Magic Casement

1

Wolverine Totem had once been the most southerly of the goblin villages, set high in forested foothills, near to Pondague. Long ago it had been raided by a troop of imps, the inhabitants slaughtered and the buildings burned. One house, originally the boys' cabin, had survived the devastation, and it was used now on occasion by travelers.

Rap had found it with his farsight in thickly blowing snow as a storm moved in. Little Chicken had been unperturbed by the weather, for he was capable of burrowing into a snowbank and staying there for days, not emerging for any purpose whatsoever. Rap, preferring freedom and fire, had been very glad to reach the dilapidated ruin. Now the two of them sat by a crackling blaze to wait out the weather. Shadows leaped and jiggled over the log walls, wind screamed overhead, and whiffs of snow blew in through chinks to pile up in corners. Yet the cold was much less now, farther south and closer to spring. Near the hearth, the temperature was almost comfortable. Rap had unlaced his buckskins, while the goblin had stripped to the waist and sat impassively, staring into the fire, poking it once in a while with a long stick, probably mourning his lack of grease for rubbing himself, his favorite occupation. Fleabag was stretched out on the dirt farther away, paws twitching as he chased memories through a forest of dreams.

Farsight failed to show anything moving outside. Even Little Chicken could not hunt in such a blizzard. Even Fleabag could not, or Rap could have sent him out to do so. They had enough food for two days, and the first day was almost gone.

Rap had slept. Perhaps the goblin had. Now Rap realized that this empty, echoing ruin had brought him his first real opportunity to talk with Little Chicken. Through all their weeks of travel together he had always been masked and running, or else too exhausted.

“I want to tell you my story,” he began. “Tell you why we’re going south.”

The burly young woodlander looked up, but with no interest showing in his slanted eyes. “Not important to trash.”

“But I’ll tell you anyway—don’t you like stories?”

Little Chicken shrugged.

“Very well,” Rap said doggedly. “That man who brought me—Wolf Tooth, he called himself. He was some sort of demon.”

That brought no reaction. None of it did. Rap told of Inos, and the dying King Holindarn. He told of Andor and his power to bewitch people into trusting him. He told of their trek together from Krasnegar, and the inexplicable appearance of Darad.

At the end of it all Little Chicken was still gazing at him impassively, without comment or apparent interest. Seeing that the recital had ended, however, he asked. “Then this chief will give you this woman?”

“Certainly not! She is the chief’s daughter. I am only a keeper of stores. She must marry another chief.”

“Why?”

That question proved surprisingly difficult to answer. So, also, did the next—why, then, was Rap going to all this trouble?

Loyalty did not translate into the goblin dialect. Friendship did, but Little Chicken could not comprehend that a man might be friendly with a woman. Women were enjoyable and useful. Friends were necessarily other males.

Friends… Rap was surprised to discover that he wanted to be friends with Little Chicken.

The young goblin’s monstrous cruelty was not his fault. It came from the culture of his people, and he had never been taught better. Apart from that, he was admirable in many ways—self-reliant, confident, effective, and a superb woodsman. His courage was unbreakable, his strange loyalty to Rap apparently absolute. In a word, he was trustworthy, and Rap recognized no higher accolade than that.

“You run good, town boy.” Those first words on their journey had been haunting Rap ever since. They had never been repeated, and all Rap’s efforts had failed to draw another syllable of praise. All his pains and efforts had gleaned nothing but amusement and contempt. He knew now that no matter how hard he might strive, he would never match Little Chicken in strength or endurance. That inferiority rankled deeply.

So he was the lesser man, but even so, surely effort deserved recognition? Rap had driven himself to his utmost limits and failed to receive acknowledgment for it. The harder he had tried, the more disdainful his companion’s reaction. He had revealed his supernatural powers and they had been dismissed as party tricks, beneath a man’s dignity. Only one thing about the town boy seemed to satisfy Little Chicken—that he had cheated in the testing. For some reason that knowledge pleased the goblin greatly. And of that, Rap was ashamed.

By the second day of the blizzard, Rap was growing frantic. If he thought about Inos or Andor—or anything—then his mind curdled with anxiety. Time was running out, and he should be running, also, not sitting still. The sinister Darad must have crossed the mountains long since.

Rather to his disgust, Rap had also discovered that he was in need of exercise. Weeks of running had so conditioned him that he felt stodgy without it, and incapable of relaxing.

Snow was still falling, but it was the heavy, wet, warm-weather snow of the south, not fine, dry arctic powder. When the storm passed, Rap knew, he and Little Chicken would be able to travel without their masks, but the drifts would make the terrain more difficult.

Travel where? They had left the last of the goblin settlements behind. There were imp homesteads in the area, perilous for goblins and to be shunned. Somewhere nearby lay Pondague, an impish outpost guarding the only pass through the ranges. Had Rap arrived at Pondague with Andor, it would have meant the start of friends and safety. They could have acquired more horses, bought food, and even hired companions, had they wanted them. South of the pass lay the Impire, with good roads and post inns and safety.

Now Pondague was danger and enemies. Rap had no money. He wore goblin clothes and goblin tattoos, so he might well be cut down on sight if he ran into a contingent of Imperial troops. Living off the land south of the mountains was going to be difficult, or impossible. He knew roughly what farms were and how farmers felt about poaching. He did not know where Kinvale was. He supposed that it was a place like Krasnegar, but he had no idea how far from the mountains it was, nor how to find it.

His first trial would be to sneak through the pass unobserved. Probably he would be safer south of the mountains, where goblins were no threat and hence would not so readily provoke violent reaction. He would have to find someone—a priest, perhaps—and explain his problem. With luck he might obtain a guide who would believe his story and deliver him to Kinvale on the promise of reward from Inos. Then Rap could dress like a civilized man again and regain his self-respect. Inos would find employment for him until he could return to Krasnegar with her, by land or sea, as she chose.

Unless Andor had already got to her, of course.

Then what?

Eventually Rap decided that he did not know the answer to then what? He rose, took up a spruce bough, and swept clean an area of floor near the fire. The goblin sat cross-legged and watched without comment or question.

“Right!” Rap stripped off his jacket. “Come and give me some wrestling lessons.”

Little Chicken shook his head.

