Upland Outlaws (30 page)

Andor was still demonstrating the quintessence of guile and duplicity. The scoundrel’s motives were visible now even to a dumb rustic faun-Tribune Uoslope’s two daughters were striking beauties. Their dark hair shone like stars, they had donned their best white dresses in honor of the visitors. They were luscious and virginal, but they wore far too much jewelry. They were overdressed rural innocents, spellbound by this urbane gentleman who had dropped into their sheltered lives from the highest circles of Imperial society. That was the idea.

Neither of them was much older than Kadie. Watching Andor’s maneuvering, Rap felt depressingly fatherly and protective. It seemed very unfair that life involved growing old.

The sixth member of the group was Mistress Ainopple, the tribune’s wife. She was a withered, mousy creature, who seemed to live in terror of her husband. Apparently the senator who owned Casfrel was her uncle, which explained a few things.

Once in a while Andor would turn his charisma on her, oozing compliments on her household and beautiful daughters. She became flustered, stuttering as she tried to simper. “So hard to bring up Nya and Puo properly in such a remote situation … Must try to take them to Hub soon … “

“Indeed you must, ma’am,” Andor responded. “For if word of such beauties ever reaches the capital, then half the eligible young men of the Impire will be flocking here to call on them.” Blushes all round.

“But if your musicians are up to strumming a dance tune after dinner, ma’am, then I shall certainly insist on the honor of treading a measure with each of them, for I never dreamed that this remote land would hide ladies who outshine anything I have ever seen in the palace itself.”

It was sickening. It was as effective as a battle ax to the skull. Andor’s mastery worked on men as well as it did on women, and he had extracted Tribune Uoslope’s fangs completely. The brusque overseer who had greeted the visitors with surly suspicion was fawning like a kitten over them now. Rap could have done as much himself, easily. Ironically, he would probably have had to use a lot more power to produce the same effect, because his heart would not have been in it. Hypocrisy came naturally to Andor.

The resemblance between him and young Signifer Ylo was striking, but the contrasts were interesting, too. In his spare time, Ylo went in for heroics and hard work. Andor shunned both to the very best of his ability. Both men were unscrupulous libertines, but there was an innocence about Ylo that Andor must have lost years ago, if he had ever had it. However much Ylo enjoyed women, he would always expect them to have fun, also. He believed quite honestly that he was doing them a good turn. With his word of power to aid him, Andor was a much more calculating hunter. He knew the damage his seductions might cause. Not only would he care little about hurting his victims, he probably enjoyed that, also. There was a difference between amorality and immorality-not much of one, but some.

The luxuriant valley was growing dim, stars twinkled in the velvet sky. Listening with half an ear to the conversation, Rap was also scanning the whole great compound. He had noted the silver and crystal laid out on the dining table, awaiting his dining pleasure. He had observed the many cooks scurrying about the hot kitchens, preparing the feast. Satisfied that the villa itself contained no unpleasant surprises, he was now studying the barns where the workers lived, and the grim repast awaiting them. A platoon of legionaries was doing a little better in a small barracks-it would be interesting, but probably depressing, to know how those men’s upkeep was recorded in the army’s rolls.

He had located many imps, and a few fauns, and even a heap of gnomes, only now starting to waken. Eventually he observed three trolls being herded homeward, a big male and two girls. The quarters they were heading for were obviously new, and built strong enough to hold a dragon. Now that was an interesting

Ripple!

He started to full alertness. Where had that come from? He could not tell. It had been very brief, and very slight. It had not been Andor-he was emitting a low hiss of sorcery, a faint, barely detectable glow. Somewhere close, someone had used a needle of power, a tiny flash.

Chillingly, Rap decided that someone had just scanned him. It might even have been the tribune himself, or one of his womenfolk. If so, the perpetrator was close enough to have detected Rap’s farsight at work as well as Andor’s use of mastery. God of Fools!

It was too late to caution Andor now, or tell him to stop.

Nevertheless, the next time those beguiling dark eyes turned in his direction, Rap risked a warning frown. Andor read the message instantly. He dropped his narrative in midsentence and slapped at his arm. “Mosquitoes? Early for bugs, isn’t it?”

With his power cut off, the spell was broken. The listeners seemed to rouse themselves.

“Oh, we do get a few at any time of the year,” Mistress Ainopple murmured apologetically, looking guilty, as if the bugs were her fault. “We, er, should perhaps be thinking about dinnerQ” She shot her husband a worried glance. He would be the sort of husband who would delay a meal for hours and then complain that it did not meet his standards.

