Emperor and Clown (42 page)

Rap
had seen her naked once before, as an ancient crone, and had been appalled. The
scrawny little relic that appeared before him in the ambience was immeasurably
older, and so little human that he felt no emotion except horror. Almost
nothing there was original. He had known that she was centuries old, but now he
could see that she must have been patching herself with sorcery all those years
as organ after organ wore out. She was tiny as a child, and hideous.

Hideous
did not begin to describe the mental baggage that came with her. Boys writhing
in torment, sailors drowning, brutal gang rapes ... death! Galaxies of dying
faces, multitudes of rotting corpses. Three centuries of death-plague and rout,
bloodshed and sickness and lonely old age. Bright Water was obsessed by the
fate she had evaded so long. This was the secret of her madness. How much death
could one witness in three hundred years?

Fortunately
Rap was rapidly gaining some control over his susceptibility, and he could fade
out the nauseating images almost completely.

And
even as her youthful public image nodded to acknowledge the homage of the
assembly, a shrill goblin cackle rang out for Rap in the ambience. “And we also
meet again, faun! The first time I saw you, I foretold your great destiny, did
I not?”

“Huh?
No, you didn’t! You said you couldn’t foresee me! “

The
mummified green monkey in the ambience waved arms that seemed too long for her,
while the air overhead whirled a blizzard of corpses. “But we knew why I couldn’t,
didn’t we, eh? Not knowing means knowing if you know why you don’t know! Leaves
only one explanation, eh?” She peered closer, so that he recoiled, although
there was no real movement or closeness involved. -”And you have retained your
tattoos! That surprises me!”

It
also pleased her, and her favor might be much safer than her disapproval in
whatever was about to happen. He bowed. “Goblinhood is no small honor,” he
said, hoping that sounded gracious. “I am several times in your debt, ma am. “

The
tiny form sank down and genuflected to him in mockery. “You certainly are! And
you will remember that when the time comes?” Then she jerked up her head, a
shriveled brown coconut. “And my dear brother of the west, also?”

If
that was intended as a joke, it failed to amuse Zinixo, who scowled even
harder, eyes flickering everywhere. His battlements were just as high on Bright
Water’s side as anywhere else. Claws scratched on rock in the underworld.

“And
his Omnipotence, Warlock Olybino,” Lith’rian proclaimed to the mundane
audience.

The
imp who appeared on the eastern throne wore a sumptuous uniform decorated with
gold and jewels. Even his cloak and the horsehair crest on his helmet shone
like spun gold. He looked young, and handsome, and virile.

His
image in the ambience was elderly, bald, and paunchy; and also fainter than any
of the others. He was short, even for an imp. Olybino was the only one who had
never met Rap, and he pouted disagreeably up at him as if he had never wanted
to. Oothiana had called him the weakest of the Four, and Lith’rian despised
him-although the elf probably despised a great many people.

He
certainly did not look impressive. He might even be pathetic, were he not so
dangerous-for the flabby little man stood within scenes of bugles and floating
pennants, of godlike warriors clashing swords in noble combat and shining
armies locked in battle. This was idealized war, war as a sport for warlocks,
with none of the mud and stink and pain of real war. In a way it was even worse
than Bright Water’s obsession with death, because the people in it were
completely unreal. At least the goblin’s visions were capable of suffering.

So
here were the wardens, revealed at last-four handsome young people on their
thrones in Emine’s Rotunda and four ogreish nightmares crowding in around Rap
in the ambience. He had a strange illusion that they all wanted something from
him, although he could not imagine what. He felt as if skeletal fingers were
pawing at his arms and digging in his pockets. Remembering the palsied,
putrefying beggars of Finrain, he decided he would prefer to be beset by them,
or by starving anthropophagi.

“Do
sit down, old friend,” Lith’rian remarked to the imperor. His kindly tone might
be genuine, but it shocked the courtiers. Emshandar sank down stiffly onto his
throne.

“Death
Bird!” the witch of the north shrieked, springing to her feet and stretching
out arms in invitation. The spectators jumped, and Little Chicken actually fell
back a pace. Then he squared his thick shoulders and advanced toward the White
Throne.

