A Man Of His Word - Perilous Seas Part 22

And thena"but only thena"she remembered the pixies. Her heart leaped into her throat. Sudden tremor. Man, too close. Hands. Eyes.

"Something wrong?" Skarash said.

"No!" Mouth dry, skin damp. She struggled to control her breathing. Flirt was not rape! She must not give in to this now or it would haunt her all her days. Could she remember how to flutter an eyelash? "Not at all. I expect I am merely overcome by the sight of a shapely male calf, after being deprived so long."

He gulped, and was djinn enough to need a moment on that one. Inos raced ahead, sternly not thinking of pixies. "I could almost believe that the change in you was due to sorcery."

"Sorcery? I know nothing about sorcery," Skarash said solemnly. But the rosy eyes seemed to change color slightly, and what they said was, n.o.body else knows anything about that, and if the mage chose me to be your guide it was to make sure that there is no loose talk about sorcery.

Elkarath had mentioned that Skarash was the one entrusted with laying out the first magic carpet. He had been standing guard outside the door when the second arrived with its pa.s.sengers. He was very likely the Chosen One, the heir who would receive the words of power when the sheik died.

"Just a joke," Inos said.

He nodded as if satisfied, and they continued along the bustling corridor, then down yet another winding staircase, the sixth or seventh Inos had met already. The noises that infected the whole house were growing louder. "We have to go through here anyway, and Grandsire wants that word with you." Skarash opened a door and ushered Inos into the largest open s.p.a.ce she had yet seen in Ullacarn.

Obviously it was the business area of the House of Elkarath, and with the annual caravan having arrived only the previous day, disorder and tumult were rampant. Light poured in through three open doorways, each large enough to admit a six-horse wagon, but the air was so thick with dust that Inos began to sneeze at once, and her eyes to watera"so Skarash considerately put his arm around her again, guiding her between the highpiled clutter of barrels and bales and boxes. The odor of cloves and cinnamon and caraway was intoxicating, but the whiff of camel and horse was undeniable also. Porters and wagoneers and customers milled to and fro, arguing and shouting over the din, loading and unloading, taking and bringing.

The legionaries standing by the doors were a surprise. Outside in the fiery sunshine the busy street was thronged with people, all of them apparently imps: ladies in bright gowns, with unveiled faces; many men, and even woman, with their heads uncovereda"although persons of quality wore fancy hats, of course. Sudden nostalgia s.n.a.t.c.hed Inos's breath away.

With eyes streaming and nose tingling, she found herself arriving at a short flight of steps, leading up to a platform. There, in a large chair behind a long table, sat Elkarath, writing with one hand, fingering his beard with the other, an oasis of calm amid the hubbub, quietness within the racket. No sheik now, within the Impire, he was merely Master Elkarath the merchant, yet imposing enough in a bulky scarlet robe and a gold skullcap. Great ledgers stood stacked beside him; clerks rushed in and out through other doors, or merely hovered, waiting for his attention. Here the master could oversee the loading and unloading, the trading and tabulating.

Grateful that she need not raise skirts, for her hem was well above her ankles, Inos climbed the worn wooden treads, a.s.sisted of course by the willing hand of Skarash.

"You may have to wait a moment, Mistress," he muttered in her ear. "That one looks important."

Elkarath was rising stiffly to greet a visitor, a legionary. The white horsehair crest on his helmet denoted a centurion. "Why soldiers?" Inos murmured, stepping back to where she would not impede the swarming clerks. "What has the army to do with merchants?" There were at least a dozen helmets in sight, all with black or brown crests.

"Guards," Skarash said, moving close. "This stuff is worth a fortune."

"And who would steal it?"

"The army might." He chuckled at her glance of surprise. "Watch Grandsire closely. There!"

A leather bag pa.s.sed un.o.btrusively from merchant to centurion.

"Graft?"

"Of course."

Hands were being shaken across the table now, and the centurion saluted.

Inos let her attention wander over the bustling throng on the lower level. "Red hair? Obviously most of these men are djinns?"

"At least half of them are relatives."

"Then why dress like imps?"

