right now danger would be a welcome distraction from brooding. She nodded. The imperor removed his sword and scabbard and handed them to the dwarf.

"Madness!" Raspnex muttered.

"You'll keep an occult eye on us, though?"

"Why bother? Can't do much. Given the choice, which do you want—gnomes or the Covin? Your Oshpoo must have sorcerers of his own, to know who you are."

"There's more to it than that," Shandie said. "Much more! Work it out. Inos, I'm grateful!" He offered his arm as if they were about to enter a ballroom. She smiled and accepted. Together they left the yard and emerged on the main street, which was also the Imperial highway across Guwush. Left led to the stockade of the fort, right to the temple, whose rickety little spire was the only thing in town taller than' the cottage chimneys. They turned right.

A bugle called faintly from the fort. She did not ask Shandie what it signified. Chow, perhaps? The sky was growing dark, draining color from the world, and yet few windows showed lights. A dog was barking somewhere. The street did seem deserted, but tiny shadows moved in the corners of the alleys and in the corner of her eye. She was quite certain that the two strangers were being watched as they strode along.

"The Yugg Valley is one of the principal sources of spider silk," Shandie remarked, intent on making casual conversation. He did not even seem to be looking out for danger.

He was behaving very oddly. The previous evening he had warned her against taking an innocent evening stroll in Highscarp, and now he was leading her out without a sword to meet a sworn enemy. His personal courage was unquestioned—the Senate had passed resolutions reprimanding him for it—but she would not have expected him to be quite this foolhardy. He must have some powerful reason for wanting to meet the rebel chief, and she could not imagine what it might be.

Even more curious, perhaps, was the way he had allowed Inos herself to be dragged into an affair where she clearly did not belong. That did not fit with his attitude toward women and their irrelevancy in warfare, danger, and all other serious business.

Yet, come to think of it, Shandie's attitude toward women had not been putting quite such a strain on her tooth enamel recently as it had when she had first met him. She could not recall the last time she had ground or gritted at one of his remarks. Could he possibly have changed his opinions in the past few months? A few houses farther along the road, she came to the conclusion that he definitely must have changed them. She wondered what in the world could have caused such a conversion in anyone as obdurate as Shandie.

They were almost at the temple. He was still talking aimlessly about silk. As they passed a gap between two houses, somebody whistled. There was just enough light to make out a small figure beckoning.

"Whistling!" Shandie said, changing direction. Mud squelched underfoot as soon as they left the paved highway. "Now I am whistled up like a dog?" He sounded amused—slightly.

They entered the alley. A tiny shadow flitted ahead, barely visible even when moving, vanishing whenever it stopped to wait for them.

"All we need now," Inos said, "is for a bunch of horsemen to leave the stockade and ride along the street. That'd do it!"

"Less than that, I expect. A bugle call might be enough, if the man himself is really here in person."

There was barely room for the two of them to walk side by side. The little guide hurried through a muddle of cottages like a maze. There were no organized roads and the footing was treacherous. Yugg was larger than Inos had thought. Suddenly they came to the end of it Ahead lay brush and trees, and fresh air. Their mysterious guide was still beckoning.

A few steps into the wood, Inos stumbled. Shandie steadied her and stopped.

"We need light!" he called.

Tiny fingers gripped her hand and she jumped. Shandie grunted angrily, and she saw that vague little shapes had materialized beside each of them.

"We shall guide you," said a shrill, thin voice, more like birdsong than human speech.

"Lead on, then."

Shandie went first, Inos followed. In a moment she pulled free of the gnome's grasp and put a hand on her—or his—shoulder. That worked better. She raised an arm to keep branches out of her face. They plodded through the forest, following an invisible path, and eventually a glimmer of light came into view. A small fire smoldered in a hollow. A solitary gnome sat cross-legged at the far side.

The greasy little shoulder twisted away from her and the guides vanished as mysteriously and silently as they had come. Shandie and Inos picked their way down the slope and settled on the ground, facing the gnome.

