Upland Outlaws (17 page)

Worse-when the new imperor stood by the throne and raised Emine’s ancient sword to strike the buckler, Warlock Lith’rian materialized on the Blue Throne to acknowledge him with a cryptic elvish smile. Then the troll, witch of the west. Then north—Raspnex! There was the dwarf himself, squat and bearded in a white toga, his bare arm thick as something hanging in a butcher’s.

Nothing was wrong.

Umpily wrestled with physical nausea. Had he been deceived? Had those mad adventures with dwarves and fauns all been illusion? Surely it was easier to believe that than to assume that all this was faked?

There was nothing wrong. Everything was going just as it had been described in the briefings and rehearsals … except that Prince Emthoro was missing. And Duchess Ashia, the impress’s sister, was missing also.

And so was he. Peering carefully through the gloom, he established beyond doubt that the group to which he had been assigned in the rehearsals did not contain a bogus Lord Umpily. He couldn’t be there, of course.

He was in Guwush.

True avouch:

BARNARDO
How now, Horatio! you tremble and look pale.
Is not this something more than fantasy?
What think you on’t?

HORATIO
Before my God, I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes.

— Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, I

“Uomaya?” Shandie said. “I don’t think my mother would have appreciated having her name put on this old tub. “

She certainly would not have approved of her imperial son being an outlaw within his own impire, either, but the situation presented opportunities—

“Very appropriate, I’d have thought,” Ylo said airily.

The imperor shot him a disbelieving glare, then nodded reluctantly. “That’s good! Keep it up. And I’ll try to respond. I haven’t ever had much experience at banter, though. ” He sounded almost wistful.

It would do no harm to learn, maybe. Baiting Shandie would be an unfamiliar amusement-how far dare Ylo take it?

“I have an imperial edict on that? An unlimited, open-ended pardon for all sedition, misprision, and lese majesty?” Shandie’s smile was ominous. “Revocable retroactively.”

“That’s not bad for starters,” Ylo admitted.

They huddled together on the upwind side of a very smelly fishing boat. The lout at the rudder would not be able to hear, and did not look intelligent enough to understand anything anyway. The rest of the crew-both of them-were inside the tiny cabin and out of sight. Probably they were disputing how they would divvy up the largesse brought by these unexpected passengers.

Emshandar’s death had almost shut down the fishing business, although the storm had probably helped.

White Impress had fared far to the west and used up a whole day in search of smaller craft to carry the outlaws on the next leg of their insane quest. Acopulo had gone first; then the king of Krasnegar and the inexplicable Master Thinal. Now she had released the last of her fledglings and vanished into the mist, bearing warlock and sorceress away to whatever mysterious business they had planned but would not discuss.

Yesterday’s rain showed no signs of diminishing; indeed the weather was going from horrible to ghastly. The clothes King Rap had provided included warm cloaks, but they would not keep out the bone-chilling damp. Ylo was trying not to shiver.

Shandie was visibly edgy, which was very unusual for him. Now he was obviously trying to make cheerful conversation. Last night’s message from Umpily had depressed everyone, even the sorcerers, and the news that an imposter had been chief mourner at his grandfather’s funeral must have been an especial blow to the rightful imperor.

Ylo, by contrast, was starting to feel quite cheerful-or he had been until he noticed the motion of the boat and the stink of the fish barrels. For the first time in months, even years, he need not worry about paper piling up on his desk every time he went outside to breathe fresh air. A couple of carefree weeks in the saddle might be a very pleasant vacation, he had decided. The sooner the better.

Cheerful conversation, then … “To be honest,” he said, “I find I am looking back on White Impress with nostalgia, sire. “

“Me, too. But you must stop giving me titles. We need new identities. Who am I?”

Ylo had foreseen this. “You’re certainly not a farmer or a weaver. Your haircut’s military and your talk aristocrat. You’re tribune of the first cohort, XIVth Legion.”

“Why aren’t I in Qoble, then?”

“Dispensational leave. Your father was created marquis of Mosrace last summer. You’re going there for a family Winterfest. “

“Good. And you?”

“I’d better be your brother, so we can use the same excuse.”

“Why aren’t we traveling on the highway?”

“Well, if anyone dares ask us, we’re detouring to visit old friends. “

“That’s not bad at all! Outlawry has not spoiled your ability to be a resourceful aide.”

Ylo ignored that obvious flattery. “I’m your signifer. We’re both bachelors.”

“Yes, that’s very good! Our names?”

