Dave Duncan - A Handfull of Men 4 - The Living God

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The Living God

Book 4 of A Handful of Men

By Dave Duncan

ISBN: 0-345-38878-X

PROLOGUE

The ancient house was hot in the summer night, holding the heat of the day behind windows long sealed. Its many rooms and corridors were stuffy

and airless, smelling again of dust as they had before the visitors had come. They had all gone now, the visitors. The people had departed, lords and

ladies, maidservants and manservants. Fireplaces had cooled, doors had been locked again, stillness had returned. For barely half a year the house

had been a dwelling and now it was tomb once more, a monument to its own long past.

The old woman wandered the halls and passageways, needing no more light than the beams of summer moonlight angling down from dusty

casements. The Voices were upset tonight and her antique bones could not rest.

"What ails, Ghosts?" she called. "Why do you fret?"

No words answered. No wind rattled and wailed tonight, but the little creaks and groans told how the old house was cooling after the long, hot day,

and in those tiny sounds she heard the Voices complaining.

"I do not understand!" she cried. "Speak louder."

Pale blue light made angular puddles on the floors. Rafters settled, beams creaked.

Again she called out. "He is gone. He stole away his lady, as you said he would. He took her away, and her child, also. They escaped. The others

have departed. Those who came later asking questions have departed, too. There is only me. What ails, Ghosts? You can speak now."

Clicks and creaks and tappings ...

"Danger? Is that it, then? He is in danger, or his lady? Speak louder. The child? Her child? What is her child to him?" The old woman stood in

darkness beside a patch of moonlight, her head cocked, straining to hear.

"What danger? That one they called Centurion? He is the danger? The one I shut in the cellar? I never trusted that one. Yes, you told me to beware

of that one. Nasty, violent man. Shut him up in the cellar, we did, and let them escape."

Tap. Creak.

Suddenly she cackled shrilly.

"Child? Another child? Well, that's different, isn't it? That's what love brings, isn't it, children?"

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Chortling, she turned and wandered back the way she had come, slippers shuffling on the threadbare rugs.

"Nothing you can do about it, Ghosts. Nothing I can do. They're far away now, Ghosts. Have to handle the danger by themselves, won't they?" She

chuckled hoarsely. "Another child! Well, what would you expect?" Floorboards creaked as she shuffled to the stairs.

"Going to be a problem, that one, isn't it?" she muttered.

ONE

Still pursuing

"Faster, Ylo!" Maya urged. "Make horse go faster!"

She sat on Ylo's lap, jiggling the reins ferociously. As the traces were firmly gripped in Ylo's strong hands, also, the big gray was probably unaware

of the divided leadership. It certainly did not care. It plodded doggedly, not even flickering its ears, stoically fulfilling the role the Gods had

assigned it. Every second day it would haul some traveler's rig up the hill. The next day it would haul another one down. Nothing about that to

puzzle a horse. Not even Ylo's skills would make it go any faster, either, even had he wanted it to.

Huddled in the fur cloak she had not worn in months, Eshiala watched the byplay with heavenly contentment. She, at least, was in no hurry. Days

like these could go on forever and she would never tire of them. For the last hour the road had been winding gently upward through a dense mist, so

that almost nothing was visible except the well-fitted stones of the road itself, built centuries ago by the legions and still in perfect order. Wiry grass

along the verge glistened with dampness and a few ghostly bushes lurked beyond that like predatory wraiths in the fog. Once in a while now she

glimpsed ragged remains of the winter's snow. Summer came late to the highlands of the Qoble Range.

"You promised me beautiful scenery when we reached the pass," she teased. '

Ylo flashed her a smile. They stopped her heart, those smiles of his, those bright dark eyes, those long lashes. He could say more with a smile than

all the poems of all the poets of the Impire. "I said you had never seen anything like the view up here. Well, you still haven't, have you?"

"True!" She laughed.

"And admit it, you are floating in clouds, yes?"

"Yes!" she said. "Very true."

"Well, then!"

"Faster!" Maya demanded.

"Poor old horse!" Ylo said sternly. "He's having to pull all of us up this great, long hill. He's working very hard. He's an old, old horse, that's why

his hair's turned all white. You ought to get out and walk, so he doesn't have to work so hard, you great heavy lump!"