At first glance he was a pot-bellied, very filthy child. A second look discovered the wrinkles and flabby skin under the caked dirt. The color of his hair and beard were indeterminate. He wore a rag of the same gray as himself; his feet were bare. Like all gnomes, he had very little nose. He stared at the newcomers in silence, black-button eyes shining bright in the firelight.

Inos thought the beating of her heart must be audible for leagues. The woods all around were silent, but she was certain that they were filled with watchers. What had possessed her to come here? This was not her business. Rap would call her an idiot.

"You are older than I expected," Shandie said.

"I am not Leader. I must make sure that it is safe for Leader to come here."

"It is safe as far as I am concerned."

The gnome scratched busily. "You are Imperor? This is Queen, from Krasnegar?"

"Yes. We were invited here."

The tiny old man ignored that. He studied Inos for a moment. "You have gnomes in your land?"

She had half expected that question and had her answer ready. "At the last count there were six, but I expect there are eight now. Pish, Tush, Heug, Phewf, and their children."

"Ah! You know their names?"

"They are the royal rat catchers."

The gnome chuckled hoarsely, obviously pleased.

"They are there by invitation," Inos said.

He nodded. "That sounds like Rap."

Her heart jumped. She thought she knew who this ancient was, then. Shandie made an irritated noise, but she ignored him.

"You have met my husband, sir?"

"Please do not give me titles. Yes, I met Rap once, long ago. He stands out of the light."

"I do not quite follow that . . . Ishist?"

"It is a gnomish saying. Most people cannot see the world for their own shadows."

There was a lump in her throat. "That describes him very well."

The old man picked up a stick and poked at the fire. Sparks rushed upward into the night. "He sees what is and does what he should."

"Yes, he does." It was Rap exactly.

"And you, Imperor? Why wouldst you speak with Leader?"

"You eavesdropped on her Majesty and myself last night in Highscarp," Shandie said. "When we spoke, at the door of the inn."

Ishist cackled. "I did not. Others did."

There was a pause. Inos wished she could pass a note to Shandie, warning of sorcery. "May I inquire how your wife is, Ishist?"

"She is well. She is visiting with her father at the moment."

Inos flipped a mental coin and decided to press on, aware that she was on dangerous ground. "They are reconciled?"

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 when 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 valuable 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.

The old man opened his eyes and blinked.

"We have to leave," Rap said.

"Our position?"

"About half a league off Dragon Reach and sinking."

"Oh?" Sagorn pulled a smile, which for once seemed genuinely amused and not scornful. "That doesn't seem very efficient for a shipload of sorcerers!"

"We could correct the situation, but the power required can better be applied otherwise."

"How?" The old jotunn twisted expertly in the hammock and planted his feet safely on the deck. Had he been a sailor at some time in his many shared lives, or was that a racial skill?

Dreadnought heeled over at a dangerous angle and this time seemed reluctant to straighten. Timbers groaned menacingly. A sea chest slid gratingly across the deck and slammed into another.

Rap offered the old man a hand to help him straighten. "You and I will be transported to Ilrane. The others will go ashore on Dragon Reach."

Sagorn banged his head on a beam and cursed. "When you say me, you mean one of my associates?"

"Andor, I think. He has been to Ilrane before."

"And you can do this without alerting the Covin?"

"With thirty-seven of us in concert, we have ample power."

Sagorn nodded and rubbed his eyes. "And the vessel will be left to sink alone? I see. Of course your journey will be wasted or even suicidal if Zinixo has already located Warlock Lith'rian. So you must assume that he hasn't?"

"Olybino mentioned him and Zinixo did not produce him, which suggests that he is still at liberty."

The ship heeled again. The old man swayed unconsciously to remain upright. "You risk a lot on a mere suggestion. And just how do you intend to locate the missing warlock when the Almighty has failed?"

"I shall look in the obvious place, of course."

Sagorn's eyes glinted in the gloom. With the barest hesitation he said, "Isn't that too obvious?"

"Then—knowing elves as we both do—doesn't that make it certain?"

The jotunn chuckled. "Well, you may be right there."

"I'm glad you agree with me." Rap had a great deal of respect for Sagorn's acumen. "Time is pressing. Doctor."