“You’re my trash, you say? Then I order you to come and give me a wrestling lesson!”

A firmer head shake. Trash, apparently, could decide what trash was good for.

“Why not?”

“I hurt you.” A faint smile played over the goblin’s big mouth.

“A few bruises won’t matter. I want to learn, and I need the exercise.”

Another refusal.

Beginning to shiver without his coat, Rap swallowed any trace of pride he might have retained. “Please, Little Chicken? I’m bored! It would be fun.”

“Too much fun.”

“What does that mean?”

Little Chicken’s eyes glinted in the firelight: “I start to hurt you, might not stop. Too much fun.”

He was quite capable of dismembering a man with his bare hands. Hastily Rap took up his jerkin and dressed again.

The third day… a faint light was glimmering through the chinks in the walls and windows that had been plugged with branches. Rap had not realized until he came to this ruined cabin that goblin buildings had windows at all. Apparently they were normally covered over in winter.

He sighed and glanced again at Little Chicken, inevitably sitting cross-legged, bare-chested, idly poking his long stick at the fire. His patience was inhuman. In the firelight his dusky skin shone greenly. His curiously slanted eyes were unreadable. Try conversation again? Just maybe a little companionship? “When we get to Kinvale—” Rap’s voice sounded strange after so many hours of silence. “—then I shall release you.”

“I am your trash.”

“Not forever! You have done wonders for me. I could never have come this far without you, so I am very grateful. If I could reward you, I would.” Perhaps Inos would give him money to reward Little Chicken. What would he buy with it, though?

“Reward?” The familiar faint smile of contempt appeared on the goblin’s face. “You will not give me what I want.”

“What’s that?” Rap rather thought he could guess the answer.

“Go back to Raven Totem. Kill slowly, much pain.”

Rap shuddered. “I kill you? And then your brothers would do the same to me?”

The goblin shook his head. “Not if you do good work, make good show. Kill slow—win honor.”

“Never! I could not do that to anyone. And I am grateful to you. I like you. I want us to be friends.”

“I am your trash.” Little Chicken directed his attention once more to the sparkling logs.

“You won’t be able to help me at Kinvale,” Rap said firmly. “Nor back at Krasnegar.”

“I shall look after you.” Little Chicken seemed to think that the conversation was over. Arguing with him was like trying to bail out the Winter Ocean with a leaky bucket.

“I will give you your freedom!”

The goblin shook his head at the fire and said nothing.

“You mean that you are my trash forever?” What could Rap do with a slave in Krasnegar, a slave who refused to be freed?

Little Chicken looked up now and stared steadily at him for a while. He seemed to make a decision. “Not forever.”

“Good! Until when?”

“Until the Gods release me. Not you.”

This was progress! “And when will the Gods release you?”

“I shall know.”

Suddenly Rap did not like the expression on that wide, greenbrown face. “And how shall I know?”

“I take care of you until the Gods release me,” Little Chicken repeated. He licked his lips. “Then I kill you.”

“Oh, great! You mean that you are my faithful slave until one day you decide you’re not, then you just kill me?”

The goblin’s oversized teeth showed in a sudden friendly grin and Rap laughed in relief. He had been afraid that Little Chicken was serious. It was a surprise to learn that he did have a sense of humor after all.

“You won at testing, town boy. Good foe! I did not know then. I know now.”

Rap’s merriment died away. “Do I get any warning?”

Little Chicken shook his head, still smiling.

“When do I get this surprise? Soon? Or not for years?”

“I shall know when. Then I kill you. Very, very slow. Long, long pain. Good opponent, I give you good death. Light small fires on your chest. Push stick under kneecap and twist. Many days. Sand below eyelids and rub with finger…”

No, he was not joking.

Once started, he could not be stopped. From then until dusk, when his voice failed and he became hoarse, he sat by the fire, slobbering with anticipation, eyes shining bright with hatred. Trembling much of the time with the effort of confining his activities to conversation instead of putting his plan into action at once, the goblin described in infinite detail the revenge he had been devising.

2

They were on their way! Inos could hardly believe that it was not a dream. But it was real! She was really sitting in a real coach, facing Aunt Kade and Isha, her maid—and sitting next to Andor, too.

Seven days with Andor back in Kinvale! They had been seven days of heaven, and days of frenzied packing, as well—what to leave, what to set aside for shipping, what to try to squeeze into impossibly small packs. They had also been seven days of farewells, of hastily arranged parties, of dancing, and of continuous heavenly music that no one but she had been able to hear. Or had Andor detected a chord or two? She hoped so. The obnoxious Yggingi had vanished, gone ahead to Pondague to arrange for an escort, and his departure had been almost as great a blessing as Andor’s return… No, it hadn’t. Having Andor back, knowing that he had cared enough to cross the bitter taiga in winter, for her—that was the greatest miracle of all.

They had not had a moment alone, not one, but even in the crowds she had been conscious of hardly anyone but him—his smile, his laugh, his imperturbable strength. It had been Andor who had made it all possible at so little notice, purchasing a coach and horses, hiring men to drive it, planning itinerary—organizing and arranging. Aunt Kade had been grateful to leave all those masculine tasks to him. There had hardly been time, even, to brood very much over her father’s illness.

Andor was coming back to Krasnegar! Because they had never been alone together, he had not repeated the pledge he had given her before he left, but his eyes had spoken it many times. Andor was coming to Krasnegar… to stay? Always?

May it be so, Gods! I did remember love, as I was bidden!

Outside the windows, the fields and woods of Kinvale rolled by in watery sunshine under a smoke-blue sky. The end of winter meant the start of spring—soon, but not quite yet. Grass was green, and shy flowers smiled in the hedgerows. Ahead and behind the coach, Corporal Oopari and his troop thumped erratically along. Krasnegar’s men-at-arms were not notable riders, but they could manage on the straight, smooth roads of the Impire. They could certainly keep up with the rocking, clattering carriage. A couple of the men were new recruits, replacing others who had formed romantic attachments and chosen to remain at Kinvale. Ula, the maid from Krasnegar, was long forgotten. Stupid Ula had disgraced herself within days of her arrival and been hastily married off to a gardener.

Andor rearranged the rug spread over their laps, as the bouncing of the coach threatened to dislodge it. Her hand found his again, out of sight.

