Magic Casement (35 page)

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 anywaydull, 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.

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 Holindam’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!”

A
sorceress! 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!