Emperor and Clown (12 page)

How
deeply was he prying into her thoughts? “I am very grateful for that promise,
Master Rap.”

His
eyes seemed to go out of focus, staring at the space above her left shoulder. “But
... I do not go after Inos.”

“What?
But-”

“Qoble
is in South’s sector.”

“You
fear Warlock Lith’rian?”

“Or
he fears me.”

She
did not ask what that cryptic remark meant. Thinal seemed as puzzled as she.

“I
sail,” he said softly, as if not speaking to anyone. “I sail ... but north.
Yes, a big port on a big river.” Ghostly fingernails scratched at her skin. The
mage was using some sort of occult power she had not met before. Foresight? The
imp seemed to have the same odd foreboding she did, for he drew back his lips
in a snarl. But Ollion was another possible way to the capital.

“And
then?” she whispered.

Beads
of sweat showed on the faun’s forehead. “Then,” he whispered, “then . . . Hub,
I think. It must be Hub. The palaces?”

All
the world’s problems came to Hub eventually. She herself had often said that
the Krasnegar question would be settled there. Perhaps it had been settled
already-or perhaps that was yet to come. She began to feel a surge of hope.
Hub!

“And
there, Master Rap? What happens in Hub?” For a moment there was no answer. The
gray eyes widened ...

Then
Rap screamed and covered his face with his hands.

Best-laid
scheme

But,
Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

In
proving foresight may be vain:

The
best-laid schemes o’mice an’ men,

Gang
aft a-gley,

An’
lae’e us naught but grief and pain,

For
promised joy.

BURNS,
To a Mouse

Several Ways

As
always, Inos took longer than anyone else aboard to find her sea legs, but by
the time Star of Delight had called in at Brogogo and then rounded the Corner
of Zark into the Summer Seas, she was well enough to sit up and start taking
stock of her companions.

Kar,
of course, had stayed behind to hold off the jackals. Who came next on Azak’s
loyalty list? Zana’s presence was less surprising than it first seemed. A
sultan could hardly take his wife traveling without some female companionship,
and if there was any woman in the world whom Azak trusted, it was the older
half sister who had reared him. He had spoken of her briefly once or twice in
the desert, and those had been the only glimpses he had ever revealed to Inos
of his youth or childhood. He would probably have been willing to die for the
old woman, and most certainly willing to kill for her. From Inos’s own point of
view, although Zana was not Kade, she was as acceptable a lady’s companion as
anyone who could have been found in the court, even granting that Zana’s own
loyalty would put Azak’s well-being ahead of anyone else’s by several leagues.

Apart
from Azak himself, there were nineteen men in the party. Only one of them she
recognized as a prince, and that was the massive and aging Gutturaz. He, too,
seemed a surprising choice, but any brother of Azak’s who managed to reach
middle age must have demonstrated both a gift for survival and a rare lack of
ambition.

The
other eighteen were youngish family men, a bloodcurdling collection behind
their red whiskers. But facial hair was not worn in the Impire; without
comment, Azak shaved off his beard at Torkag, and every one of his followers
was clean shaven before Star of Delight sailed on the next tide. Somehow their
ruddy faces looked even more deadly than before.

And
there was Azak himself, who shared her kennelsize cabin. Of course they had
shared a tent for months in the desert, but Kade had always been there, also.
Then, too, he had been occupied much of the time in being first lionslayer,
usually coming to bed after Inos had been magicked asleep by the mage and often
departing before she awoke in the morning. And they had never been both there
in daylight.

Two
days out of Torkag, Star of Delight was becalmed. The sun blazed overhead, the
sails hung still as icicles, and there was nothing to do but fall down and
melt. With men all over the deck, Inos retired to her cabin. So did Azak.

They
each had a narrow bunk, on opposite walls, but hardly a cubit apart. She lay
under a sheet. He had stripped down to a cloth she would have described as
being on the narrow side of skimpy. Perhaps he was letting her satisfy her
maidenly curiosity about the male physique. Perhaps he was bragging, although
Azak never really bragged about anythinghe merely stated the obvious. Or
perhaps he was trying to make the best of an impossible situation, staying as
close as possible, to normal married behavior.