Uoslope himself scratched his lower chin as if puzzled. “Tell me again your purpose in journeying through these parts, Sir Andor?”

Andor had not mentioned the subject at all. “Just a guide for my friend here. ” He waved languidly in Rap’s direction. “I was asked to escort him by … by certain influential persons. His homeland is having some problems in certain branches of agriculture, and he is on a fact-finding mission.” He beamed at Rap, inviting him to explain.

Caught unaware, Rap made a mental note to get even at the first opportunity. How to proceed? A moment ago he would have been more circumspect, but if there was sorcery around, then he should grab for whatever information he could find in preparation for a very fast retreat.

“We are experiencing a shortage of agricultural laborers, Tribune. Recently the supply of felons seems to have dried up.” The listeners all stiffened in shock, even the two girls. “What sort of laborers, Highness?” Uoslope demanded angrily, his rubicund face darkening.

“I am talking of my homeland, remember, ” Rap said brightly. “In Sysanasso we do not have the same milksop scruples as some of the bleeding hearts in your country. “

“Er, quite, what?”

If there was an illicit trade in slaves between the Impire and Sysanasso-which there might well be-then Rap had no knowledge of it. But Uoslope would not, either, and it was certainly a plausible theory.

“What sort of laborers, exactly?” the tribune repeated. “Felons. The Imperial army is our main supplier. Trolls, of course. They are invaluable for certain types of work. I am sure you employ some trolls here in Casfrel?”

“We do employ a few, mm? Useful, yes, but not very reliable, what?”

“Oh, well,” Ainopple broke in to protest, “you can’t expect to rely on them. Can’t really rely on anyone except an imp. “

“I heard a funny story,” young Nya said eagerly, “about a djinn, a dwarf, and a jotunn-“

“Not another dumb jotunn story?” Puo wailed.

“Have you queried your supplier?” Uoslope demanded of Rap.

“He wasn’t very helpful. He spoke vaguely of malcontents, disrupting the system and causing shortages. The price of a healthy male has risen ridiculously. I thought I’d come and see firsthand. “

“Oh, yes!” Ainopple muttered, wringing her stringy hands. “Last year we lost our whole stock, and just when we were starting to have some success with the breeding program, too! Such a disappointment-“

“But we have replaced them, right?” her husband boomed. “Surely dinner must be ready now, what?”

Trolls were an indelicate subject.

The evening that had started so well deteriorated rapidly. Dinner was a social catastrophe. Rap had never been handy at making meaningless small talk, and he was preoccupied in listening for sorcery. He detected no more, and gradually began to hope that he had overestimated that one brief flicker. Perhaps it had come from much farther away than he had first thought. In that case the culprit might just have picked up some fuzzy trace of Andor’s talent in use and been trying to locate it. The obvious precaution was to avoid disturbing the ambience any furtherno farsight, no mastery!

Unfortunately, Andor had two beautiful girls to stalk, and the use of power was second nature to him now.

Fortunately, Rap was sitting across the table from him. Every time Andor became charming, his leg got kicked.

After a while he seemed to comprehend what this sudden belligerence meant, but it threw him totally off balance. Stripped of occult support after so many years, he was naked. He did not know how to behave mundanely, how to react. He became awkward, jittery, and stilted, which would have been very funny, had the situation not been so serious.

Worse, the spell he had cast over Uoslope and his family wore off. First the tribune himself became surly and suspicious again, obviously wondering why these strangers had come prowling around his fiefdom, asking impertinent questions about his illicit slaves. Then the stars faded from the eyes of Nya and Puo; they began to respond to Andor’s now-clumsy blandishments with understandable disdain. The charmer had become a boor.

As for that faun, his place was down with the hired hands, washing horses or something!

Sensing the awkward overtones, Mistress Ainopple became even more dithery and nervous than ever. How had such a gawk ish, ungainly woman ever produced two such gorgeous daughters? Her feeble efforts to keep a conversation going only made matters worse. She peppered Rap with questions about his mythical kingdom, but his one visit to Sysanasso had been extremely brief, and he knew very little about his ancestral homeland. He tried to invent a tropical version of Krasnegar and it sounded improbable even to him. She asked Andor about the Imperial court, and that reminded everyone of the imperor’s death. Things went from worse to disastrous.

When the meal ended, there was no further talk of dancing. Everyone was willing to accept that the visitors were weary from their journey and needed to catch a good night’s sleep. With a few incoherent apologies, Rap and Andor made a break for the stairs.

“What in the Name of Evil was all that about?” Andor demanded in an angry whisper as they climbed. “My shins are black and blue! “

“Someone’s using sorcery. You ripple the ambience.”