Under
an ominous night sky, the giant fortifications to the west had crept much
closer to Rap, and now a great boulder came hurtling down from above, aimed to
crush him. He stepped aside and let it sweep on past, twirling downward forever
through the ambience. He dug fingernails into his palms to restrain his temper.
That odious gray runt had sold Rap to the galleys. There were some other scores
to settle there, also. Evil take the lot of them!

“West,
behave yourself!” Olybino snapped petulantly. “He’s just testing, “ he told
Rap. “He isn’t using anything like his full strength. “

Another
boulder came bouncing down a hill, straight for East. A thick-limbed warrior
stepped forward and smashed it to a shower of gravel with one stroke of his
shining sword. Olybino laughed hoarsely. “You are being childish, West! “

But
some false note in the voice left Rap wondering how much of his resources that
pompous imp had needed to parry the dwarf’s playful blow.

Little
Chicken had reached the witch, and she was embracing and kissing him fondly. In
the ambience Rap himself lay screaming on the floor of Raven Lodge. He closed
out the image easily now, his control increasing with practice. On a parallel
plane, the tiny relic of a goblin woman leered up at him. “You die good, faun!”

“And
now he has my promise.”

She
cackled like a startled barnyard. “So he has, Your Majesty,” said the young
woman by the White Throne, “this man is most dear to us. We charge you to make
him welcome in your house and to see he is returned unharmed to his people. You
will not deny him his destiny!” the hag told Rap with a friendly leer. “And you
will remember that I helped?”

She
was mad, totally mad. She did not seem to realize that Rap could detect the
writhing horrors of her mind. It seemed strange, in fact, that the warlocks
should also be revealing themselves so blatantly. Was it possible that they
were not viewing the ambience in the same way he was, as a jostling confusion
of ideas and emotions projected by themselves? It was certainly unfair that he
must undergo this contest when he had had so little time to learn the sorcery
business.

Little
Chicken was heading back toward Krushjor, dazed and aroused by the youthful
witch’s caresses, while being assured by the puzzled imperor that he was an
honored guest of the palace.

“Yesterday,”
Lith’rian proclaimed, “his Impermanent Highness, Regent Ythbane, tried to
summon us here to consider the case of Sultan Azak. He also planned to inquire
if Thane Kalkor had used power on him-which he had, of course. My colleagues
and I, aware that another sorcerer was in the vicinity, decided that events
might best be allowed to continue for another day.”

A
giant stone pillar toppled ... Rap stepped back with surprise and let it
shatter at his feet. That one had been closer. The young dwarf glared
resentfully at him under his craggy brows. Rap frowned back warningly.

Lith’rian
piped on: “Now it may be that that same sorcerer has solved the Kalkor problem
permanently for us-perhaps occultly, although the thane was a Nordland
emissary-and has also cured a grave sickness inside the crowned head of the
imperor. Furthermore, he possibly laid a truth trance upon the regent and
thereafter smote the poor fellow from the throne. We must consider, Sister and
Brothers: first if any of these alleged acts was real; and second, if so,
whether it constituted political use of occult power; and third, if so, then
what punishment is fitting. Are there any other charges?”

The
Rotunda fell silent. Rap had not moved on that plane at all, but the nearer
spectators had been edging away from him, leaving him even more isolated than
before. Emshandar stared miserably at him, eyes bleary with weakness, face
crumpled like old paper. On his stool out in the darkness, Shandie was hugging
himself and jiggling his feet in an agony of apprehension for his new friend
Rap. Inos and Kade were holding hands and biting their lips in mirror image.

“Very
well,” the elf said. “The defendant known as Rap is present-such a demotic,
nondescript name! Our dear brother of the west? How say you? Did the alleged
acts occur? Speak to the nice people, Shorty. In sentences if you can.”

But
the dwarf answered occultly, and even that was a growl. “Who gets his words?”

“That’s
irrelevant just now, Stone Head. What say you to the evidence, Brother?”

The
youth on the Red Throne was chewing a fingernail. Then he spoke mundanely for
the first time, in a voice like falling rocks. “I reserve judgment.”

Wasps
buzzed in the ambience, but the other seeming youth, the elf, just shrugged. He
looked across at Bright Water. “Our sister of the north, what say you?”