All those farewells…

“I can’t believe it!” Inos said for the hundredth time. “We are really on our way!”

“You may find it all too real before we arrive, ma’am.” Andor smiled.

With that smile beside her, Inos could face anything.

“It will be a great adventure!” Aunt Kade said brightly. Her shiny-apple cheeks were flushed with excitement, but not a single hair protruded wrongly from under her cornflower-blue traveling bonnet. “I have always wanted to try the overland route.”

Well, if she could believe that, who was Inos to contradict her? Aunt Kade’s indestructible good humor could be very irritating at times, but it would be easier to bear on the journey than sulks, and few persons of her age would have been willing to contemplate at all what she was undertaking so cheerfully.

Andor pointed out the final glimpse of Kinvale, as the carriage crested a hill. Then it was gone.

“Well, Sir Andor,” Kade said, snuggling into her corner. “At last we have time to hear all the news.”

Again Andor’s smile warmed the whole carriage. “Of course, ma’am! Remember that it will be stale, though—I left at Winterfest. But, apart from your brother, everyone in the castle seemed to be well. Chancellor Yaltauri’s lumbago was troubling him. Doctor Sagorn prescribed a liniment with a powerful odor of cheese…”

In moments he had the three of them in stitches, even Isha, who was not supposed to show that she was listening, and who knew none of the people being discussed. He ran through the foibles of the whole palace hierarchy and moved on to the notables of the town. Apparently he was already acquainted with everyone in Krasnegar and that was a surprising thought, one that would need a little time to absorb. Yet under her laughter Inos wondered about Ido. And Lin. What news of the friends of her childhood? A transient cloud shadowed her happiness. They would be friends no longer. An abyss of rank would cut them off now from the princess they had once accepted as one of themselves. What use to tell Ido of the latest dance craze from Hub? What need to play the spinnet for Rap? Chatterbox Lin would not care about Kinvale scandal, nor share what local gossip he had with his queen. Yet she felt an irrational nostalgic longing to know how the old gang was faring. Who was married, who was courting? Those things would interest her more than details of Chancellor Yalta Uri’s lumbago.

But she could not ask. A gentleman like Andor would not have troubled himself over chambermaids or scullions. Or Stableboys.

Inos and Kade picked their way carefully down the hazardous staircase, to find Andor waiting for them, morning-fresh and resplendent in tan suede riding habit. He swept as deep a bow as was possible in the cramped confines of the hostelry. Despite the early hour, the inn was packed with people, most of them soldiers, apparently—noisy, bustling, a noticeably rough and unwashed collection.

“Highnesses, you slept well?”

Kade chirruped something much more cheerful than Inos could manage. A rank stench of men and beer was not a welcome greeting so early in the morning. Andor started clearing a path, leading them through the melee to one of the tiny tables in a corner by a window.

The inn had been a great shock to Inos. Somehow she had come to imagine that the whole of the Impire was as comfortable and luxurious as Kinvale, a very stupid assumption. The tiny bed she had shared with Kade had obviously been stuffed by stonemasons; the leaky thatch had been dug out of a silo, and there had been things living in that thatch. Just after she had retired, a great clamor of voices and horses had arisen outside and continued for hours. That must have been all these soldiers arriving, and now they completely filled the lower room.

The sun had not yet risen. Barely enough light spilled through the tiny, grubby window to show Corporal Oopari and one of his men sitting at the table. They sprang up, yielding their stools to the princesses. She wondered if this had been more of Andor’s foresight. Isha would have to eat on her feet, as many of the soldiers were doing.

“For breakfast, honored ladies,” Andor said in the unctuous whine of a waiter, “we offer a selection of either porridge or porridge. However, you may choose whether to eat the lumps or leave them. Our hot tea is cold and unloved. The chocolate is passable.”

Inos suppressed a lurching feeling inside her, a yearning for the fresh rolls and sweet preserves of Kinvale. Porridge? Ugh!

“I should love some porridge,” Aunt Kade said brightly. “After all that rich food at Kinvale, it will be a pleasure to return to a simpler diet. You, my dear?”

“Just the chocolate, I think.”

The man-at-arms was dispatched into the throng. Apparently the hostelry staff had been immobilized by this military invasion. The table was small, splintery, and filthy.

“Your Highness!” Corporal Oopari was addressing Kade, and his tone snapped Inos out of her engrossing self-pity. He was an earnest young man, Oopari, but too old to have been one of her childhood friends, and too stolid to be good company anyway—dull, but dependable as winter. His family had served hers for generations. He had the dark coloring of an imp, with enough jotunn in him to make him taller and bonier than most men in the Impire. Someone jostled him at that moment, and he almost fell over the table. He straightened up without turning around to seek retribution or apology. That alone showed that he was upset over something, and his face was deeply red.

“Yes, Corporal?”

“I take orders from you only, do I not, Highness? That was what the king told me.”

Aunt Kade looked up at Andor, who was standing at the corporal’s side, likewise squeezed against the table.

“Proconsul Yggingi has joined us, ma’am.”

“Oh!” Aunt Kade seemed to read something from Andor’s tone or expression. She glanced around, and suddenly her smile seemed strangely forced. “All these men are here to escort us, you mean?”

Andor nodded solemnly. “A whole cohort. You will be well guarded.”

Yggingi himself? Inos felt a strong upsurge of distaste, and then saw that something more was bothering the others.

“We don’t need guarding yet, do we?” she asked. This was only the second day of the journey, and they were still well within the Impire. She had caught a glimpse of the mountains from upstairs, but still a long way off. The real adventure would begin on the far side of the pass, Andor had said, and he estimated at least four more days to Pondague.

“Apparently you are going to have an escort, whether you need it or not.” Andor returned his gaze to her aunt. “Corporal Oopari has been informed that he is now under the proconsul’s orders.”

Kade looked flustered, while the angry, stubborn expression on Oopari’s homely face reminded Inos momentarily of someone, but she could not think of whom.

“What is your advice, Sir Andor?” Why was Kade so concerned?

“I fear that the proconsul is correct, Highness. Private armies are not permitted within the Impire. Once we are past Pondague, then things will be different, at least in theory; but I understand that the proconsul is planning to increase the escort then.”