That was a mistake. Maya decided she did want to get out and walk, and argued when he would not let her. She was very good at arguing. At times

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she behaved as if she was the rightful-born impress of Pandemia-which she was, even if Pandemia was no more aware of that than the child herself.

How about a birthday party, Ylo suggested, and a cake with two and a half candles ...

They had seen very little traffic all morning, but now hooves clanked on the stones behind, coming fast. Eshiala turned and peered back through the

little window. In a moment a ghostly rider materialized out of the mist, gray on gray, solidifying into color as he approached, scarlet cloak and gold-

plumed hat. He swung out to pass the phaeton without slowing down, cantering on ahead, fading as swiftly as he had come, the cloud soon muffling

the sound. He had been an Imperial courier, and the fact that he had been only cantering, not galloping, showed how hard the hill was on horses.

She stole a glance at Ylo and thought she detected a hint of a frown. A hint of danger? She said nothing. Something had worried him back at the inn

that morning, although he had denied it. She thought he had recognized someone. She would not pry. She would let nothing ruffle her happiness.

It would end soon enough. In a day or two they would be in Gaaze, and what happened then she dared not think.

She was in love, hopelessly in love. Twenty years old, a widow with a child, and she was as heartsick as an adolescent.

However guilty she felt that she should have found such happiness through Shandie's death, the world turned for her with the beating of Ylo's heart.

She would lie at night with her head on his chest, listening to that solid, comforting beat.

He was a hero. The army had voted him honors no signifer had received since the previous dynasty. He was a duke by right, although not in law.

Shandie had admitted that he had never had a more honest, hardworking aide than Ylo. He was even-tempered, everlasting fun, and good company.

He was blindingly handsome, blessed with a perfect complexion very rare for an imp. He was tireless in bed, enormously virile and skilled, able to

coax rapture from her body as a musician could pluck music from a lute.

He was a notorious rake, as faithless as a weasel.

She had known. She had let him steal her heart, knowing he would break it. He had not broken it yet. He had done what he set out to do-he had

taught her what lovemaking should be, and he had brought her safely to Qoble. In another week or so they would arrive at Gaaze, and then the long

journey would be over and Ylo would leave her. That had been the bargain, although never put into words.

No, she was in no hurry.

"Aha!" Ylo said. Shadowy buildings were congealing out of the fog. There was a seasonal post at the top of the pass, where weary horses could be

replaced. Tomorrow, doubtless, the old gray would plod its way down again, to one side or the other, pulling some other vehicle.

"You go back to your mother now, Princess." He passed Maya across.

"Do you suppose the food is edible here?" Eshiala asked, adjusting her too-heavy daughter on her lap.

"Probably nothing much. Why don't you buy a snack while I'm changing horses, and we'll eat by the roadside somewhere." He pulled his hat brim

down to shield his face.

That was an odd gesture for Ylo, who was well aware of his good looks. It was as if he was frightened of being recognized.

Despite her sincere belief, Eshiala was not a widow. Far off to the northeast, in Guwush, her husband bounced around unhappily on the roof of a

stagecoach. On one side of him a dealer in raw silk lamented endlessly on the ridiculous prices gnomes expected for their produce these days; on

the other a minor Imperial bureaucrat expounded on the impossibility of collecting all the new taxes Hub was demanding to fight the current war.

At times they gave up hope of winning any sympathy from Shandie and debated with each other as if he were not there, between them.

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The three of them were right at the back, which was the worst place to be, and the motion nauseated him. This was gnome country. The coach was

crowded, yet not one passenger was a gnome. If gnomes had any reason to travel, they were required to do so in wagons, by themselves. Raspnex

was sitting at the front with another dwarf, a dealer in ironware. All the rest were imps. The driver, of course, was a faun.

Shandie wondered how Inos was doing, crammed inside with the other women. She was probably even less comfortable than he was.

The road wound through darkly forested hills, but at least it was flatter than it had been the day before, without the steep inclines that had required

the male passengers to dismount and walk. After a day of dust and wind and summer sunshine, they were heading toward some very unfriendly-

looking rain clouds. He felt in dire need of a hot bath and fresh garments, but apparently he was about to receive a cold shower first. The knowledge

that he could travel on horseback twice as fast with half the discomfort did nothing to improve his mood. He could recall being very impressed as a

child by Inos' horsemanship, and he had no doubt that she could still control a horse superbly, but Raspnex could not. Dwarves fell off horses unless

they were tied to the saddle. Besides, the coach fare included the cost of the necessary armed escort.