“I shall ripple your neck, my faunish friend! Who? What sort of sorcery?”

They reached the upper story as Rap finished explaining. He took his companion’s elbow and turned him along a corridor. “We’re not going to our rooms. We’re leaving!”

“How? Where?”

“Servants’ staircase. Got to get out before they loose the dogs. “

Andor wailed. “Dogs?”

“Along here.”

Down they went.

Using the barest hint of farsight, Rap avoided the domestics now clearing away the remains of the meal. Less than five minutes after bidding their host good night, the fugitives were outside the villa, standing in a patch of inky shadow. The air was cooling rapidly, and a bloated moon floated in a clear sky, illuminating the whole valley. The Mosweeps were especially striking.

“Now wait a minute!” Andor said, strident with fear. “This makes no sense at all! We’re caught in a dead end here! The only way we can go is back down the valley, and they’ll chase us as soon as they find we’ve

gone.”

“I know that, but-“

“They’re probably counting the silverware already.”

“The stables-“

“I’m going to call Darad. He’s much more-“

“No!” Rap grabbed Andor’s cravat and squeezed. “Now, listen carefully! If you bring Darad, that’s sorcery! You’ll give us away. You’re far better on a horse than Darad is, anyway. ” Andor’s teeth chattered briefly.

“What’s more,” Rap said, just so there would be no misunderstanding, “if they catch Darad, they catch you, too. If Zinixo gets any one of you, then he forces your word out of whichever one of you he’s got, and then you all die. All of you, is not so? Besides, I need you. Come on. “

Releasing Andor’s throat, he took a firm grip on his arm and led him off through the night as fast as he dared go.

“Need me how?” Andor muttered sulkily. “I think you’ll have to pick a lock.”

“I can’t do that! It’s Thinal you need for that, and I can’t call him because he called me. That’s all your fault, too. Know something? You really messed up a beautiful piece of sorcery when you mucked around with Orarinsagu’s formula, you dumb faun!”

“Not my idea. I know I need Thinal, but you can’t call him directly, and two transformations would be totally insane. Thinal must’ve picked a million locks. You’ve got his memories, haven’t you? So use them.”

“Just because you’ve heard singing doesn’t mean you can sing!” Andor objected, but the light was so tricky and Rap was setting so hard a pace that he soon had very little breath for whining. The settlement was sliding into sleep. Few lights showed in the cottages. The gnomes would be scavenging, of course, but they never interfered with the activities of dayfolk.

“Wait a minute, Rap!- The stables are over that way, aren’t they?”

“No, they’re that way. We’ve got a call to make first.”

“What sort of a call?”

“Trolls … Oh, do stop bitching, Andor!”

Fighting his way through some prickly bushes, Rap reproached himself for his ill temper. Andor was not the only frightened man among the two of them. With sorcery ruled out, they were nothing but mundane intruders in a private fortress. There were dogs and armed soldiers around. The legionaries might have been stationed at Casfrel as official border guards or just because the senator had pulled political strings to protect his estate; in either case those men would know exactly what to do about mundane intruders.

And if sorcery was not ruled out, the situation was even worse. Rap kept thinking up darker and darker possibilities. Uoslope himself-and he lived very well, as virtual ruler of a private kingdom-or his withered wife; or the butler, or one of the lute players … someone had power, perhaps very great power. The greater the power, the less detectable it was in use. Perhaps that person had been eavesdropping on Rap’s thoughts ever since he arrived and that one tiny ripple had been just a momentary carelessness.

God of Fools! Why hadn’t he listened to his premonition? The trolls’ prison was directly ahead, gleaming where moonlight shone on massive blocks of whitish stone. It was obviously new, and must have been built after last year’s breakout. A cell to hold trolls would have to be constructed like an elephant pen-trolls were usually restrained by brute terror, because anything else could be ripped out or torn apart. This close to the mountains, though, even a brutalized troll might feel that the chance of escape was good enough to risk yet another savage beating.

Panting and streaming sweat in the chill night, Rap arrived at the door. Andor was close behind, still muttering under what breath he had left. Fortunately, the entrance was in shadow. A bat twittered overhead in jerky flight.

Again Rap risked the merest hint of farsight, an occult peek … surprise!

“It’s not shielded,” he gasped. “I thought it would be.”

“So?” .

“So there’s a sorcerer around somewhere. Why not shield the building?”

“Bunk!” Andor said. “Where would a plantation manager find sorcery? Or a senator? What market do you go to to buy sorcery? Sorcerers don’t need money!” He muttered “Stupid!” a few times.