“More than one cohort?”

“Four.”

Kade actually wrung her hands. Inos had never seen anyone do that before, certainly not Aunt Kade. The roses in her cheeks had been stricken by a sudden frost.

“I erred?” she murmured, as if to herself.

“I did, certainly,” Andor said. “But there is no other road, and we could hardly have slipped away unseen.”

Inos did not understand, and she was staying quiet. Surely a large escort would be good protection against the goblins and, therefore, welcome news? She noticed that Isha was standing very close to the corporal, closer even than the press of the crowd required. So that was in the wind, was it? Inos had been wondering why the girl had agreed to enter the service of ladies who lived in a far country.

Aunt Kade restored her smile and directed it up at Oopari. “I think you had better agree to what the proconsul wants, Corporal. We can hardly have a divided command, and a proconsul is one of the Impire’s most senior officials.”

The honest, stubborn face flushed very red. “Then my services are not truly necessary, your Highness?”

Kade glanced again at Andor, as if seeking support, or hearing a message. “We do not question your loyalty or courage, Corporal, but your small band can hardly compare with an entire cohort. As Sir Andor says, we are to be well guarded. Do any more of your men wish to remain at Kinvale?”

Through clenched teeth, Oopari said, “All of them, ma’am. But we thought you had need of us.”

Now it was Aunt Kade who turned red. “I quite understand, and if you wish to be released, then now is certainly the time. Sir Andor? If you would accompany the corporal… He has our money. Four imperials for him and two for each of the others? And would you be so kind as to take the rest of it into your own care?”

Obviously wrenched in several directions at once, Oopari looked down at Isha, and she was staring up at him in dismay. Aunt Kade noticed and sighed.

A few minutes later, Inos found herself alone with her aunt, clutching a large and clumsy earthenware mug of watery lukewarm chocolate. Andor and Oopari and the man-at-arms had gone, and so had Isha. Inos would have to brush her own hair now, and Aunt Kade’s, also. Who would lay out and repack clothes? Perhaps they could hire someone else at Pondague. Anonymous Imperial troops still hemmed in the table, making her feel claustrophobic.

“This chocolate is really very good, isn’t it?” Kade said, her normal calm restored,

“Aunt? How many men in a cohort?”

“Quite a lot, dear. We shall certainly be safe from goblins with four cohorts to guard us. I have too much porridge…”

“But no Oopari! Why did you dismiss him like that?”

Kade blinked innocently. “Because he wanted me to. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some of my porridge?”

“Whatever he wanted, I would feel safer with him close.”

Then a ladylike foot tapped Inos’s ankle, Kade flickered her eyes warningly, and her voice faded almost to a mumble. “It was for their own good, dear.”

Inos became suddenly more aware of all the men around her. They all had their backs turned, and they all seemed to be intent on other things, but…

“We don’t want any accidents.” Then her aunt added in a more normal tone, “The porridge is not too terribly lumpy.”

“How many men in a cohort?”

“Five hundred, I think, but it may be more. I’m not sure.”

Now Inos understood. She felt very foolish. Four cohorts? On important occasions in Krasnegar, Sergeant Thosolin could muster eighteen men-at-arms.

3

Dusk on the fourth day… Rap’s belly roared louder than the storm now, but that was partly because the wind was fading. There was not much new snow coming down.

He had been chewing on a scrap of leather all afternoon, and then his farsight had sensed movement in the distance—right at the limit of his range, a small herd of sheep or goats. He could not tell if they were wild or stray, but there was no herder with them. He had started to lace up his moccasins, making Little Chicken want to know why. There had been an argument, the goblin insisting he was a much better marksman, Rap that he was more likely to find the quarry in these conditions.

The final result had been a compromise. Little Chicken had gone to do the killing, and Rap had sent Fleabag to drive the prey toward him.

So Rap now sat in lonely humiliation, listening to the wind’s mocking wail, watching the shadows leap, and licking his lips at the thought of meat. His role might not be very manly or even dignified, but it was hard work. The herd was still out at his limit and seemed reluctant to come closer. Even controlling Fleabag was difficult at that distance. Rap’s head had started to ache as it had not ached since his first days with Andor—

Forget Andor! Concentrate!

“You! Boy!”

With a wail, Rap released his mental hold on Fleabag and the herd. He spun around, then fell back on his elbows at the unbelievable apparition in the corner.

A huge white chair had appeared there—no, it was a throne, with a dais below it and a silken canopy above. It was built of interlocked curved rods that he recognized right away as walrus ivory, all intricately carved and inlaid with gems and gold; it was grander even than King Holindarn’s chair of state, which he had used only twice in Rap’s memory, on very solemn occasions. It glittered, as if it sat in a brighter place than this smoke-filled, dingy hovel.

There was a woman on it. She was very tiny, slumped slacklimbed in the corner of the cushioned seat, her legs sticking out like a child’s. Her scanty hair was white and straggling loose. She was very old, scraggy, and stark naked.

He echoed her. “You!”

Hastily he turned his head away. She could not possibly be real, but even so—no clothes! It was the same old woman he had seen the first time he had raided the Ravens' larder. He had been very hungry then, too. It must be a form of madness, a flaw in his character. Real men did not go crazy just because they hadn’t eaten for a couple of days. Real men could starve for weeks before they went mad. He wasn’t a hardened woodsman like Little Chicken, he was a soft town boy, a mere stablehand—

“The faun again!” The ancient cackled in shrill amusement.

Rap closed his eyes to concentrate… Sure enough, his farsight detected nothing there except fragments of firewood and a snowdrift. He was hallucinating again. Determined not to be distracted from his purpose, he reached out for Fleabag.

“Faun! You stop that! Don’t you know better?”

“Huh?” Despite himself, Rap’s farsight switched to the source of that voice. This time it saw. This time there was someone there. He twisted around again. The throne had gone. The little old woman was standing much closer and, mercifully, she was now dressed in goblin robes, as she had been the first time he saw her. Now she seemed to be quite solid and real. He moaned.

“Farsight, too?” The old woman waggled a finger at him. “That’s all right—safe enough—but that mastery of yours! Don’t you know that sorcerers can feel power being used like that?”

Dumbly he shook his head.