"Nasty stretch this!" the tax collector bleated, eyeing the sinister woods crowding in on either hand. "Been quite a few ambushes near here."

Shandie uttered a noncommittal grunt that would not have shamed a camel.

"Disgraceful!" the silk merchant agreed. "Don't know why the army doesn't clean out those rebels once and for all." Shandie could have asked him

how. He could have mentioned that he had slaughtered ten thousand gnomes near here less than three years ago. He did not. He had invented a

vague cover story about representing a syndicate of Hubban investors looking for opportunities in undeveloped land; it allowed him to be tight-

lipped about his plans and background. If he tried to explain that it was precisely because this area was infested by gnomish partisans that he had

come here, then his companions would report him to the legionaries of the mounted escort.

The XXVIIth had always been an inferior outfit. Even so, this contingent inspired him with disgust. They were a sloppy bunch. He would dearly

enjoy taking them in hand for an hour's drill. Two hours would be even better; then he could skin them completely.

For a moment he toyed with the absurdity of marching over to the leader at the next stop and introducing himself. "Good evening, Optio. I am

Emshandar the Fifth, by the grace of the Gods imperor of Pandemia, not to be confused with the imposter presently occupying my throne and

claiming to be myself. I am your authentic commander in chief. Now tell me, has this bronze always been green or did you paint it like that for

some reason? . . . "

Another hour ought to bring the coach to Yugg, if there was no ambush in the meantime. From what Shandie could recall of Yugg, it had nothing to

commend it except that it marked the unofficial border between the rule of law and areas held by rebels-or between Occupied Guwush and Free

Guwush, depending on one's point of view. It had a fort with an Imperial garrison. Undoubtedly Oshpoo's forces would have agents in Yugg.

The first problem was going to be making contact with them. They would be very wary of any imp. The second problem would be staying alive

afterward.

Without slowing, the coach went rumbling through a hamlet. The huddle of squat cottages glowered at the passing strangers with tiny windows

under their heavy thatch. They were obviously gnome dwellings, so small that imps would have to crawl on hands and knees inside them. They

seemed deserted, but that would be because the inhabitants preferred to sleep during the day and work at night. For a moment the passengers held

their noses, and then the coach was through the little settlement, back in forest again.

Such were the joys of Guwush. Despite the Impire's best efforts, it never managed to do much to improve the place. The parts it did not control

were even worse, of course, with most of the population living in burrows, but to see squalor like this on a main Imperial highway was very

depressing.

Shandie could not shake off a question Inos had posed that very morning, just before entering the coach. It had been bothering him all day. If

gnomes preferred to live like that, she had said sweetly, then why should they not be allowed to do so? Fortunately no one else had heard her,

except perhaps Raspnex. In Hub it would be ranked as heresy. In the army the idea would be treason, cause for court-martial if spoken aloud. But

by definition the imperor himself could never be guilty of treason, could he? If the imperor decided that the Guwushian war was bleeding his

treasury white and the best way to solve the partisan problem was just to go away and let the partisans be the government, then nobody in the world

could argue with him. Except the Senate, of course, and most of the clergy and the army hierarchy and all the aristocrats who had acquired title to

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estates in Guwush and likely other groups that would surface in due course.

Well, fortunately Shandie was not required to make such decisions at the moment. Being an outlaw did have its advantages.

He was still thinking about the matter when he noticed that Raspnex had twisted around and was staring back at him, peering between the much

taller impish passengers. His ugly face was screwed up in a curiously agitated expression. There were too many people between them for

conversation. In a moment the little man rolled his eyes and turned away again to face the front.

In his shabby dark clothing he looked like a retired mineworker, but he was a potent sorcerer, warden of the north. A dwarf rarely displayed

emotion like that. What could he have detected that had so upset him?

A one-horse chaise, a stagecoach, and a longship ... Farther yet to the northeast, Blood Wave II surged over the cold green sea, propelled by the

rhythmic swing of her oars, rising and falling in steady beat, with the grace of a gull's wings. Half the crew rowed, most of the rest were asleep

under the rowers' feet. Onward to Nordland.

Stroke.

Gath and Vork were crammed in together on one bench, pulling the same oar. Thane Drakkor himself had the helm, and he was keeping a steady

eye on those two recruits. He had very bright blue eyes, very deadly eyes, killer's eyes.