That was true, and yet Rap had expected shielding, somehow. He leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to puzzle it out. There was something other than logic involved, though, and he couldn’t find the answer.

“Can you pick this lock?” he demanded. “No,” Andor said sulkily.

The lock was a bronze box about the size of a suitcase. The door itself was not much larger, like the entrance to a dog kennel. The trolls would have to crawl through on their hands and knees.

“Right, I’ll risk it.”

Tumblers clanged, sounding like a fire gong in the still night. “Couldn’t you have done that a little quieter?” Andor wiped his forehead.

“Not without using more power. Come on.”

The door grated open. Rap crouched down and wriggled inside.

The interior was one huge room, still hot as a baker’s oven and acrid as a pigpen-what would it be like in summer? High slits admitted beams of moonlight, striped by bars thicker than a jotunn’s forearm. Straw rustled. He sharpened his vision a fraction and made out two bodies stirring in a corner. They were the women he had seen earlier; they sat up together with grunts of surprise. The man was lying facedown in another corner, breathing harshly. Sacking hung on pegs along one wall. The only furniture was a bucket.

“Phew!” said Andor. “Let’s get out of here!”

“My name is Rap. I am a friend.”

The two girls whimpered and huddled back into the corner, hugging each other. Making a wild guess, Rap estimated their ages as thirteen and eighteen respectively. They had no clothes on, and their pale skins glimmered with sweat. Even the child would have outweighed him handily, and she must have been the one he had seen hauling the wagon. He thought of Kadie, home in Krasnegar, with her fancy clothes, her fencing lessons, her books and romantic dreams. And then this? There were times when he despised the Gods.

He had forgotten how big trolls were-almost as tall as jotnar and burly as goblins. Their skins were doughy and tough, yet prone to sunburn; their hair was brown and woolly, their strength legendary. Doubtless a male of their own race would appreciate these two maidens’ protruding muzzles and sloping foreheads, but it was hard to think of trolls as human when you looked them in the face. Rap had met trolls in Durthing, many years ago, and he knew them to be gentle, worthy folk, placid and friendly—

“I am Rap,” he repeated. “Tell me your names.”

The girls scrabbled even farther back into their corner. Then the older seemed to understand. She pushed her younger companion away and began stretching out on the straw, making herself available.

A spasm of revulsion made Rap want to puke. He remembered Mistress Ainopple’s remark about a breeding program. He remembered things Ballast had told him, years ago, on Stormdancer. Ballast himself had been part jotunn. Half-breeds were prized even more than full-blooded trolls, because they were supposed to be more intelligent.

“No! I want to help you. Tell me your names!”

“Rap, for the Gods’ sake let’s get out of here!” Andor was gagging.

“Master not … come to … make baby?” Trolls’ heavy jaws made their speech slurred. They spoke little, and slowly, which perhaps explained their reputation for stupidity.

“No. I come to help you. What is your name?”

“Urg, Master.”

“And the child?”

“Norp. “

The big male groaned. Rap swung around to look, and then used farsight. The man’s body was a jelly of bruises and scrapes. There was blood on the straw.

“That is … Thrugg,” Urg mumbled. “He’s been beaten?”

“Masters say … Thrugg was … bad.”

Gods! He looked as if he’d been stamped on by a legion. Trolls were reputed to be indestructible.

“Rap!” Andor squealed. “As soon as the cooks go home, they’ll let the dogs loose. We’ve got to get out! Now! “

“Oh, shut up! I can’t leave them here!” Rap strode over to the pegs and scooped up the sacking; he hurled it at the girls. “Get dressed! You heard me! Dress!”

With urgent motions, they began. Ignoring a torrent of shrill complaint from Andor, Rap went over to kneel beside the comatose male. He stank of fresh blood and vomit.

“Thrugg! Thrugg, can you walk?” The answer was a subterranean groan.

Andor’s protests grew louder. He was dancing from one foot to the other in his impatience. Rap wiped an arm over his brow. He knew he was being just as crazy as Andor was describing him, but he could not imagine himself going away and leaving these people. They were none of his business. The risk was absurd-but he had to take that risk, because he had to live with himself until he died.

To use his power as sparingly as possible, he laid both hands on Thrugg’s bloody back. He closed his eyes, concentrating … He saw a couple of cracked ribs, but the rest was just bruising, a massive battering. It must have been done quite recently, too. Could anything have justified this? Perhaps he was a killer. A crazy troll would be a human earthquake.

Rap turned his head to look up at the girls. They were both fully dressed now, swathed from neck to ankles and wrists in the all-encompassing cover they needed for protection from sunlight. Their huge, vague shapes loomed over him in the gloom, only their frightened eyes distinct.