She walked a few steps closer, peering around. “Well, we can. Not that anyone but me’s likely to be watching in these parts. It’s all right to look and listen, see, but do anything, make things happen, and you start ripples. You’re strong, lad. You ought to know that. Why, you’ve got goblin tattoos!”

Asorceress! Andor had warned him that sorcerers were always on the lookout for more words of power. He had betrayed himself to a sorceress! Rap felt the hair on the back of his head stir. He began dragging himself backward on his elbows, across the dirt floor.

The woman followed, cackling. “A faun with goblin markings? That’s new.” She grinned at him like a skull, revealing a perfect set of teeth. “Goblin faun! What…” She hissed angrily. “No foresight? You blocking my foresight? No, you’re not capable. Who?”

“Who—who are you?”

“Me? You ought to know. Ought to guess, see? Who are you, more to the point?”

“I’m Rap… Flat Nose of Raven Totem.”

“Raven?” She looked quickly around once more. “Where is Death Bird? What’ve you done with him?”

“N-nothing!” Rap quailed before a blast of anger as palpable as heat from a farrier’s brazier. “Little Chicken, you mean? He’s out hunting—”

“Where? Show me!”

Show? Rap reached out to point with a shaking hand, toward where the goblin was wallowing in a thigh-deep drift, a long way off.

The old woman stared that way, then shrilled her senile laugh. “So he is! Well, all right. But you take care of him, you hear! Very precious, that one! See, you’re not to harm him!”

He? Rap? Harm Little Chicken? The woman was as mad as a gunny sack of foxes!

Bracing up his courage, Rap felt for the herd, and it had vanished. Fleabag was heading home again. Supper had fled, therefore, and he remembered that he had been hungry the first time he had met this strange sorceress. Even as he watched, she began to shimmer and fade, and his farsight had already lost her. “I’m hungry!” he said. “I mean, Death Bird is hungry!”

She seemed to solidify for a moment and study him, head on one side, leering. “Fauns!” she sneered. Then she uttered a shrill, childish snigger and clapped her hands.

Simultaneously she vanished and a curly-horned, black-woolled sheep thudded to the floor just before Rap’s toes. The impact shook the cabin, and a great cloud of dust and snow shot out from beneath the animal. With a scream of alarm, it scrabbled to its feet. There was no doubt at all that the sheep was real.

After her warning, Rap dared not try his mastery on the animal, and his limbs were still shaking so much that he took longer than he should have done to corner it. Cutting a sheep’s throat with a stone knife was harder than he had expected. He splashed a lot of blood on himself and was butted a few times. But why a black sheep? Had that been easiest for the mad old sorceress to see in the snowy bush, or was she making fun of a faun with goblin tattoos? Rap was too hungry to care.

He was eating roast mutton when Little Chicken returned, empty-handed, exhausted, and furious. But for the first time, the goblin seemed to be impressed by Rap’s occult powers.

4

With a louder crack than usual, the rear of the carriage dropped, twisting to the left. It came to a shuddering halt.

“Are you all right, your Highness?” Andor inquired solicitously. He and Inos were crushed pleasantly together, holding hands under the lap rug, but Aunt Kade was now suspended above them, grimly hanging onto a strap.

“Quite all right, thank you, except that perhaps my highness is now a little more noticeable than usual.”

Andor laughed appreciatively. “I shall see what has happened this time,” he said, unlinking his fingers from Inos' and preparing to disembark. There were loud shoutings and nervous horse noises outside. Water splattered on the roof, although the rain had been showing signs of turning to snow. Andor opened the door and stepped out gracefully, managing both rapier and cloak with apparent ease. Kade clambered across to sit next to her niece on the lower side of the canted vehicle. She took up a lot more room on the bench than Andor had.

The fast progress they had made at first had now ended. On the straight and smooth highways of the Impire, the carriage had thundered along almost as fast as a rider could have done, but now they were in the mountains. The weather had turned sulky and the road upward, soon degenerating into a track. Farmland and pasture had given way to forest, and the way had become difficult, with tree branches often reaching out to finger the carriage as it passed.

Since the loathsome Yggingi had appeared with his men, a deep dread had fallen over Inos. The thought of two thousand Imperial soldiers invading Krasnegar was terrifying—especially these troops. She could recall being told in Kinvale that the local military were a despicable lot, not to be compared with the elite corps found near Hub, and that to be posted to a remote frontier station like Pondague was a humiliation, or even a punishment, inflicted only on the rabble and scum of the army. Proconsul Yggingi was rabble and scum, also, in Inos' opinion, but she had not said so.

In fact she had not dared discuss the matter at all, with either Andor or Aunt Kade, and they, too, were confining their talk to trivialities. Partly this common discretion came from fear of being overheard, for now the coachman and the footmen who clung to the carriage were all Yggingi’s men, and their ears were close to the windows. Far more worrisome to Inos, though, was the horrifying certainty that she had been betrayed.

Somehow the Imperial government had learned of her father’s bad health and had decided to seize Krasnegar before the thanes of Nordland did. Only Hub itself could have mobilized the army. That meant time—time for reports and orders to flow back and forth, time for consultations and decisions.

But how had the Imperial officials known? Andor must have passed through Pondague on his way south. He could have alerted the odious Yggingi to the opportunity. Yggingi might then have headed for Kinvale, while Andor reported to some more senior officer before continuing on to inform Inos.

In the clear light of day such fancies seemed quite absurd. One glance at Andor’s honest face, one smile from those steady eyes, and all her doubts blew away like dust. But in the long hours of night, as she tossed in unfamiliar beds in dank, smelly hostelries, they became all too terrifyingly real. Inos had invented stories where Andor had been an Imperial spy all along. She had frightened herself half to death with doubts about his background, his parentage, his childhood. She knew so little about all of those, and they seemed so very important when she was alone… yet they seemed so trivial when she was with him that she never seemed to remember to bring them up in conversation, as she had so often promised herself she would. When he was with her, she could face the future with courage—she would face the whole Impire, if necessary, and the jotnar, as well! Away from him, she felt like a lost child.

There was only Andor… and Kade. But someone had betrayed Inos.

