“I… I come in the name of the Prophet ” Naquin began for the third time, and for the third time Ligne refused to allow him to get the words out.
“Don’t you want to look at me, holy man? Come on, show me your eyes.
Are they the same rich blue as your lovely robe?”
“Please, my Lady!” Naquin sighed. “I am unused to such treatment.
Since I left Lamath I’ve been tied and . threatened, lectured by a child and booted in the backside, trampled under horses’ hooves and chased by a hundred dogs. I ask only that you let me perform my task and return to my Prophet.”
“Ah yes. Your Prophet I’m curious about this Prophet of yours. What kind of man is he?”
“The Prophet? Why he’s the greatest of men! A careful leader, with a vision for our nation unequaled in the long history of Lamath! Through his programs of ”
“Enough of programs,” Ligne snapped. “You sound like my Prime Minister.” She slipped back into the water, covering herself with bubbles. Her eyes fixed intently on Na-quin’s face, she asked, “Do you know Pelmen?”
“Pelmen?” Naquin blurted, almost dropping his covering band. “Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Why, I thought he was the highly praised Prophet of Lamath.” Ligne smiled knowingly. “You mean he’s no longer your leader?”
“He never was!” Naquin barked. “The man’s nothing but an imposter, a power shaper who uses his guile to entrap and confuse others. We drove him from our land.”
Ligne had been smiling until she heard the word power-shaper. “You mean you believe this Pelmen can actually alter events by magic?”
“Of course not,” Naquin snapped. “He’s a trickster, that’s all.”
“Ah.” Ligne smiled. “Something of a fool, one might say?”
“Fool?” Naquin echoed uncertainly.
“You spoke of your task. What is it?”
“To find the Lady Serphimera, and retrieve her to La-math.”
“Retrieve her?” Ligne smiled. “Like a dog retrieves a bird?”
“That is my charge.”
Ligne raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow. “I’d wondered if Serphimera might be the cause of your coming. She wears a robe just like yours.”
“My Lady, unless she has recanted, she wears a habit of midnight mine is the color of noon. Do you know where she is?”
“I’d intended for her to join my wedding celebration tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll be willing to escort her?”
“You mean she’s here?” Naquin asked excitedly. He suddenly realized he’d dropped his hand. He clapped both hands over his eyes again and squeezed them tightly.
“You peeked.” Ligne giggled. “Tell me. How does the beauty of your Serphimera compare to that of the most powerful woman in the world?”
The fleeing slavers found their way back to their point of entry by following a trail of slippery blood and groaning bodies. Each faced the same dilemma when he finally thrust his head through the crack into the sunshine there were no boats. Admon Faye had abandoned them. One by one, they all came to the same, inevitable decision. One by one, they dove into the river.
Many drowned. A few were hauled aboard passing boats. The strongest swimmers survived the river’s tortuous currents and made their way to shore. But no one died by the arrows of the guards above them. The soldiers of the Imperial House who hadn’t seen them arrive never saw them leave, either. As panic-stricken slavers dropped into 30*
the water far below them, the soldiers talked of gambling and traded jokes.
One slaver who had made it to the crack turned back to find his friend.
“Pinter?” Tibb said softly. The corridor was now as silent as a tomb.
It had become that for many. “Pinter?” he said again. He thought he heard a sobbing some yards away, and crawled over bodies toward the sound. “Pinter?” he asked again.
“I lost my hand.” Pinter sniffed; then he sobbed again.
Tibb felt helpless to answer. He struggled around to sit by his friend, leaning against the cool stone wall.
“It isn’t fair.” Pinter wept, and Tibb reached out to squeeze his friend’s thigh reassuringly.
“We’re alive,” he suggested meekly. He thought that was worth something, at least. He slipped an arm around Pinter^ shoulder and held onto the man for a few moments, then he cleared the lump from his throat and spoke. “I’ve been back to where we came in, so I know the way out. Well just sit here until you feel better. All day, if we need to.”
Pinter sniffed. “We’ll get left behind,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Just rest,” Tibb soothed. “Just rest.” He patted his friend’s shoulder until Pinter was calm again. “When you’re better, we’ll go.
I’ll help you.” Then he cleared his throat again, and added, “We’ll have to swim, though. It seems there was only the one boat and Admon Faye took it”
Pinter nodded, and his head lolled over on Tibb’s thick chest. “It isn’t fair. I only wanted to be someone, Tibb. To | be an outlaw.
With Admon Faye…”
“Shh, Pinter. You are. You are, lad.”
“I am?” Pinter asked weakly.
“Of course you are. Why, they’ll sing about us in the pubs back home about Pinter and Tibb, of the House of Faye. I can hear it now, as pretty Gerlywa draws the ale, Maknor the tenor is singing of you. He sings of Pinter the long, and his side-man Tibb, who dwelt in the lair of the twi-beast. He’s singing… you know what he’s singing, Pinter? He’s singing about how you… Pinter?” His friend did not respond. Tibb leaned his head down against Pinter’s chest, listening for the sounds of life. They were gone. He laid Pinter’s body carefully against the cave wall, wiped the wetness from his face with his sleeve, and murmured solemnly, “They’ll sing of you, lad. They will. And when they sing, they’ll sing of how you lost your hand for nothing and of the man who let you die.” Tibb crawled to his feet, and gritted his teeth against the tears. Then he gasped, and formed a fist before him in the darkness. “And as long as I keep this hand, and can hold a blade Admon Faye, beware of Tibb the twisted!”
He gave his friend a child’s kiss, then left him in this dark tunnel, and crawled away toward the crack and daylight.
A much-sobered acting troupe collapsed in the corridor beneath the infirmary and waited for Pelmen to give the all clear. They’d been through a battle and looked it, but the stains on their garments would quickly wash out. It would take years to clean the stains the carnage had left on their minds. It had turned into a morning of desperate madness, and they’d left at least one of their number behind. Jamnard was dead.
Pelmen still spoke to the strange ally that had won the battle for them. They ignored him, each fighting a battle inside with the inexplicable loss of a friend. All would be relieved to return from the inky nightmare to what was for them the real world the stage.
“Are they gone?” Pelmen whispered.
A few stragglers remain.
“Then we did it.” The Powershaper sighed in exhaustion.
Not quite, the Imperial House responded accusingly. “What do you mean?”
It appears you let one of these rodents slip past you!
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Falcon and the Hound
CAR LAD NAPPED against the door. The long night had been very strange, and while he’d not been dragged off to battle, he had been temporarily assigned to the front gate. He was sleepy.
“Wake up!” Ligne screeched in his ear. At the same time she stamped on his toes, and between stamping and shrieking he did just that. “Open this door,” the perfumed beauty ordered, and he hastened to obey, sniffing her sultry aroma as she passed and good-naturedly cursing Ros has luck. “Hello, darling!”
Ligne sang, and she leaped onto Ros-has bed and crawled atop his chest.