Skarash showed his teeth in a snarl. "Believe me, having red hair is bad enough. Dressing like a barbarian is asking for trouble."

"Is Ullacarn part of the Impire, then? I thought it was an independent city-state."

"Only on paper. An Imperial protectorate, allied by treaty. But there are legionaries here. Lots of them."

Oh! Like that, was it? There were legionaries in Krasnegar now, or there had been the last time Inos had heard.

Skarash said, "You've been noticed."

Elkarath had resumed his seat and was beckoning. Inos picked her way across the platform, between the dodging, hovering flunkies. The centurion was still standing there, but as she approached he removed his helmet to show that his visit was now social. He was inspecting her with brazen approval, but she had been away from imps long enough to notice the swarthy, pocky complexion, the thick waist and narrow shoulders. Short by djinn standards . . . but handsome enough in his shiny bronze. More muscle than fat, dark wavy hair. Not bad.

"Mistress Hathark!" Elkarath boomed. His voice and manner had changed dramatically also, although not as much as his grandson's. "You slept well, lady?"

Had he been spying on her insomnia? Inos donned one of Kade's witless social smiles. "Never better, thank you, sir! I was weary from the journey." She wondered if a curtsy was appropriate, and compromised with a dainty bob. The centurion's eyes were still peeling her, and she wished her dress were just a little more Zarkian, or not quite so stretched in places.

Elkarath nodded to her bob, without rising. "Skarash will see you have everything you need, Mistress. May I present Centurion Imopopi?"

She bobbed agan, the imp saluted.

"Your first visit to beautiful Ullacarn, ma'am?"

Inos felt an odd twinge of indecision. She was not sure what she was supposed to say. Elkarath would hardly have explained that she was a refugee queen from a kingdom at the other end of the world. On the other hand, his deceits were his own problem, and she needed information as a fish needs water.

"Yes, it is. Indeed I am a newcomer to this part of the world." That should have led the conversation toward Krasnegar, but Elkarath moved to block it. "Mistress Hathark and her party will not be staying long. They are merely pa.s.sing through, on their way back to Hub."

They were? Why would Rasha . . . had Inos then been sold already? Was she to be delivered to Olybino in Hub? What use trying to escape if she was bound for Hub anyway, or was this a trick?

Before she could question, Centurion Imopopi laughed harshly, and Inos felt her skin p.r.i.c.kle as if in premonition of something wrong, but she had no time to a.n.a.lyze, for he was speaking to her.

"I shall not venture to praise Ullacarn if you are familiar with the city of the G.o.ds, ma'am. You had best not linger long, though. The season is late. The pa.s.ses will be closing soon."

"Pa.s.ses?" Inos fished frantically for geography that had momentarily slid down behind the back of her mind.

"The Qoble Range, of course." Why did his voice bother her? "You are not from Hub originally, though?"

He himself was, or from somewhere close to it. Perhaps it was merely his accent jangling her alarms, and yet she had heard tones like that often enough at Kinvale.

"Not by a long way."

"You have traveled far, then?" A small frown showed that the soldier's carnal inspection had become tinged with more intellectual interest. He was wondering what she was, as she did not quite fit any of the standard races. Golden hair meant either elf or jotunn in the family treea"plus what? What she was would be defined by her homeland.

"Oh, very far!" Inos said. "So far thata"much as I regret to say soa"we had never heard of Ullacarn where I come from." A gentleman dandy might have prolonged the verbal sparring; a soldier went straight to the point. "And where is that?" Again his voice rasped a nerve. It was not the voice of a common swordbanger, she decided. He spoke like an upper-cla.s.s Hubban. But rich families' sons were not thrown in with the common herd to work their way up through the ranks.

"I'm sure you won't ever have heard of it," Inos said, with her best two-sugar-lump simper. "A faraway kingdom called Krasnegar? Ita""

Centurion Imopopi dropped his smile. Color flooded his face, giving it a hard, dangerous look. He paced forward menacingly, ostentatiously replacing his helmet. "Whatever rumors you may have heard, miss, were malicious falsehoods. When we apprehend persons spreading such slanders, we deal with them in appropriate fashion."