It had been her aunt who had made the decision to journey north—a sudden and very improbable venture for a woman of her years. Kade had at least suspected that Holindarn’s health was failing even before she left Krasnegar. She would certainly champion an Imperial claim over Nordland’s. To believe that Princess Kadolan would betray her brother and niece was quite impossible… and yet somehow it seemed no more incredible than doubting Andor. One of the two must be a traitor and Inos did not know which.

She felt very small, and alone, and vulnerable. She felt like a hunted animal, fleeing home to its lair with a dangerous predator in close pursuit. She had nowhere else to go and yet her lair would be no safe refuge, for the monster would follow her in.

Obviously she was on her way to Krasnegar whether she wanted to go there or not. If she tried to balk now, then her honor escort of five hundred men would at once become an armed guard, and she a captive. Yggingi had all but told her as much. Nominally she was returning to her home under his protection, but in fact she was only his puppet. The odious man had not revealed his plans, but it was a fair guess that he would try to force her to sign over the kingdom to the imperor as soon as her father died. She could only hope that Father was still alive, and still well enough to advise her. She had no one else she could trust now.

So Inos sat in silent fear and misery, while making polite conversation about the scenery.

Andor reappeared at the carriage door. “I am afraid you will have to disembark, ladies. Another broken axle.”

He handed Aunt Kade down, then Inos. The trail was a narrow wreckage of mud, roots, and rocks, curving off out of sight in both directions around a hillside. Rain dribbled down from a canopy of heavy branches that shut off all but a few glimpses of low gray sky, while enclosing walls of ferns and bracken pressed in tightly on both sides. This was the third axle to snap in the last two days. It meant a long delay.

Inos looked around hopefully for somewhere dry to sit, pulling up the hood of her traveling cloak.

“What enormous trees!” Aunt Kade exclaimed. “They cannot be sequoias, though?”

“Hemlocks, I think,” Andor said. “Or perhaps cedars. You! Trooper! Hand me down that chest.”

The shadows were very deep and menacing. Inos felt uneasy, shut in by this dark primeval jungle. Even the air was full of damp woodsy scent, as if it never went anywhere and was a special local air. The small area of road that she could see was full of soldiers dismounting or jingling around, horses stamping, splashing, fretting, and tugging their reins, men grumbling and discussing the problem in rough, angry tones. From farther up the hill came rougher shouts yet, as the advance guard was informed of the holdup. Equally invisible downhill, the rear was clattering into silence, also.

The dense woods concealed the mountains completely. Inos had not seen a single large hill, only trees and a steeply climbing, winding road. She took Aunt Kade’s hand, and the two of them stepped carefully over mud and puddles to the verge, seeking shelter and getting out of the men’s way. Andor followed, carrying a chest to serve as a bench. Halfhearted smears of snow flanked the trail, dirty and woebegone in the dingy gloom.

Proconsul Yggingi came cantering back down from the front to see what the delay was. He dismounted with a splash and handed his reins to a legionary, then bellowed for silence and started shooting orders. Inos was pleased to see that he looked very uncomfortable in his uniform, as if the rain were running off his helmet and down his neck. Andor was wearing a big floppy suede hat at a rakish angle, handsome and debonair as ever.

Aunt Kade shivered slightly.

“I can fetch a rug, Highness?” he asked helpfully.

“No, no!” Kade said. “Silly of me. I was looking at these dark woods and thinking of goblins.”

He chuckled reassuringly. “Rugs will not protect you from goblins! But don’t worry—there are none this side of the pass. Correct, Proconsul?”

Yggingi was clearly furious at this latest delay. “None this side of Pondague. And I have been cleaning them out beyond, also.”

“Are they so dangerous, then?” Inos asked, thinking that a herd of hippogryffs could sneak up on her through that deep darkness.

“Not really. Just vermin.”

Andor said quietly, “Goblins are actually a very peaceful people.”

“Peaceful?” Yggingi echoed. “They are monsters.”

“But not warlike.”

“No, not warlike! They have other means of disposing of their surplus men.” An expression of distaste appeared on his flat, square face.

“Whatever do you mean, Excellency?” Inos asked, surprised that anything could disgust so coarse a man as Yggingi.

He hesitated and then said, “Many races weed out their young men. Most do it by warfare. Goblins use nastier methods, but the principle is the same, I suppose.”

She had never thought of warfare in that horrible way. “Why? To leave more women for the others?”

“Inos!” Kade protested.

“Sometimes that is the motive,” Andor said. “Or extra land, or just to keep the place peaceful. We are not making very good time, I fear, Proconsul.”

Yggingi growled an agreement. “We shall probably not see the top of the pass by nightfall. There is a guardhouse there, but now you will probably have to bivouac, ma’am.”

“Perhaps my niece and I should ride, then?” Kade suggested calmly.

The men looked down at her in astonishment. “Could—would you?” Yggingi asked.

“I should love to! I find that carriage very bumpy. How about you, Inos, dear?”

“Of course!” Inos agreed, amused at the expression on Yggingi’s face, and Andor’s. They did not know of Aunt Kade’s unlimited ability to astonish.

Kade rose, determined. “Then we shall ride. Our habits are in that green box, Proconsul. If you would be so kind as to have it lifted down, we can change in the carriage.”

Yggingi actually smiled—a gruesome sight. “And we can leave this wreck where it is. We should reach Pondague tomorrow, and after that you can travel by sled.”

Aunt Kade beamed up at him innocently. “Oh, I think we can ride in the forest if we have to. I am a little out of practice, I admit, but I used to be a very keen horsewoman.”

It would do her figure no harm, Inos thought, and a horse could be no more tiring than that bone-shaking carriage.

Yggingi, about to speak, stopped suddenly and peered into the trees. “What was that?”

Andor frowned. “I thought I heard something, too.”

Inos had heard nothing, but her skin tingled—all the horses had pricked their ears in that way, also. The proconsul bellowed for silence in the ranks. The shout ran out along the line in both directions, and then there was only a steady dripping, and restless splashings of hooves.

“There it is again,” Yggingi said, and this time Inos had heard something, also.

“Goblins?” she asked nervously.

“They don’t shout. They keep quiet and run. If I’d thought there was the slightest chance of goblin sport, I’d have brought the dogs.”

A distant voice. “Princess Inosolan!”

Inos jumped. Her heart continued jumping.