“Er … Yyan and Yshan. “

Shandie adjusted his hood and peered hard at Ylo through the drizzle. No one had ever accused him of being stupid, except possibly where women were concerned. “Your brothers?”

“Yes, your … Yes, Yshan.”

For a moment the imperor studied Ylo’s face as if he had not done so for a while, and wanted to renew his memories of it. Then he nodded sadly. “Yshan, then! I’ll take that name as an honor.”

“He would have been very proud to lend it to you.” Then Ylo wondered if that was true-Yshan had been one of the last of the family to die, and even his patriotic fervor must have flagged a little near the end. There were reliable reports that he had been racked.

Shandie said nothing more for a while. Perhaps he knew the truth behind the gruesome stories.

Ylo had not been joking when he said that the warlock’s old ferry had been better than Uomaya. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, feeling the rain driving against the exposed corners of his face. Uomaya seemed to roll in all directions at once, and certainly with no pattern. The little cabin would be drier and possibly warmer, but he could guess how it would stink. Even here on deck and on the upwind side, the air grew unbreathable every now and again. Up. Down. Up… Every board was mottled silver with decades of fish scales.

He decided he would never eat fish again, never! He must not think about eating ever again, either, but his eyes kept wandering back to all those staring eyes in the barrels, shiny dead horrors.

His queasy brooding was interrupted by an exclamation from the imperor, who had pulled one of the little magic scrolls from his pocket and opened it.

“Idiot!” Shandie muttered. “Look! Umpily is going to the enthronement. “

Ylo’s insides quivered. “He’s lost a wheel!”

“No. In spite of his looks and his prying, Umpily’s a very determined man, and a brave one!”

A very crazy one. Ylo could not imagine what would drag him there. The Rotunda would be a hive of sorcerers. Scowling, the imperor produced a silverpoint. “It’s probably too late to stop him!” He scribbled a note, then stuffed vellum and stylus back inside his cloak. He sat up and adjusted his hood so he could see Ylo better. “I know you said you wanted to be part of the team, but I will not hold you to that, now we know what lies ahead of us. You have no personal stake in this battle, unlike the rest of us. As soon as we reach land, you should go. I shall think more of your brains. “

It was a tempting thought, but of course a cautious warrior like Shandie always tested his weapons before the battle. Ylo shook his head. “What, and desert my brother Yshan?”

“Be sure! I would much rather shake hands and part as friends than have a companion climb out a window on me. “

The window gambit had already occurred to Ylo. First, though, he must lure Shandie along the Krasnegar road far enough that he would not just head back to Yewdark to collect Hardgraa as replacement bodyguard. A week ought to do it. Then Ylo could defenestrate, backtrack, and arrive at Yewdark long before the daffodils did. He was going to be very surprised indeed if he could not talk his way into Eshiala’s bed within three days. Probably two. Four at the outside. And then-ah!

But it might not be wise to mention that program to her husband. He would not enjoy his trip to Krasnegar so much if he knew what Ylo was doing with his wife.

“I’m still your man, sire.”

The imperor sighed again. “You’ve lost as many wheels as Umpily. But I’m grateful, very grateful. Ylo, it’s true I offered you the honor of Rivermead to redress the wrong my grandfather committed against your family, but there was more to it than that. Your service over the last two years has been impeccable. I value your honesty and loyalty and capability enormously. I’m not exaggerating when I say that there is no one I trust more.”

This conversation was quite embarrassing. Furthermore, Ylo could no longer ignore that other problem creeping up on him. White Impress had taken her sorcery with her, and its absence was becoming more evident every …

“Whom did you see in the pool?” the imperor asked quietly. Danger! Ylo felt a pulse start to hammer in his throat. “The loveliest woman in the world. “

“Yes, but you told us you’d identified her.”

“Tribune Uthursho’s wife.”

Shandie considered his fellow outlaw for a moment. “And have you? …”

“Not yet. She wants a divorce and marriage.”

“And you don’t?”

“Divorce yes, the other no. Not yet, anyway.”

“The army disapproves of divorce, you know.” Clearly the commander in chief did so, too. “The theory is that an officer who can’t discipline his wife can’t possibly handle troops.”

“I know. I was going to ask you to arrange it as a special favor, your—er—Yshan. ” Ylo was spinning as he went, spinning like a spider. But the web seemed to be sticky enough.

Shandie shook his head disbelievingly. “You young demon! That’s the first favor you’ve ever asked me for, and what you want is another man’s wife! If I ever, I mean when, I recover my throne, then you can have as many wives as … No, I mean of course I’ll arrange it for you.”