"One question before I depart. When are you going to start the war?"

Rap shrugged. Dreadnought was listing badly now and shipping water at an alarming rate.

"I don't know. I'm not sure it's up to me to sound the trumpet. Three weeks to Longday, roughly."

The old man looked hard at him, frowning. "The Midsummer Moot? The imperor was going to Nordland?"

"That was the plan, and Raspnex had some scheme he wouldn't discuss, remember? I think it may have involved the thanes. I doubt that there are very many sorcerers to be garnered among the jotnar, but it's worth a try, I suppose. We're not sure that Olybino was loud enough to be heard in Nordland."

"I see. That's why you think Longday matters?"

"Not really," Rap admitted. "This afternoon Thrugg announced that it felt important, and Thrugg's the most potent sorcerer on the ship. Now his mother and Tik Tok are agreeing with him. Grunth and the others will need time to deal with the dragons. Three weeks will be cutting it very fine."

"Of course." Sagorn smiled grimly and held out a frail hand. "Then I shall call Andor in my place and wish you luck of him. I also wish you luck with Warlock Lith'rian!"

"Thanks," Rap said. "I'll need it."

 

 

5

The post inn at Yugg had no name and would never rank stars in any travelers' guide. Shandie had met worse in his time—but not often. Nonetheless, as dawn brightened the rain clouds outside he tackled a greasy breakfast with an enthusiasm he would probably regret as soon as the stagecoach began to move. Last night's meeting with Oshpoo had encouraged him greatly. He had enlisted a substantial, if unknown, number of sorcerers to battle the Almighty; he had also solved the Guwush problem that had baffled his grandfather for thirty years. If you can't win give up! What could be more obvious? The Senate would howl, of course. Shandie looked forward to that struggle with pleasure. It would certainly beat fighting sorcerers.

The sooner that war was fought and won the better!

He recognized the feeling: It was time for battle to commence. This was not a campaign like any other he had ever fought, but there came a point in all conflicts when the opposing forces were arrayed and preliminary skirmishing gave way to the main event. Time was now on Zinixo's side, for the Covin must still be tracking down and enlisting sorcerers. The counterrevolution would rot away if it was not soon shown some leadership.

Raspnex and Inos were crammed in beside him at the little corner table. He cleared his throat. Neither paid any attention.

The dwarf was picking grumpily at a bowl of some darkly anonymous gruel. He was grouchy at the best of times and venomous at breakfast. So far he had not said a word.

Inos had abandoned her food altogether and was apparently writing a letter. She had steadied a paper on the back of a book and was holding it up to the uncertain light from the window, chewing her tongue and frowning as she doodled.

Shandie started over. "We shan't have a chance to talk until noon at the earliest. Has anyone got any suggestions about where we go from here?"

Raspnex continued eating, his chin barely higher than the dishes. "Out of this flea-ridden swamp, posthaste."

"Granted. I mean after we meet up with Wirax and the others." The other sorcerers were rounding Guwush by sea, due to rendezvous at Randport—two dwarves, two goblins, and a jotunn. "When does the war start?"

"Longday," Raspnex mumbled with his mouth full.

"What! Midsummer? How do you know that?"

The warlock glanced up blankly, seeming surprised. "Dunno. Just feels right, somehow. Hunch."

About to bark a scathing comment, Shandie remembered that he was talking with a sorcerer, whose hunches might well be reliable. Longday was still three weeks off, though. "Then what do we do next?"

Again the dwarf filled his mouth with gruel. He looked up sourly and said, "We wait for the leader's signal, of course."

"Meaning Rap?"

"Who else?"

Mm! It was Shandie's impire that had been stolen. He was a soldier and Rap was not.

"Much as I respect the king of Krasnegar as a man—and I agree completely with Ishist's remark that he 'stands out of the light' as few other—"

"I suppose you want to go on the offensive?"

"Yes I do! Now that everyone knows about—"

"And attack what?" Raspnex growled.

"The Covin, of course."