Faint though it was, they had all heard it this time—Inos, her aunt, Andor, Yggingi, and the dozens of mud-splattered legionaries.

“It’s a long way off!” Andor’s face had gone very stern. He pushed back his cloak to free his sword hilt. Yggingi clicked his sword up and down in its scabbard, once, then again. “Maybe not so far. The trees deaden sound.”

“Princess Inosolan!” No mistake this time…

They were all staring at the woods now. Aunt Kade stepped close to Inos and gripped her wrist, as if fearing she might run off into the forest to investigate. Nothing was less likely. Inos shivered. Yggingi’s sword hissed as he drew.

“You had better go back to the coach, ladies!” He shouted an order and swords flashed out, while other men pulled bowstrings from waterproof pouches. Work on the axle had stopped.

“No, wait!” Inos said as her aunt began to move. That voice?

“Princess Inosolan!” Closer yet.

Who? There was something familiar about that voice. “Yes?” she shouted.

“Inos!” her aunt cried.

And the voice replied: “It’s Rap!”

Rap? Rap who? Rap?

“No!” It couldn’t possibly be.

“Back in the carriage!” Andor shouted, and he also drew his sword. “It must be some sort of demon, I think. You agree, Proconsul?”

Yggingi’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “I never met any forest demons. Old wives' tales!” He cupped his hands to shout. “Come out and show yourself!”

“Tell your men to lower their bows!” The voice was much closer, although there was nothing in sight. “I am alone and unarmed.”

“I think it must be a demon!” Andor insisted. “They can look like anyone—very dangerous to trust a demon.” He appeared more upset than anyone. He sounded almost shrill, and that was surprising, somehow.

Yggingi seemed to think so. He eyed Andor curiously, then called to his men to lower their bows. “Come out!” he bellowed, more loudly than seemed necessary.

And a man stepped from behind a tree right in front of them. How he had come so close without her seeing, Inos could not guess, but there he was – a slim young man in soiled leather garments, holding out empty hands to show his lack of weapons. He was panting.

“Inos!” he said.

Rap!

He had grown—taller and wider. His clothes were incredibly filthy and his face impossibly grimy, especially around the eyes. It seemed greasy, with the rain running down it in droplets, and it looked much thinner than she remembered, making his jaw look bigger than ever, his nose wider. He had a youth’s thin moustache and patchy beard. He was bareheaded, his brown hair matted in slimy tangles. Ugly! But it was Rap.

She began to tremble, stupidly.

“He’s no goblin, certainly,” Yggingi said to no one in particular. “That’s close enough! Who are you?”

“The princess knows me.”

“Do you?” the proconsul asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s one of my father’s stablehands. Rap? What are you doing here? And what’s that on your face?”

Then she caught a whiff of an unbearable stench. “What’s that smell?” Her stomach churned.

“That’s goblin stink!” Yggingi said grimly. “Stand back from the ladies, you!”

Rap did not move, except to put his hands on his hips. He had obviously been running and he spoke in short bursts. “Sorry about the perfume. No bathtubs in the forest. I came to warn you that your father is dying, Inos. But I see that you already know,”

Had Rap also come all this way to warn her? She glanced up at Andor, who had his jaw clenched and was scowling. “Sir Andor told me.”

“Oh, it’s Sir Andor, is it?” Rap frowned fiercely. “I have another warning for you, then.” He raised a hand and pointed. “Don’t trust that man! He’s a—”

“Rap!” she shouted. “What do you know of Sir Andor?”

“He sold me to the goblins, that’s what I know about him.”

Sold him to… Again Inos caught a whiff of that terrible smell.

Andor raised his sword and took a step. She laid a hand on his arm to detain him. “Andor, do you know Rap?”

“This is not whoever you think it is, my darling. It’s a forest demon. They can take many shapes. Don’t trust a word it says. They are very evil.”

“Andor! Rap, how did you get here? Aunt Kade, it is Rap, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, dear. I never met him.”

“What are you?” Yggingi demanded. “You’re not imp and you’re not goblin.”

“It’s a demon!” Andor insisted. “Or a wraith!”

A wraith? Inos shuddered convulsively. Surely not?

“I’m a faun.” Rap was still watching Inos. “A jotunn-faun mongrel, and goblin by adoption. But not by choice—that was his doing.” And again he pointed at Andor.

Inos wondered why she could not just quietly faint, as ladies of quality were supposed to do in moments of stress. Rap had always been so dependable! Others might make up fantastic stories or play elaborate jokes, but Rap never had. And it certainly seemed to be Rap, an older version of the boy she had known—except for the moustache, and those barbaric tattoos.

“Rap,” she said, forcing her voice down from the squeaks it wanted to use, “what are those marks round your eyes?”

Rap gaped for a moment, raising his hand to his face as if he had forgotten the tattoos were there. “These?”

Andor stepped back with a laugh. He sheathed his sword. “I did meet him!” he said. “I didn’t recognize him in that goblin disguise. I met him in Krasnegar. Tell her Highness how a goblin earns his tattoos, lad.”

“I didn’t!” Rap shouted.

“Didn’t what?” Inos asked.

“You tell her, Proconsul,” Andor said.

“No, you tell her.” Yggingi was scowling.

“He tortured a boy to death.”

And Inos said, “No!” just as Rap repeated, “I didn’t!”

“He must have done,” Yggingi said. “It’s their custom.”

Then Andor put his arm around Inos, and she was very grateful for it. “And he’s the one who sold me the horses.”

“Sold you the horses?” she repeated idiotically.

He nodded, still staring at the apparition from the woods. “I asked some people where I could acquire horses, and I was directed to that boy. We met in a bar and he sold me two horses.”

Rap! They must have been her father’s horses. There were no others in Krasnegar. Of course Andor would not have known that. Rap, selling the royal horses? In bars?

“Liar!” Rap shouted. “He’s lying, Inos! We left Krasnegar together and he sold me to the goblins. He bought safe passage for himself by selling—”

“Rap! No! I won’t listen to—”

“Inos, he’s a sorcerer!”

She had rather liked Rap once, she remembered, when she was younger. Of course in those days she had known very little about men and almost nothing about gentlemen. Fortunately she knew better now, after Kinvale, and she could appreciate the way Andor was keeping his temper in spite of the insults being shouted by this filthy derelict. Rap had obviously reverted to some sort of savage state—his faun ancestry coming out, probably.