He
was too long for the bunk and almost too wide for it, a shiny copper giant,
everything a girl could dream of. Poor Azak! The scorpion had been scotched but
the sting remained in the wound. And the hideous burns on her face still hurt.
They were oozing now--she might never smile again. Azak’s lifelong
infallibility seemed to falter when Inos was around.

He
felt her scrutiny and turned his head lazily. “My love?”

“Azak?”

“Hot,
isn’t it?” He went back to staring at the ceiling.

She
had never heard him utter fatuous chit-chat before.

After
a moment she whispered, “I will say it when I can. It will mean more if you
know it is honestly meant.”

He
studied the overhead. “Were it not for the curse, I would have you babbling it
by now-and meaning it.”

“I
am sure you would. I wish you could.” Did she? Did she really? My love. My
darling. Beloved. Lover. Why not? Many a woman in Pandemia had learned how to
love the husband fate had dealt her. Why should she be different? Very few
would have such a husband to love.

Trust
in love!

Footsteps
sounded over her head. The ship barely rocked, and the usual creaking,
squeaking noises were depressingly absent. Even the gulls were silent.

She
thought of Rap, pacing a cell back in Arakkaran. Honest, well-meaning,
blundering Rap. Azak might be persuaded to write ... No, give him a little
longer to heal his pride. He was not truly vindictive, Azak. He might be
deadly, but he usually had a logical purpose in what he did-apart from his
insane jealousy, of course. After the disaster of the weddingnight kiss, he had
blamed himself for not thinking of the danger; a lesser man would have blamed
her, or the Gods, or even Rap ...

It
was too hot to talk. It hurt too much to be silent. “Azak?”

“Mmm?”

“How
do we travel? I mean, in the Impire? Am I to be Hathark again? And what name
and station will you-”

“I
shall be Kar!” He chuckled at her surprise. “It is as good a name as any. My
own might be recognized, as I am so memorable. We shall be sons of the Sultan
of Shuggaran. The treacherous dog is something of an Imperial supporter, which
may help.”

“But
... what about your appeal to the Four?” Azak frowned at the planks above him. “There
will be no appeal to the wardens. We travel merely as young princes seeking
knowledge. It is not a Zarkian custom, but the imps will see nothing odd about
rich young men jaunting around the world.”

Inos
raised herself on one elbow to study him better. “If you wanted a harem girl,
you should have brought a harem girl! I happen to have a brain, and now you
have roused my curiosity.”

He
rolled his head again and flickered one of his rare smiles. “I haven’t beaten
that out of you yet, have I? All right, my queen, just remember that none of
the others know. Except Zana, of course. As far as my brother and the rabble
are concerned at the moment, we are spying, and I brought you along to divert
suspicion. You understand?”

The
smile had gone, and the red eyes were menacing. “Of course,” she said. He had
been gelded, and no shame could ever be worse for him. His court might have
guessed, but the matter would never be discussed.

Azak
nodded and sighed. “I must find a sorcerer, and no sorcerer except a warden
ever dares reveal his existence. So I must seek out one of the Four, a warlock.
The witch of the north is not ... No, a warlock.”

Why
not Bright Water? Probably he could not bear the thought of begging for help
from a woman. It would not help that the woman in question was supposedly three
hundred years old.

“Then
who?” Inos asked. “Not Olybino, obviously.” East was the occult backer of the
imperor’s legions.

“Nor
Lith’rian, obviously.”

“Why
not Lith’ . . . Oh, you mean because he sent Rap?” Despite the heat, she
shivered then at Azak’s glare.

“Exactly.
That leaves Zinixo-obviously. He is only a youngster, they say. He should be
sympathetic.” Poor Azak! There were no words to say. She wished she could grip
one of those big hands and squeeze it. She lay back to avoid his gaze and
considered. How maddening not to know more about these mysterious wardens!

“And
isn’t he supposed to be Olybino’s enemy?”

“So
the gossip says. When the legions make war, historically the other wardens tend
to oppose East. East supports the army, and the imperor does, also, of course.
That’s two out of the five, so the other three are inclined to balk. It isn’t
much to go on, but it is all we have.”