"Where?" the warlock demanded, scowling. "How? You're thinking like a brainless musclebound legionary. Find the enemy and stick a spear in him, I presume? Well, that doesn't work with sorcery."

Inos whistled a small tune and continued with her writing, not looking up.

"Perhaps you should explain," Shandie said coldly. "I am feeling unusually musclebound this morning."

"Obviously." The dwarf pushed his bowl away and dragged a sleeve across his mouth. He fixed a stony glare on the imperor. "Sorcerous warfare is different! Reinforcements can move instantaneously. When armies are overpowered they're not destroyed, they turn on their friends. Once battle is joined, there can be no withdrawal, no retreat, no regrouping! That's only some of it. It's not the kind of fighting you know. For one thing, it's much faster. If you sound the charge and rush into Hub, you may find no one there. You are only a mundane, and a mundane can't fight this sort of war."

Shandie made a point of never losing his temper. Sometimes that was not easy. "Can Rap, though?"

"We're going to find out, aren't we? He's our leader. Who else could be? Olybino should have been, but he ducked and now he's dead. Besides, the other races never trust imps. Grunth is a troll—for all her snarling and big teeth, she's a rabbit at heart. Are you suggesting that elf?" Raspnex raised a fist like a stonemason's hammer.

Dwarves and elves went together like water and quicklime. Raspnex and Lith'rian might both accept Rap, but neither would ever accept the other.

Shandie said, "No."

"Good. Rap invented the new protocol. Rap beat Zinixo once before. Rap refused a warden's throne—three times he refused. Rap is the only sorcerer other sorcerers will ever trust! In fact . . ." The warlock glanced thoughtfully at Inos. "There are rumors that he could have been a God and he turned that down, too."

The queen glanced up and met his stony glare. "Are there really?" she said coldly.

The dwarf chuckled, as if he had just confirmed a suspicion. "Rap is our leader. Any more bright ideas, imp?"

"None whatsoever," Shandie said grimly. There had been no word from Rap in months. Was he even alive? He could well be dead, even if the Covin were not aware of it.

Raspnex leered. "Good. It's what Olybino said and no one argued. There's no one else for the job."

"So we are waiting for him to sound the attack?" Inos asked, squinting again at her paper.

"Yes."

"But how long do we wait?" Shandie asked.

"Dunno. Long as he wants. But don't make any plans for Longday. Or after," he added glumly.

"I dunno, either," Inos said. "Have you ever seen anyone like this?"

She passed the paper across to Shandie. It was not a letter, it was a sketch.

"I didn't know you were an artist!" he exclaimed. And a good one—he turned the sheet to the light. The queen of Krasnegar was a woman of infinite surprises. She had drawn four youthful male faces, one frowning, the others smiling. Yet there was something about the smiles that smacked of nightmare and raised his dander.

"Elves?"

"No."

No. The noses were wrong. The ears were certainly wrong.

"Then who?"

"I asked if you had ever seen anyone like them."

"Pixies? These are the pixies you met in Thume?"

"As well as I can recall. It was twenty years ago, remember." She shivered. "But I still meet them in dreams."

Shandie nodded excitedly. "It could be! The old woman who told me about the preflecting pool? Rap and Doctor Sagorn both suggested she might have been a pixie."

"Well?" Inos asked patiently. "Was she?"

"I didn't get a very good look, but—yes! Yes, I think so. The nose is right. The eyes are certainly right. They were not elvish eyes."

Inos smirked, pleased at his reaction. "Does that answer your original question. Sire?"

Raspnex glared up at her. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"Yes," she said sweetly. "We'll meet up with the others at Randport. If the war hasn't broken out by then, well, it would only take us a day or two to sail across and take a peek."

The dwarf was looking more astonished than Shandie could ever recall seeing him. "Go to Thume? Woman, you are out of your mind!"

"Indeed?" Inos cocked an eyebrow. "Why? Tell me why?"

The warlock just stared, speechless.

At that moment the post horn sounded.

"Time to go," Shandie said, hiding his amusement. "Let's think about it and talk it over this evening."

 

 

6

A good-looking young couple in their very early twenties, possibly accompanied by a female child aged about two.