“There
is no truth in the allegations,” the young woman said promptly. The mundane
witnesses gasped.

In
the ambience, Lith’rian winked an opal eye at Rap. “And I regretfully say there
was. Your Majesty, the wardens are evenly divided. North and West are for
acquittal, East and South for conviction. How says our mundane brother of the
center?”

Inos
beamed, and Shandie pulled his feet up on his stool so he could hug his
knees-but Rap saw the ancient crone simpering mawkishly at him and heard the
shrieks of his own dying corpse.

Olybino
did not wait to be asked. “Of course he’s guilty!” he snapped. On dusty plains
in the ambience, legion after legion was marching onward to battle. The warlock
of the east wanted Ythbane restored, and the Zarkian war, also.

“Brother
West, do you wish to judge now?” Lith’rian trilled. “Last chance, Ugly! “

“Yes,
he did all those things,” the dwarf admitted grumpily.

“And
I concur,” Lith’rian said, with an occult sound of retching. “Defendant, by
vote of three to one, we find that you committed certain suspicious acts. Now
we must consider whether any one of those constituted an illicit use of occult
power-that is to say, for political ends.”

He
beamed at the company in the Rotunda, but in the ambience he scowled at the
dwarf beside him, amid a strong stench of barnyard. “Perhaps we’ll go round the
other way this time, and give stone-wits a chance to think about the question.
Brother East?”

Hooves
thundered and banners snapped in the wind. “Guilty!”

“Sister
North, how say you?”

“Not
guilty,” the goblin maiden said. The hag leered at Rap. She had another fate in
mind for him, but she seemed to think he ought to be grateful for the
opportunity.

If
all this was designed to confuse him, it was succeeding admirably; his mind
reeled between conflicting existences.

“Dear
brother of the west?” Lith’rian cooed. “Who gets his words?” the dwarf demanded
again. “If you must know, it’s my turn. The last one was that imp in Drishmab,
and East got her; nine years ago. “

“There
was no illicit use of power!” the dwarf rumbled.

A
great horror came over the imperor’s face. He knew what had been done, by whom,
and who had gained from it. Now his honor was thrown into conflict with his
gratitude. The spectators seemed likewise appalled, holding their breath,
waiting for his reply.

A
rock the size of a melon whistled out of nowhere, aimed straight at Rap’s head.
He ducked and let it go past. He was sure he could have swung at it with an
occult bat and hurled it right back at the dwarf, but he was also sure now that
such a response would reveal more of his power than simple avoidance did. If
Zinixo wanted to know his strength so badly, then that was good enough reason
to keep it secret.

Furthermore,
Rap was beginning to suspect that he lacked all the spectral paraphernalia that
accompanied the others’ projections within the ambience. Its absence might not
be a weakness but a sign of strength, an ability to see more clearly or
manipulate power more directly.

Fool!
Did he think he could be stronger than a warlock?

But
if that dwarf pulled any more tricks, it might be fun to find out!

“I
find no truth in the allegations,” Emshandar said harshly. Sweat was running
down his ribs below his toga as he uttered this blatant lie.

“Then
we find the defendant not guilty!” Lith’rian proclaimed. His youthful smile was
a blizzard of blossom petals lifted by a summer breeze in the south.

Drums
rumbled defiance from the east and armed multitudes clashed in fury; men and
horses screamed. Something gurgled in agony to the north and more claws
scrabbled in dark crypts to the west.

The
mundane spectators broke into applause. Little Shandie jumped to his feet and
cheered. Inos released Kade’s hand, ducked around Azak before he could block
her, and raced through the forest of candelabra to Rap, obviously intending to
throw her arms around him. He dodged her, as he had been dodging the dwarf’s
attacks, and held up a hand to ward off any second attempt. He knew Lith’rian
by now. There was more to come.

“Master
Rap, “ said the elf. “You could read the ambience when you were a mere adept,
could you not?” Rap nodded, bracing himself as he sensed the danger closing in.

“Inosolan!”
Azak roared. Inos gave Rap a hurt look and reluctantly walked back to her
husband’s side, her head bent low.