Stroke.

Gath had no pore that was not streaming sweat. He was certain he had no skin left on his hands. Every muscle in his body burned.

Stroke.

He wanted to ask Vork how he felt now about being a raider, but he had no breath for speaking. His lungs and throat were raw and there was a sour

taste of metal in his mouth. He was starting to feel a stitch in his side.

Stroke.

Oars swung. Thole pins creaked. The coxswain's pipe called the stroke. Water hissed past the thin planks of the narrow hull. $alt-scented sea wind

blew blessedly cool on fevered skin. Stroke.

This was a test, of course. Smart-aleck kids had to learn the rough side of the legend. Two uppity sons of thanes were being shown that they weren't

men yet. Even pulling together, they could not keep up with the real sailors, not for long, not for much longer. This was the price of hitching a ride

on a thane's longship.

Stroke.

The crew was watching, waiting for the mistake. Gath could feel the grins all around. The stroke was faster than usual. Trouble was, he knew what

was going to happen even more surely than the crew did.

Stroke.

Prescience was a blessing and also a terrible curse. It produced invaluable warnings of trouble ahead and wonderful anticipation of pleasures in

store. When it showed bad futures and especially inevitable bad futures, then it could drive a man insane.

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Stroke.

A trickle of sweat ran down the bare back in front of his eyes. So the others were feeling the pace, too. They could keep it up for hours, though.

High behind Blood Wave the seabirds floated in the salt air, cool and serene. Lucky birds!

Stroke.

Gath's fingers were knotting, losing their grip on the oar. The blood was making it slippery anyway. Not long now. He and Vork were going to

catch a crab. Soon!

Stroke.

Then they were going to be given a taste of the rope's end. Sailor talk for flogging. Toughen up the gazoonies a bit evilishly painful. Only

consolation was he knew he was going to keep quiet under it. Vork wasn't, not quite.

Stroke.

This is what Vork had thought he wanted, to be a raider like his father before him, and his father, and all their forefathers since the coming of the

Gods. Gath didn't want that.

Stroke.

He just wanted to get to Nordland and tell the thanes about the usurper and the overthrow of the wardens and the new protocol Dad had invented

before he died. Doing it for Dad's memory--duty.

Stroke.

Doing it for Dad.. Here it came nowCrab!

The oar slammed into the two boys' chests, hurling them backward. Angry yells . . .

A one-horse chaise, a stagecoach, a longship, and a leaky old coaster ...

Still very much alive, Gath's father sailed a distant, warmer ocean. At the far side of the world, Dreadnought wallowed over a mirrored sea under a

sun of molten brass. The breathless wind was barely able to keep her sails full; gulls preened on the yards rather than bother flying on such a day. A

hazy smudge to northward marked the island of Kith.

King Rap of Krasnegar leaned on the rail and thought dark thoughts of failure and defeat. The morning was barely half gone at that longitude, but it

had already left a bloody stain on the pages of history: five legions dead, untold thousands of goblins dead.

All of this callous slaughter had apparently been committed just to demonstrate the power of the usurper. Doubtless Zinixo was even now gloating

in Hub, master of the world, the selfstyled Almighty. Perhaps at that very moment hundreds of free sorcerers were responding to his threats,

flocking into the capital to be imprinted with unbreakable loyalty and enrolled in the Covin.

True, Warlock Olybino had proclaimed the new protocol, which was a giant step forward, but he had died doing so. Why should the frees choose to

join Rap's mythical resistance when it had failed to save its spokesman? Olybino's sacrifice had revealed the opposition's weakness and lack of

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organization.

The occult scent of dragon still tainted the ambience. The Covin seemed to be herding the worms home to Dragon Reach from their feast at Bandor.

That was a relief, but Rap would not breathe easy until all those monsters were safely penned, back in their nests. Meanwhile he had not a clue as to

what he should do next.

His brooding was interrupted by a jingle of human finger bones. Lithe and menacing, Tik Tok stalked across the deck to his side, grinning under the

multicolored tattoos that covered his face and most of the rest of him, also. Apparently grinning did not hurt when one wore a bone through the

nose, although it seemed as if it should. His teeth had been filed to sharp points. The seashells decorating the thick black bush of his hair were new;

apart from them he wore only his customary apron of clattering bones.

"You grieve, my friend? You language unconsolidated?"