The description had not done them justice. In fifty years of service. Mother Iffini had seen no lovers to match them. The girl had the fragile, innocent purity of fine porcelain, the boy a winsome sparkle of devilry, but it was their physical beauty that impressed her most—and the way they glowed when they looked at each other.

"Shorter than most and thinner than few" was how Mother Iffini liked to describe herself. She knew of no reason why an elderly cleric need be athletic, whereas a comfy maternal portliness was often an advantage in putting people at ease. With her baby-pink face and soft white hair, she felt that she represented the exact ideal of a wise, tolerant, venerable counsellor. Her appearance certainly deserved the honorific of "Mother," and she tried to make her behavior equally worthy.

Her little chapel stood in the fruit country east of Gaaze, at a crossroads amid the orchards. It had a name on the maps, but no one ever referred to it as anything but the White Temple. At some times of the year the countryside swarmed with migrant workers, and she would fill the place four or five times over on every feast day. Between harvests, the countryside dozed off to sleep again, and even the most popular God would not merit a congregation of more than a dozen. As the bishop admitted, the area could not have supported a permanent temple at all without the inheritance Mother Iffini had received from her grandparents.

The fig season had not begun yet. Orchards stretched out sleepily under the summer haze with the Qoble Mountains a spectral backdrop to the north. At this time of year her duties were light. When callers came, she preferred to meet with them outdoors, although she was always careful to ask if they minded. She would show them the little courtyard behind her house and explain how completely private it was, even better than the house really because sometimes servants overheard without meaning to, and she would sit them down in the shade of the vine trellis, next to the bougainvillea, so magnificently purple. There was an ancient stone table there, well embroidered with lichens, and some comfortable wicker chairs. When there were children, as now, she would provide a bag of crumbs and point out the gleam of golden scales gliding under the water lily pads.

Thus Mother Iffini put her unexpected visitors at ease this breathless summer afternoon. She told her groom to attend to their horse, had cool lemonade brought for them, showed the little girl how to feed the carp. She moved the parrot's cage to a safe height so there would be no nipped fingers, and finally got down to business, setting out inkwell and quill and parchment certificate on the table. Next to a naming ceremony, she enjoyed weddings more than anything.

Good-looking young couple in their very early twenties, indeed! The girl was an enchantress, unforgettable, the sort of stunning beauty one saw only once or twice in a lifetime. But then the boy was, too, although one normally did not use the same words for men. She could not recall a more romantic couple, nor a couple more obviously besotted. When they looked at each other the sun dimmed.

"Oh, do stop talking nonsense, you feather-headed bird," said the parrot.

Mother Iffini decided that she had a problem.

Never in her born days had she doubted her own loyalty to the imperor, Gods bless him. Gaaze was not so far off that she had no contact with the legion there, the XIIth, probably the best in the army. Many a local boy had gone off to join the XIIth and come back all shining and proud in his bronze to brighten her little temple. She had married legionaries, named legionaries—future legionaries, of course—and buried legionaries. She was a loyal subject of his Majesty and a strong supporter of the army.

But before anything, she was a sworn servant of the Gods. The two duties had never come into conflict for her before. Perhaps they were not in conflict now, but she would have to make sure of that. After all, the legionary who had come calling yesterday had not shown her any formal warrant, as happened once in a while when there was a criminal loose. He had named no crime. He had merely read out a memorandum. That was not quite the same, was it, as showing her a document with the lictor's seal on it? It was certainly no reason why she should not perform a marriage if her conscience said she should, whether or not she reported her visitors afterward.

She dipped her quill in the inkwell. Date . . . "Why, this is Mother's Eve! You are quite sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow?" She beamed at them to show that she was not serious, but she was rather hoping they would agree to a delay, so she would have time to think.

The visitors looked deep into each other's eyes and shook their heads. "No," the woman whispered.

She should have seated them a little farther apart. They were almost close enough to touch fingers across the table if they stretched out their arms. They were having trouble not doing so.

"Actually I have two weddings scheduled for tomorrow anyway. Don't know I could stand the excitement of three. I am sure the God of Motherhood will bless your union even if you do not choose Their day. Your name, my dear?"