“If you were sold to the goblins, you’re in remarkably good shape!” Yggingi said. “Spying for them, are you? Come forward here with your hands high.”

“No!” Rap said. “Inos, you know I wouldn’t lie to you!”

Oh, Rap! Her heart lurched. Then Inos looked up at Andor again. He smiled sadly and shook his head. She saw how foolishly juvenile her momentary doubts must seem to him—and how mature he was not to lose his temper at the insults or at her silly wavering. She must not listen to any more nonsense, and that stench was making her feel nauseated. Inos lifted her chin disdainfully and turned, letting Andor lead her away.

“Inos!” Rap shrieked. “He’s a mage, or a demon, or something—”

Yggingi waved his men forward. “Bring him in! Tie him up.”

Then all the horses reared and screamed in inexplicable panic. Hooves flailed. Men were hauled off their feet, or dragged through the mud. It seemed to be Inos who was the source of terror-plunging mounts fled from her in both directions along the road and even off into the undergrowth. Enormous animals bowled over whole groups of soldiers. The officers' roars were drowned in oaths and whinnyings, splashings and thuds. Amid this instant chaos, she found herself, with Kade and Andor, isolated on the trail as the whole cohort fought to regain control of its frenzied livestock. The goblin apparition had vanished away into drippy shadow under the ancient trees.

Andor hurried Inos back to the coach. “Take cover in here!” he shouted over the racket. “This may be an ambush.” Then he thrust her inside and Aunt Kade, as well, while the troopers were struggling to restore order to their mounts. Inos was glad to obey.

With the carriage still canted at an absurd angle, she found herself being half crushed by Aunt Kade, and yet she did not mind. The human contact was very comforting.

“It was Rap,” she whispered, fighting tears and a heart as panic-stricken as the horses.

“Yes, dear.”

“But selling Father’s horses? In bars?”

“If he really did steal two of the palace horses,” Kade said, “then he would have been found out, wouldn’t he?”

“Of course!” There were not so many horses in the stables that two could go missing undetected, and not so many hands that the thief could long remain unknown. Stupid Rap! “So he was found out and ran away!”

“And he must have taken refuge with the goblins,” her aunt agreed. “I don’t know why he followed you south, dear. Perhaps he hoped to spin you some fantastic story…”

“Perhaps. That must be it.” Young men did tend to behave oddly at that age, she knew. That was when the bad apples showed up—she had heard plenty of stories at Kinvale and been given plenty warnings. Oh, Rap! “It wasn’t a wraith, was it?”

When a soul came before the Gods for weighing, the Evil was canceled out by the Good, and the balance went to join the Good, and live evermore as part of the Good. But in bad souls the residue was evil, and the Evil might reject it, to leave it wandering as a wraith, haunting the night.

Kade started. “Oh, I think it—he—was alive.”

“And Rap wasn’t evil!” Yet if he’d descended to selling horses in bars, what else might he had done before he died? Inos shivered.

“I don’t think it was a wraith,” Kade said firmly. “I don’t think wraiths would smell that bad!”

Inos managed to chuckle and nod. She was relieved to find that she agreed. It had been Rap. Rap alive.

She glanced around. The soldiers were recovering and restoring order, but there was no one close to the coach. Not even Andor… “Aunt, how did Yggingi know about Father? Why was he waiting at Kinvale when Andor arrived? This must have been planned!”

Kade flinched. “It was my fault, my dear.”

“Yours?”

“Yes. I let slip to Ekka that I was worried about your father’s health. Chancellor Yaltauri was supposed to send me bulletins. He didn’t.”

“Then Ekka’s behind this?” Now Inos began to understand.

“I fear so.”

“So when—if—Father dies…”

“The proconsul will proclaim the duke as king, I think. I have been very foolish, darling. I did not see—”

Inos pecked a kiss on her cheek. “But it was not Andor?'.”

“No! I don’t think so.”

“I trust Andor!” Inos said firmly. “Don’t you?”

“I…” Just for an instant Kade hesitated, and then she smiled. “You’re asking me to choose between him and that very smelly boy?”

Inos laughed and hugged her. Invisible birds burst into glorious inaudible symphonies of song—no one had betrayed her except the odious dowager duchess! Kade had been foolish, but not evil. Andor was innocent—Inos would doubt him no more. Seeing Rap again beside him had somehow shown her how vastly inferior any other man must be. Andor, oh, Andor!

5

A wolf, a goblin, and a faun who had farsight—there had never been any danger that the troopers would find them.

After an hour or so, the expedition moved off along the mountain trail. Inos and her aunt were riding, and the coach had been left where it was. Inos’s mount was staying very close to Andor’s, but Rap could not tell at that distance whether or not it was secured there by a tether. He could not have summoned it anyway, because he did not know which horse it was. Andor might not know that; but, in any case, Rap had already discarded that plan as being too dangerous for Inos. It would also bring the whole imp army after him, and obviously his fantastic story was not going to be believed.

In thick woods on the hill above the road, he used his farsight to watch them all go. He was soaking wet and miserable, hunched on the ground, savagely digging holes in the moss with a stick—jab… jab… Fleabag was sleeping, but he alone of the three of them heard the hooves through the muffling timber. He lifted his head to listen. Little Chicken was sitting on a fallen log, elbows on knees, waiting as patiently as the trees themselves.

Jab… jab…

Rain was dribbling down Rap’s neck, and he perversely left his hood down and let it. Almost he wished that the meeting had not happened, that he had missed Inos and gone on to lose himself in the Impire. But unlikely things happened to those who knew words of power—so Andor had taught him. And there was only this one pass through the mountains.

Spurned! Jab!

Rejected, even by Inos!

Jab!

But Andor had a word of power and he would be believed over anyone else. Trust was his talent.

Jab! The stick broke.

Rap rose to his feet.

“Now we do what?” Little Chicken asked.

Rap sighed. “You still my trash, goblin?”

This show of caution seemed to amuse the burly young woodsman. He nodded.

Despairingly Rap thought of the hard weeks ahead.

“Now we run back,” he said, “back to Krasnegar.”