"I have a lot to languish about."

Eyes twinkling, the cannibal took hold of Rap's shoulder in an astonishingly powerful grip. He kneaded it appraisingly. "You must not pine! You

will shriven up, weather away to skin and bones. We cannot permeate such a waste." His manner implied that he had the perfect recipe in mind

already.

"Cheer me up, then."

Tik Tok waved a hand to indicate the shabby old ship. "Twenty-nine sorcerers, eight mages? If we want we can move this old tub to Hub itself in a

twiddling."

"Not without giving ourselves away to the Covin, we can't." The cannibal removed his hand so he could lean back with his elbows on the rail. "But

you have other plans ready?"

"Er, not finalized."

Tik Tok pouted dangerously. "Well, we cannot wait around forever! Prognostication is the thief of time."

He was mad because Rap had pulled him away from a fight. Despite his invariant flippancy, he was probably almost as murderous as he looked.

Many of the other twenty-four anthropophagi aboard appeared even more bloodcurdling, yet they all accepted Tik Tok as leader. Just because he

was a potent sorcerer did not mean he did not want to eat someone.

At that moment another hand descended on Rap's shoulder. In this case the hand was the size of a small pillow. Staggering slightly under the load,

he glanced around, annoyed that anyone as enormous as Thrugg should have approached without his noticing.

The troll opened his beard in a friendly smile, revealing enough ivory to furnish a spinet keyboard. Even more than Tik Tok, he could have

moonlighted as a nightmare, although his bestial appearance hid a heart as gentle as a daisy. He was without question the most powerful sorcerer

aboard, even stronger than his mother the warden. The back of his hand and the visible parts of his face were burned, but most of his great bulk was

.hidden in loose clothing to keep the sun off. He was still a monster, though.

"He's right, Rap," Thrugg mumbled. "The past is over. What matters is to win the future."

Obviously the whole improbable army was on the verge of mutiny. No one would openly accuse Rap of causing Olybino's death, but his refusal to

let the group become involved had been an admission of weakness, and it rankled. He had best rally his troops quickly now, before half of them

began eating the other half out of sheer frustration. The entire ill-assorted crew was watching. Near-naked anthropophagi lay sprawled around the

deck in twos and threes. Most of the trolls were down in the cabins or the hold, by themselves, staying out of the sun, but they were watching

nonetheless. Witch Grunth had appropriated the best hideaway, the chain locker. There she had removed all her clothing for comfort and was

combing her shaggy gray hair. Nudity emphasized her grotesque animal bulk, wrinkled and flabby and hideous. She, too, was waiting for Rap's

reaction.

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Old Doctor Sagorn, the only mundane aboard, held the wheel, playing at being sailor to show how childishly easy that was to one of his intellectual

superiority. The effect was rather spoiled by his badly shredded clothing, but he sneered his customary arrogant smile.

"What the gentlemen are implying, your Majesty," he said, "is that the late Warlock Olybino has done your work for you. You no longer need travel

the world, whispering news of your counterrevolution. All. the free sorcerers are now aware of it. You are the leader? Lead us somewhere."

Leader! What mad whirl of the Gods' dice had ever thrust that honor on Rap? He was about the least powerful sorcerer in Pandemia, so why him?

Just because he had invented the new protocol did not mean he was the man to bring it to pass, if anyone ever could. He sensed the dragons again

and shivered. He could do nothing until they were safely home in their nests. Nothing violent, that was, nothing to provoke the Covin openly and

distract it from worm herding. But yes, there must be other, lesser things to be done, as Tik Tok had suggested.

"I'm greatly relieved that I don't need to visit Sysanasso, anyway," Rap said. "If there are any free faun sorcerers they must have heard Olybino's

message as clearly as we did. Does anyone disagree with that?"

Thrugg shook his great head. Tik Tok just wiggled the bone in his nose expectantly. Everyone in the ship was listeningexcept for a pair of trolls

down in the hold who had found more exciting things to do.

"And we continue our journey to Thume?"

Trolls and cannibals all scowled. Witch Grunth snorted disbelievingly in the chain locker. It was one thing to accept in an intellectual way that there

must be some vast unknown power at work in Thume. To accept it emotionally was barely possible even inside any occult shielding; out in the

open where its aversion spell was effective, Thume seemed like the wildest sort of mirage, irrelevant nonsense.