“Urg? What did Thrugg do? Why did they beat him?”

Urg nervously wiped her nostrils with her tongue. “Masters … helping me. Thrugg … was very … bad.”

“Helping you? Help you to do what?”

“Help … make baby … Thrugg got … angry.” Evil of evils! Rap turned back to the victim.

Andor whimpered. “Rap! What in the Name of Folly are you doing? “

“Be quiet! ” Heal! The ambience shivered and flared. There was so much damage! Heal! He would have to use more powerthere!

Thrugg grunted, and then began to move like a horse rolling over. Rap jumped up and backed away quickly, conscious of those enormous muscles and hands like dinner plates.

“Thrugg? I’m Rap. I’m a friend. Feel better now?”

The big, bestial face stared up at him blankly. Thrugg’s woolly beard was caked with blood, black in the moonlight. “Friend? Master? You … stop pain? “

“I’m a sorcerer. I want to find Witch Grunth. Have you ever heard of her?”

“For the love of the Good, Rap!” Andor screamed. “He’s a savage! A slave! What can he know of a warden?”

Trouble was, Andor was absolutely right. The chances of this unfortunate churl being able to help were as close to zero as chances could be. So … So a sorcerer could play hunches, couldn’t he?

“Get dressed, Thrugg.”

Another huge shape moved in as Urg approached with a coarse-woven shirt as big as a tent. Thrugg took it and pulled it on. It was a snug fit.

Andor grabbed Rap’s arm, and Rap shook him off roughly. “Thrugg,” he said, “a year ago, some slaves escaped from here. A sorcerer helped them. I want to find-“

The ambience flared with an eerie light. Rap whirled around to give battle and screamed aloud as he was engulfed in fire.

It had been a trap all along, of course. That was why the troll pen had not been shielded.

The sorceress stood there in the same ill-fitting gown she had worn at dinner, gloating. Although triumph brightened her pinched, foxy features, it did not stop her being nondescript. Yet even that unappealing aspect was a glamour. Rap had caught a brief glimpse of her true form in the ambience, and she was far, far older than she seemed. She could never be the mother of Nya and Puo-grandmother’s mother, maybe.

The battle had been brief, for her power was immeasurably greater than his. He would have made a better showing wrestling Thrugg. She had crushed him easily, then wrapped him in a shielding spell, just as he had once encapsuled Zinixo. He was as completely mundane now as he had been for most of the last eighteen years. The loss felt a lot different when it was not of his own choosing.

Having taken care of his occult powers-and probably Ardor’s, also, just to be certain-the sorceress had then nailed them both into the walls. Their arms were behind them and their legs bent at the knees. They hung there like a couple of decorations, shoulders and backs against the stone, their limbs within it. Rap’s elbows and feet felt so cold that he assumed they went all the way through to the cool air outside. He could move his toes, but not a single finger. It was very effective restraint, but it threw all his weight on his knees and shoulders. The pain was already making him sweat, and increasing steadily.

“Sit!” the sorceress snapped. “Over there! Sit!” The trolls stampeded over to the corner indicated. They sat down in a close-packed heap, huddling together nervously.

Ainopple turned her attention to Andor. “Just a genius, aren’t you? Well, you’ll use no charisma now. The rest of your magical baggage I shall leave for my superiors to investigate.” She sniffed, cloaking anger in disapproval like a schoolmarm. “I had assumed that you were under a compulsion, but I see no signs of one. A faun I can perhaps understand. We must make allowances for such people. But how an imp could behave as you have is quite beyond my comprehension. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

Andor howled. “Ma’am, you do not understand!”

“I understand perfectly well, troll-lover!”

“No, no! I was-“

The sorceress was not interested in his denials. His voice stopped abruptly, half of a dirty washrag hanging from his mouth.

She turned to Rap, smirking up at him. “Well, you weren’t nearly the threat we were expecting. A pushover!” Her scraggly mouth puckered sulkily. “After all this time I wish I had a more worthy catch to report.”

Rap felt a faint surge of hope. She did not know who he was, obviously.

She shrugged. “I shall report the news in the morning. I expect his Omnipotence will drop by in a day or two. Until then, do try to enjoy the company. Just remember you chose it.”

“Your master is Zinixo?”

“Certainly not! If you mean the former West, he died years ago.”

“Olybino, then?”

“Of course!” She smirked again. “And yours is Bitch Grunth, I expect. His Omnipotence may well decide to keep you here as bait for a while, and see if she attempts to rescue you-or put you out of your misery, perhaps.”