Despite herself, Inos backed up a step. The centurion followed her, dark eyes blazing. "The men are flogged for acting against the public good. Women are punished as common scolds. Is that not fair?"

She was off balance. She was taken by surprise. It was too soon after the pixies, and this man was potentially just as dangerous, albeit in other ways. He could tie her behind his horse and drag her to the jail if he chose. Skarash had warned her, and obviously an Imperial legionary on street duty was not the same thing as a tribune or a proconsul sipping tea in a Kinvale parlor. Suddenly she thought of pixies again, and began to shake again, and could find absolutely nothing to say. Her mouth was too dry to say anything, anyway.

"On the second offense we tear out their tongues."

Inos tried to say, "But, Centurion," and produced a croak. She backed another step.

The collapse of her conversational efforts had been amusing Elkarath, but now he came to her rescue. "Centurion, I think there must be a misunderstanding. I'm sure that Mistress Hathark intended no harm to the public good. She meant no slight to the imperor or his army. Indeed, I think that you may have misheard her. She hails from a small island state named Har Nogar, located near Uthle."

Centurion Imopopi kept his glittering gaze on Inos. "Did you say *Har Nogar,' mistress?"

Inos nodded vigorously. Elkarath's hand moved to a row of leather bags, and closed on one of them with a faint clink that caught the centurion's attention at once.

"Mistress Hathark and her aunt will likely wish to see something of the town today," the mage remarked innocently. "Possibly visit the markets. I wonder, as she is a stranger here, whether an escort might be advisable?" The bag moved a handsbreadth closer to the legionary.

His anger faded as reluctantly as a summer sunset. "We brook no trouble on the streets in Ullacarn, but I can understand how well-born ladies feel happier with personal protection. I shall gladly a.s.sign some men to escort them."

The bag moved the rest of the way and clinked again as it was removed by a strong military hand. Imopopi turned back to Inos. "Enjoy your visit, ma'am. Don't believe everything you hear. And certainly don't repeat it." With a final glare of warning, he saluted, spun around, and stamped away as if he were patrolling a siege line.

Inos was left quivering, wishing she had a chair. Aghast at her own timiditya"and appalled at the thought that her experience with the pixies might have broken her nerve forevera"she leaned both hands on the table. "What provoked that?" she shrilled.

Elkarath shrugged. "Ullacarn is a snakepit of rumors. Obviously you stepped on one of them."

"Krasnegar? An Imperial defeat at Krasnegar?"

"That would seem to be likely. Did you hear anything, Skarash?"

Skarash stroked imaginary lint from an immaculate lace cuff. "Not much, Grandsire, only that a legion was jumped by goblins while returning from a courtesy visit to a flyspeck place no one had ever heard of before. Courtesy visit? I like that a lot! Half the men were cut to pieces, or worse. There is talk of prisoners enjoying traditional goblin hospitality. Nothing more than that."

His uncle nodded and looked in the general direction of Inos. "Avoid the subject when talking to soldiers, I suggest." He reached for a ma.s.sive ledger, ancient and tattered.

"Obviously. It wasn't a full legion, though,"

"Almost half of one. Rumors always exaggerate. Certainly bad enough. And defeat by goblins . . ." He opened the book, but Inos thought he was chuckling silently. "No wonder the bronze bullies don't like to discuss it."

Her head was spinning. Four cohorts savaged by goblins? The forestfolk had always been treacherous, but never warlike. Now the warlock of the east had suffered a shattering blow. Where did that leave her? Would he seek revenge on the goblins? Had the legionaries been driven out of Krasnegar by Kalkor and his jotnar, or had they fled voluntarily?

And there was another matter"I am truly going on to Hub?"

The old man nodded, dipping his quill in a silver inkwell. "Her Majesty has so decreed."

"So! So I've been sold? She's made her deal with Olybino, and now all that remains is to deliver the goods?"

"Not at all. You are still her Majesty's guest. Enjoy, your stay in Ullacarn, it will be brief."

His eyes! She wanted to see his eyes!

"I can't imagine why she would be sending me to Hub, then!"