Perhaps because he was a mundane, Sagorn believed in Thume. He was nodding sardonically. "But it will take us weeks to get there," he said.

"Years at this pace. I don't suppose you ladies and gentlemen could magic up a cooling breeze?"

All heads shook. Meddling with the weather would be a recklessly conspicuous use of sorcery, as he well knew. He was just being tiresome.

"Big storm coming," Thrugg mumbled, sniffing the air. Rap abandoned the idea of Thume. His army would not follow him there. He had better

fund a better plan, and soon. An idea began to glimmer at the back of his mind. It needed time to germinate, though. Distraction ...

"Sagorn, you're a historian. In any of the dragon wars, did anyone ever raise all the dragons?"

For a moment the old scholar's pale blue eyes went as blank as the sky. Then their usual penetrating gleam returned. "Not that I can recall. But in

ancient times there were many more of the worms. What you want me to tell you is whether anyone ever flew as many as Zinixo did today?"

"Er, yes."

"Well? How many was that?" Sagorn demanded triumphantly.

Rap just knew that it had been a lot. He referred the question to the others, whose greater power would have granted them better vision in the

ambience.

Tik Tok said three hundred and the anthropophagi backed their chief. Thrugg estimated two hundred and the trolls backed him, although with less

fervor. The split was becoming worrisomely obvious. Sagorn had noticed it, and his haggard old face bore a sardonic sneer as he answered Rap's

question.

"No. The highest count I can ever recall reading of was fifteen. Of course record keeping, like many other things, tends to become spotty in the

aftermath of a dragon wasting. Most areas do not recover for several centuries. But one dragon per legion was regarded as a pushover for the

dragon. They're just about indestructible." The gangly old man smirked to himself, admiring his own universal expertise.

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"So why did Zinixo raise so many?" Rap demanded. "Terror?" That thought came from Grunth belowdecks. "To see if he could control so many?"

suggested one of the trolls.

"A little boy playing with Daddy's spear?" said a cannibal. "Because he is insane," Sagorn snapped. "He is trying to convince himself that he is

invincible, and the harder he tries the less he believes himself."

"Don't suppose it matters much." Rap was surprised that no one else had caught up with his idea yet, but he was sure of it now. "What does matter

is that here on this ship we have the second-greatest concentration of sorcery in the world, and Dragon Reach is just over there. Thataway. I say that

that's our part in the war! We go to Dragon Reach and make certain Zinixo never uses the worms again!"

A flash of satisfaction brightened the ambience and was hastily suppressed.

Tik Tok beamed. "A brilliant perspiration!"

"Clever!" Sagorn murmured. "How do you feel about destroying dragons, Master Thrugg?"

Thrugg was already nodding. "Monsters!" he growled. He would not willingly hurt any person and perhaps no animal, either, but a dragon would be

fair game even for him. That was a war that trolls could fight.

"Of course," the old jotunn added, with an admiring glance at Rap, "such an act is a flagrant breach of the Protocol, but the usurper has already

nullified the Protocol. Today Zinixo set the precedent, so the warlock of the south can no longer claim the dragons as his prerogative! Oh, very

appropriate! You can rid the world of the worms at last!"

Rap had not thought of going that far. He often recalled the breathtaking beauty of the dawn rising he had once witnessed at Wurth Redoubt. That

had been one of the most moving experiences of his life, but no beauty could justify the evil those monsters had wrought throughout history. The

world would be a better place without the dragons. He nodded sadly.

Lith'rian would be incensed beyond imagining.

"You had better warn him what you plan, " Grunth sent. "He has a soft spot for his dragons. "

She was right, of course. The warlock of the south was the one essential character still missing from the stage. He had not yet been heard from,

although he was almost certainly skulking somewhere in IIrane. Somewhere? Ilrane was only a subcontinent! He must still control a powerful band

of votaries. As an elf he could never support Zinixo, a dwarf. They had been virulent opponents in the past and would always remain so, but elvish

thinking was never predictable and Rap could not automatically count on Lith'rian's assistance.

He groaned. "Someone will have to go and explain to him." Everyone smiled encouragingly in his direction.

"I think Witch Grunth is the logical ambassador," he protested. "Wardens should speak to wardens." Lith'rian was fascinating, charming, and

infinitely ruthless. Merely thinking about him gave Rap cold shivers.

Sagorn snorted. "I can just see her Omnipotence going ashore in Ilrane unnoticed."