Inos
wiped her streaming brow and adjusted the sticky sheet. They would all be
cooked before they ever reached land again, and that would solve all their
problems.

“Azak,”
she said cautiously, “why are you so reluctant to make a formal appeal to the
Four? It would give you some sort of legal status on the journey-the Impire
ought to grant you safe passage.”

“No!
With war coming, I dare not risk falling into East’s clutches. And what sort of
argument do I have now, with Rasha dead? She can’t meddle in politics now.” His
voice had gone very harsh and forbidding. She persisted, gently. “A monarch
needs heirs-”

“No!”

Pride?
An appeal to the Four would be a much more public affair than a private
audience with one of them. She let the silence hold for a moment, then said, “How
about me? I have been abducted from my kingdom by sorcery. I still have cause
to appeal. And you escort me . . . “

He
swung himself up, dropping his long legs to the floor, and humped over in a
crouch as he reached for his clothes. He was inflamed with sudden anger. “I
said ‘No!’ “

She
turned her face away, guessing the rest.

The
Krasnegar matter was supposedly all settled now, or so they had been told. Azak
would not risk unsettling it again. Finding a ruler for Arakkaran was easy-much
too easy-whereas she might yet seem like a uniquely acceptable answer for
Krasnegar.

If
the Four did give Inos back her kingdom, then they would expect her to rule it.
Once Azak had promised to go and live there at her side. Obviously that promise
was no longer relevant.

There
would be no appeal to the Four if he could help it.

A
year ago he’d been content to be Thorie. Now he wanted to be called by his full
name, Emthoro, and Shandie didn’t like that, because it had been Dad’s name. So
they settled on Thorog, which was the name of the hero of a book Cousin-Thorog
had been reading until Aunt Orosea had found it and taken it away. The
Book-Thorog was always visiting ladies’ chambers, and Cousin-Thorog told
Shandie about some of the things he had done to, for, and with the ladies
and-even more unlikely-some of the things the ladies had done to him.

It
all sounded rather sick-making and boring, but Shandie didn’t say so. He knew
what grown-ups did on a bed, and most of it seemed to be just the same thing
every night, and pretty stupid. None of the things Book-Thorog had done.

Cousin-Thorog
was thirteen, and hence thought he knew a great deal more than Shandie did. He
probably didn’t know quite as much as he was hinting, though, because Shandie
was sure no girl in the Impire would ever want to kiss anyone with that many
pimples or such funny-shaped eyes, even if Thorog was tall, like his father,
the Duke of Leesoft. And Shandie, while he had yet to understand the merits of
kissing and that sort of stuff, had seen a lot of that sort of stuff going on
sometimes when he was supposed to be asleep.

Rather
to his astonishment, Shandie had discovered himself alone with his cousin-no
grown-ups around at all! He tried to remember the last time this had happened.
He had wondered, with a shiver of panic, if he even knew how to speak to anyone
not-grownup anymore, but apparently Thorog hadn’t noticed anything wrong with
his talk. Of course, Thorog was doing most of the talking.

They
were in Thorog’s room, and Thorog was just finishing dressing himself. He didn’t
have a valet of his own yet ... Shandie did! The wedding called for formal
dress, of course, but not court formal, so that was all right. Formal was only
a hundred years out of date, instead of thousands. No togas.

Thorog
wanted to get back to Leesoft quickly, although he had just arrived in Hub.
This was hunting season, he said.

“You’ll
stay for my birthday, day after tomorrow?” Shandie said hopefully.

“No.
I mean, I’m here to represent the family at the wedding today. Dad said I can
come home anytime I like as soon as it’s over, and I don’t want to miss his big
stag hunt.”

“It’s
raining!” Shandie glanced at the streaming panes and thought wistfully of going
on a stag hunt, or even being able to sit on a horse again. As long as he
behaved himself at the wedding, he thought he would get a birthday party,
though. Ythbane and Moms ought to be in a good mood, after all. He wondered if
he’d know any of the boys who’d be invited.

“Won’t
be raining at home! Rains more in Hub than at Leesoft.”