"I didn't question. But if you can't, then perhaps others may be less likely to?" The old man's voice had sharpened half a tone, but he placidly ran a finger up a page as if counting.

"You mean I was hidden in the desert, and now I'm going to be hidden on the road to Hub . . . least likely place to look? And when the contract is finally signed, I'll bea""

"Draw your own conclusions. Meanwhile I have work to do."

"And Azak? Is he going back to Arakkaran, or coming with me, or will you leave him rottinga""

"He goes with you." The plump finger stopped on the numbers, but the old man did not look up. "Your cabins are reserved on Dawn Pearl, which sails in three days. It was to Hub you were headed, was it not? Well, to Hub you are going."

"I wish to see him!"

"Of course. By all means. Just one friend calling on another, I a.s.sume? Skarash will take you." Elkarath reached into the folds of his scarlet robe, then dropped a rusty key on the table. "You may give him this."

"No parole?"

He sighed crossly. "None at all. You will find no better ship than Dawn Pearl, and certainly none leaving sooner. Begone!" Confused and suspicious, Inos watched Skarash take up the key, and then allowed him to usher her back to the steps. A horde of clerks and menials took this as their chance to rush forward and consult the merchant. Inos was left to ponder her fate. Why should Rasha send her to Hub? Stranger yet, why should she send Azak? It might be all a deception.

She, at least, was going to have a military escort, which would not make escape any easier. Had Elkarath deliberately arranged the little scene with the angry centurion?

There had been something odda"something very odda"about Imopopi. Just thinking of him gave Inos crawly feelings. She needed to talk with Azak. Him, at least, she could trust.

2.

"Odd people, elves," Ishist said, and his voice echoed away into the black hollow ahead.

There was a sinister note in that remark, somehow. Or perhaps it was just that Rap was feeling jumpy, marching through the bowels of the earth with a sorcerer.

"They live a long time?" he said hastily, unable to think of any comment more intelligent.

"They don't, actually. They just don't show their age like other people."

The oppressive silence returned, broken only by the gentle pad of footsteps and the whispered swish of long robes. Nothing but sorcery could have carved a tunnel so smooth and regular, and so astonishingly long. "Thraine's Wormhole," the gnome had called it, with a private chuckle at some obscure historical joke. It sloped downward, never steeply and sometimes almost imperceptibly; but it held a steady bearing just west of north as if bored by a homing bee. It was dry and empty and musty-smelling; he had mentioned earlier that decades might pa.s.s without it being used. It was understandably dark and quiet.

"Odd people," he repeated. He walked boldly into the blackness with Rap at his side. A spectral glow at their heels provided light for Gathmor and Darad, who were following closely, and the dark closed in behind. The light was faintly pink, had no detectable source, cast no shadows.

Ishist had sent Sagorn away. Apparently he preferred Darad to any of the others, perhaps because he did not put on airs. Darad was just a brutal killer, and proud of it.

"Odd in what way?" Rap asked then.

"All sorts of ways, lad. What they'll tell you is that every elf belongs to a clan, and owes all his loyalty to his clan. Each clan owns a tree, or the tree owns them, maybe. And each clan has a chief. Sound simple?"

"No. Sky trees?" Rap's deeper voice echoed even more than the gnome's. He could not detect the surface now. A whole mountain seemed to lie above, pressing down relentlessly.

"Of course." Ishist was barefoot; the others were shod in elven boots of leather soft as gossamer. Their tread was spookily soft.

"And it's more complicated?" Rap asked, sending rumbles down the long tube.

"Nothing is ever simple around elves. It doesn't help that they never tell nonelves anything. Clans have alliances and feuds, which they don't talk about, which seem to come and go like the tide. There are subclans and overclans. A clan may have more than one tree, and more than one clan may have rights in one tree. Any clan may have more than one chiefa"a chief for justice, a chief for wisdom, a chief for war, a chief for law . . . G.o.ds know how they're chosen or how it all works, if it does." He fell silent for a few paces, then added, "But historically the elves have held off the imps better than almost anyone, except the dwarves, so I suppose it must work after a fashion."