Saved! Ylo’s heart slid back to a more normal rate. And the Other Problem came back with a rush.

” ‘Scuse me-“

He made a dive under the boom and only just reached the leeward side in time. He doubled himself over and a moment later he heard Shandie having the same problem. The fishermen came out of the cabin to watch how gentry puked.

A few leagues to the southwest, a very different conversation was taking place in a very similar fishing boat. Knowing how imps reacted to sailing, Rap had taken the precaution of adjusting Thinal’s seaworthiness before leaving the shielded deckhouse on White Impress. It was a small magic, which would wear off before they reached land. He wanted a serious talk with his young companion. The two of them had the tiny, fetid cabin to themselves and no one would overhear them. He soon saw, however, that he should have adjusted a few more things, like backbone. As a proficient cat burglar, Thinal was completely unafraid of heights. Anything else terrified him. He was sitting on a bunk, clutching the sides of it with white-knuckled hands, and his eyes were rolling far more than the boat. He had never been a shining beacon of heroism in adversity.

After two days of relative relaxation, Rap was again having to discipline himself not to use his sorcerous senses. Off to the east, the overweening evil of the Covin hung over Hub like a foul cloud of darkness, although it conveyed no great urgency. Now it was resting, waiting, considering where to strike next, and he could dare to peer ahead a little into the shadows. He felt like a blind man in a lion’s den. To use premonition too boldly might betray him to the listeners or bury his will under an avalanche of despair, for the future was very black. Cautiously, therefore, he had sniffed out a day or so ahead, and he was virtually certain that he was in no immediate danger.

He longed with all his heart to go speeding back to Krasnegar-to be with Inos, to warn Inos, to save Inos. To hug his children. That would be the worst possible thing he could do. He had written letters for Shandie to deliver.

With a sigh he brought his attention back to the terror-stricken imp on the other bunk. He found Thinal fascinating. When they had first met, he had seemed about the same age as Rap himself-a whiny, weedy guttersnipe with the fastest fingers in Pandemia and enough agility to scramble up a plate-glass window. Rap, Thinal, and the goblin-three youths lost in the jungles of Faerie, all boys together. They had not thought of themselves as boys, of course, and had not understood then that they were enjoying the good old days.

Thinal had never been a trustworthy friend, but they had shared misfortune together, and youth. Now they had nothing in common at all.

Rap was in his mid-thirties and Thinal in his early twenties, even if he was mathematically older than Sagorn. He was still short and slight, but he had displayed some manners around the imperor. Those, together with clean hands and well-styled hair, suggested that his talent had trended away from the cruder forms of robbery and flowered into something more sophisticated. He had refused to discuss exactly how he passed his days now, except to say he was in business. He would never come close to his brother, Andor, in either looks or charm, but he had developed a sort of appealing naivete. Surely anyone who bought anything from that innocent-looking young imp would find that it leaked or collapsed or suffered from fatal disease.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” Rap inquired. Thinal curled a lip at him in a soundless snarl.

“Well, we’ll be ashore in an hour or two. As you know, I’m heading for South Pithmot and the Mosweeps. I would appreciate your company if you care to come along. “

The ratty face twisted into a smile. “Love to. Adventuring on the road with my friend Rap? Just like old times.”

He was lying, of course. He would vanish up the first available alley and when he was gone, so were Sagorn and Darad and Jalon and Andor, some of whom might have been willing to help. That was Thinal’s right, though. To compel loyalty with power was Zinixo’s evil game; the good guys must not use magic for immoral purposes, however great the temptation. This impo$sible idealism was the heart of the new protocol. Having invented it, Rap must not violate it on its first outing.

Thinal licked his lips. “Horses? Months and months of horses? Bug-infested taverns and bad food? Wind and snow and no skin on my ass? Ain’t my hinny. Save the world by yourself, King.”

“I’ll get lonely. Why don’t you call one of the others, then?” The little thief sneered maliciously. “I can’t! And it’s your blame. You’re the one who twisted the spell.”

“Been shirking again, have you?”

“Naw. They’ve been ganging up on me.”

It was possible, of course. Rap wondered what Thinal might have been up to that his companions disapproved of. Some major malfeasance, perhaps. “Why?”

“Mind your own potage. Just know I’m overdue for some time, and I can’t cop out until I’ve done it.”

Rap snorted angrily to himself. He had not anticipated that problem. The rules he had imposed on the sequential gang compelled Thinal to exist about a third of the time. The limits were flexible, but if Thinal had fallen seriously short of his quota, then he truly could not call any of the others in his stead until he did some catching up.