"She would be rather contiguous," Tik Tok agreed thoughtfully. "Unless she was heavily despised."

Now Rap was seriously alarmed. "You're suggesting I go and tell the warlock of the south that we're going to kill off all his rootin' dragons?" he

squealed. He glanced around and saw that was exactly what they were suggesting-the ship was full of smiles.

"We'll deal with the dragons," Thrugg rumbled in his cheerful-earthquake register, thumping Rap on the shoulder so enthusiastically that he almost

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The Living God

crumpled to the deck. "You deal with the warlock.",

"Carried anonymously!" Tik Tok proclaimed.

Rap consoled himself with the thought that nothing was likely to happen for a few days yet. Perhaps he would think up a better idea before then.

Meanwhile, he had proposed a definite course of action and won back his army's loyalty, at least for the moment.

"I see I have just been volunteered to be ambassador to Ilrane. Meanwhile, how about lunch?"

"Make up your mind," Tik Tok said. "Which do you want to be?"

A phaeton, a stagecoach, a longship, a leaky old coasterand a rock.

Princess Kadolan, Rap's elder daughter, sat on a boulder on a hilltop. The scenery was heart-achingly familiar, niggling at her homesickness-the

slopes all carpeted with low herbs, some bearing tiny flowers as if a shower of many-colored stars had just passed over. Scraggy grass between the

rocks fluttered in the cool breeze blowing from the washed-out blue sky, but there were no trees at all here in the tundra. Down in the hollows the

ground was bright green with bog moss and sedge.

Just over the northern horizon lay the Winter Ocean, and Krasnegar, the home she had not seen in months and had not truly expected to see again.

She shivered with eagerness to get there. Then all those terrible months she had spent with the goblins would fade like a nightmare, wouldn't they?

Perhaps her parents would be home before her, and oh, what a welcome they would give her! Even if they weren't there yet, there would be Eva and

little Holi, who must have grown a lot and would be talking more now. There would be hundreds of old friends and they would all be eager to hear

Kadie's news. She would introduce them all to her new friend and rescuer, Thaile.

The pixie also sat on the boulder, staring intently at nothing. She had chosen her seat and it was not really large enough for two. There were many

other boulders nearby, but Kadie wanted to stay as close to her new protector as possible.

Thaile was little older than Kadie herself and looked a lot like the pictures of elves Kadie had seen in books. Her ears were pointed, her eyes large

and gold, oddly slanted, and she had a wide nose, a little like Dad's. She was very pretty, though, and to be rescued by a pixie sorceress was an

extremely romantic adventure. No one had seen a pixie in a thousand years.

Kadie was bursting with questions, but she thought it would be unwise to interrupt a sorceress when she was thinking, or whatever Thaile was

doing. Traveling by magic was a very odd business, not at all what the books had led her to expect. There had been a sort of whoosh! and a flying

blackness. Then she had expected to be in Krasnegar, but instead the two of them had been here in the tundra, as if they'd fallen a little short, like

Gath's arrows when he tried archery. But it wasn't that the magic had run out, or anything. Thaile had said something about watchers, and needing

to plan the last bit.

That had been at least half an hour ago, maybe longer. The rocks that littered the hills were painted with blotches of pale green and orange and red

and white. If she looked at them kind of squinty-sideways she could see pictures in them. Lichens were a plant and very old, Papa had said. He'd

shown Kadie a clear image of a face on one rock near the peat diggings and said it had looked just like that when he was a boy, and maybe Inisso

had seen that same face, too.

Suddenly Thaile glanced sideways at Kadie and smiled a sad sort of smile. "I'm sorry! You've been wonderfully patient! I was watching what was

going on in Hub."

Hub was more than a thousand leagues away, but Kadie was not going to show surprise. She knew that sorceresses could do things like that.

"No need to apologize! I'm sure you were busy."

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TheLivingGodTheLivingGodBook4ofAHandfulofMenByDaveDuncanISBN:0-345-38878-XPROLOGUETheancienthousewashotinthesummernight,holdingtheheatofthedaybehindwindowslongsealed.Itsmanyroomsandcorridorswerestuffyandairless,smellingagainofdustastheyhadbeforethevisitorshadcome.Theyhadallgonenow,thevisitors.Thep...

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Dave Duncan - A Handfull of Men 4 - The Living God

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