The woman spoke the name the soldier had spoken.

Iffini wrote it down with a sigh—not that she had been in any doubt that these were the ones. "That is a very unusual name. It used to be unusual, I should say. Now, of course, it is enormously popular, the name of our dear new impress. I am sure half the girls I have named this year have been Eshialas."

She was surprised to see the shocked reaction in the girl's face, a look of . . . of fright? How odd! Surely she was not seeking a marriage ceremony under a false name? Apart from the insult to the Gods, the procedure would be useless to her. The whole purpose of a wedding—the secular purpose—was to give a woman a legal hold over the father of her children so he could not disown them. That legal hold was the certificate she was now drawing up. It would be invalid if the information on it was perjured.

"Widow?"

"Yes."

"And your name, sir?"

"Ylo. Bachelor."

The legionary had not given Iffini the man's name. Now she had heard it, it seemed oddly familiar. She was sure she had heard that name in the last year or two in some connection or other.

Young Master Ylo was grinning rather naughtily at his bride-to-be, who was trying not to show any reaction. The word "bachelor" sometimes brought out a sense of guilt in some of the racier ones.

"Oh do stop talking nonsense, you feather-headed bird," said the parrot.

Mother Iffini dipped her quill again. "Now, your late husband's name, ma'am?"

Sudden, shocking pallor . . . Silence.

"Is this information necessary?" the boy asked.

That cleared away some of the smoke. Mother Iffini placed her pen in the inkwell and left it there. The legionary had been vague as to why exactly the two persons were wanted for questioning and perhaps had not known the reason himself. She had suspected that just possibly the law and the servants of the law might not have been on quite the same bearing. Once in a very long while even the law itself might vary a little from what the Gods required. On a matter of bigamy, however, there could be no divergence and no doubt.

"You did not bring the funeral certificate?" she asked.

The girl shook her head and looked in horror at the boy. His expression was bleak—as well it might be—but he was obviously not about to give up. He had probably anticipated that this might happen and he was going to try to bluff it through.

"The man was lost in battle and his body was not recovered, Mother."

Iffini folded her plump, soft fingers together on the weathered old stone table before her. "Then the army issues a special certificate of presumed death. It is not valid for remarriage until three years have passed."

"The circumstances are unusual. Mother. You are aware of the goblin invasion?"

She nodded, wondering if she was about to hear some inspired creative fantasizing. If he had a glib tongue to go with his looks, this Ylo would be irresistible to impressionable young women. She was no impressionable young woman, yet she did not think he was faking his own infatuation.

"Indeed I have," she said. She had conducted several special prayer services on the subject of the goblin invasion.

"There was no formal battle and the man was a civilian, so the army would not be directly involved. He and I were ambushed by the goblins. I escaped, but only just, and his horse fell. Even if he was taken alive by the goblins. Mother, his chances of surviving the day were absolutely zero."

Iffini shivered and muttered a prayer. "There were no other witnesses?"

"No, Mother. I swear this is truth." The lad's eyes were steady. If he was lying about this, he was as accomplished a liar as she had ever met.

"Then you should have sworn an affidavit before the lictor of the district or the military autho—"

"Mother!" he said reproachfully. "The countryside was in chaos! There were no authorities at all, military or civil."

She sighed and stared down at her fingers again while she pondered. A convenient story! The boy moved his chair slightly so he could reach out and grasp the girl's hand.

Mother Iffini looked up. "I suppose I could accept your affidavit on the subject. It would be very irregular, though."

The girl started to smile and then froze. Her pallor seemed to grow more intense.

"I will swear any oath you wish," the boy said calmly, "but I will not reveal the man's name."

The chaplain removed her quill and wiped it. She closed the inkwell. "I think we must discuss this matter further."

"There is no alternative, is there?" he said bitterly. "If we seek out another chaplain and my fiancée claims to be a spinster, then the marriage would be invalid?"

Mother Iffini nodded. "And she would require signed permission from her father, or a brother. I do not make the laws, Master Ylo." Master Ylo? Again that vague memory! No, there had been a title. Tribune Ylo? Legate Ylo? Something military.

At that moment the child dropped the bag of crumbs into the fish pool and screamed in frustration. The man jumped up and hurried over to her.

"Maya!" he said . . .

Iffini's heart missed a beat. Two beats. No! It couldn't possibly be! Of course a woman with the same name as the future impress might well have chosen to give her child the same name as the future impress's child. Quite possible! The alternative explanation was untenable. There would not have been a solitary legionary coming around calling on inns and temples, there would have been an Impire-wide hue and cry.

Wouldn't there? Or would the sheer magnitude of the scandal have made that course of action impossible even to consider? The impress herself? And the heir to the Imperial throne?

The girl was staring down at her hands on the table, avoiding eye contact. She was worried now, but she had been worried earlier, though trying to hide the fact. After fifty years of marrying people, a priestess could recognize that anxiety with her eyes closed. Either this Eshiala was pregnant or she strongly suspected she was.

Mother Iffini decided that she had not merely a problem, but a very serious problem.

The boy returned, carrying the child. "I am afraid we have wasted your time. Mother. Come, darling."

"Sit down," Iffini snapped. "I need to think a moment."

He sat. The little girl squirmed down from his lap, demanding the fish food. He gave the dripping bag to her, and she trotted over to the pool again.

One possibility was just to ask them if the dead husband's name had been Emshandar, but that would close off any other avenue of escape. Either they would lie or Mother Iffini would have to pretend to accept extraordinary coincidences. She certainly could not believe that the imperor had been killed by goblins while traveling incognito with a single companion. So she must assume that the incident had not occurred at all or that the man had not been named Emshandar. Why, then, was she so reluctant to ask that simple question? Pretty-boy's tale of ambush was a very convenient way to cover up abduction or even viler deeds.

She would not sign a certificate she believed to be false, nor would she perform a bogus wedding ceremony in her temple. Her clear duty was to report this pair to the authorities. No doubt they would then be forcibly separated—but the girl's fear showed that she desperately needed some hold on that slippery beguiler, and had come to ask the help of the Gods.

Hesitantly Mother Iffini said, "There is another possibility. It would require that you both swear a solemn oath that you are not committing bigamy."

The girl looked up at once, hope shining brightly behind her tears. "I will swear!"

"I, also," the boy said.

Well! Mother Iffini relaxed. She had never doubted where her first loyalties lay. Love should be sanctified even if it was legally irregular.

They were holding hands again.

"Yes. Mother?" the girl prompted.

"There is a very rare service called a Blessing of Union. It may be used when a regular legal marriage is impossible—when documents are missing, for example, or when parental permission has been refused. If you feel compelled to live together as man and wife under such circumstances and are willing to swear before the Gods that you will do so for the rest of your lives, loving and being faithful as if united in legal matrimony, then I may witness your oaths and provide a certificate to that effect. I warn you, though, that it has very little validity in law."

She watched as they exchanged smiles and nods and squeezed hands.

"Oh, thank you. Mother," the girl said. "Thank you! That is exactly what we need."

Mother Iffini sighed. "Then I need another piece of parchment." She wondered if she was growing soft-headed in her dotage, or if she was carrying her mothering instincts to absurdity. "You are continuing your travels after you leave here?"

The girl started. The boy's eyes narrowed.

"We are," he said. "Why do you ask?"

"Recent information. The hostelries around here have developed a very poor reputation. I would advise you to seek accommodation in private dwellings. Farmhouses might be best."

"A recent development?" He had a gorgeous smile. "We suspected that, but it is good to have it confirmed. The main roads are very busy and unpleasant, too, I believe."

"So I understand."

"Oh, bless you. Mother," the girl said. "Bless you!"

"Do stop talking nonsense, you feather-headed bird," said the parrot.

 
To the appointed place:
With equal mind, what happens, let us bear,
Nor joy not grieve too much for things beyond our care.
Like pilgrims to th'appointed place we tend;
The world's an inn, and death the journey's end.

Dryden, Palamon and Arcite

 

 

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