Authors: Dave Duncan
To Umpily, power was knowledge and knowledge power. He lacked the will to use it. Power used was power spentannounce an appointment, for example, and you made one friend and a dozen enemies. Unlike Acopulo, Umpily had no reformist agenda. Curiosity satisfied was enough. The fat man was a true imp, now busily finishing Ylo's meal.
Hardgraa was motivated by old-fashioned loyalty and honor and patriotism, very unimpish.
And Ylo? Ylo was motivated by Ylo and only Ylo. Shandie had seen that on the first day, when the lad reeled into his tent, exhausted and out of his mind with battle shock. Offered a chance to escape the living death of the ranks, anyone would have grabbed it without question. But even then Ylo had begun dreaming of his own advancement.
Shandie had thought to use him more or less as a signal that he disapproved of injustice. Out of interest, he had scratched and seen the glint of valuable metal. So he had scratched harder and uncovered a huge capacity for work and a superb attention to detail. If Ylo had been proving his worth to clear his family name, then he had succeeded beyond question. He would continue to serve Shandie loyally as long as Shandie would advance him-which was a traditional impish arrangement that worked both ways. It just seemed unfortunate that so likable and talented a man should be so narrow. Ylo cared only for Ylo, as the buxom Ootha was no doubt now discovering.
And Shandie? What motivated him? His love for Eshiala, of course, but what else? Pride in his inheritance, yes. A dedication to honest, fair government and justice. A sense of duty. A hatred of war ... what a dull list! But then he was a dull man, he supposed.
Thunder seemed to shake the building. The roar of voices faded briefly, frightened horses shrilled in the stable. Gradually the racket picked up again.
"Moonrise?" Acopulo muttered hopefully. "We shan't see our horses' manes before dawn."
"It's only a storm," Shandie said. "It'll pass. "
"Prince Emshandar! " a new voice said and he reached for his sword.
It was a woman-Shandie relaxed slightly. She faced him, standing directly behind Umpily. She was enveloped in a dark garment, one hem draped over her head as a hood, and in that gloom nothing showed of her face but a glint of eyes. One bare arm protruded, its hand holding the cloak closed at her neck. Her other hand was inside, clasping the cloth tight below the elbow. The visible arm was old and bony, the skin loose and wrinkled from wrist to elbow. Her fingers were long and knotted with age, yet she stood erect and proud within her shroud of homespun. It seemed to be dry, which was uncanny on such a night. He could tell nothing of what lay within-she might have been clothed in rich silks or utterly naked.
Conversation buzzed on all around him. Acopulo and Umpily continued eating unaware, and that had to be sorcery.
"You have the advantage of me, ma'am."
"My name would mean nothing to you. Have you heard of Wold Hall?" Her voice was creaky with age and heavily accented, but he could not place it.
Unheeding, Acopulo finished his sparrow-pecking and pushed his bowl over to Umpily, who began shoveling its contents into his mouth as enthusiastically as a pig at a trough. Shandie's skin crawled with a sense of the occult. Who? The witch of the west was a troll. This woman was no troll.
"You are rash to exert your powers around me, ma'am."
"I do not fear the wardens. " Her tone implied that she feared something else. "I asked if you knew of Wold Hall?"
"The name is familiar."
"There is a preflecting pool there. It is old and will not work by day, but it should give good counsel in moonlight."
He thought her eyes were elvish-large and slanted-but they did not flicker with the opal fires. The skin of her arm and hand was the same leather-brown shade as his own, not the gold of an elf's. He could not identify her race and that was bothersome.
Halfbreeds always favored one parent over the other, yet she was nothing he could identify.
Already she was turning away, as if her task was done. "Wait!" he said. "Tell me more."
"Place one foot in the pool," that curiously alien croak said. "Right foot to see what you should seek; left to see what you must shun."
"I believe my duty is to avoid sorcery, ma'am," he said suspiciously. Could this be some devious scheme to disqualify him from the succession?
"A foreseeing would not contravene that obligation. There are precedents."
"May I ask your purpose in telling me this? "
She looked back at him with those strangely angled eyes glinting out of the dark. "Ask not the price of gifts, Prince Emshandar. Times are troubled. I ... Just say I am applying a random factor in the hope of diverting certain events that seem to be well-nigh inevitable. I may not do more. " She seemed to shiver. "Is this the millennium business again?"
She sighed. "Truly. Now I must go. These are sad times, your Highness, and like to become sadder."
"Tell me more!"
She shook her head within the cowl. "I may have already transgressed the Gods' interdict. "
Again she seemed about to leave. He leaped up and reached overhead to twist the lantern, flashing a faint beam into her hood. He caught a glimpse of a face as ancient as war, deeply lined with age and pain. He sensed suffering. Her pupils were a pale shade and large. Her nose was wide, like a faun's. Elvish, yet not elvish. Sadness and pity.
She turned quickly away into the crowd and was gone, although he was not sure how, or where. He sat down, perplexed. "Ugh!" Umpily said, picking something out of his bowl. "What beast did this come from?"
In the wavering gloom, Acopulo peered at the object with scholarly interest. "It appears to be the jawbone of a hippogryph."
"Hippogryphs don't have jawbones!"
"It was delicious anyway," Ylo said, resuming his seat. His wolfskin was draped over one shoulder. His hair was tousled; he was pink and breathless. "Oh! I didn't think I had eaten quite so much." He glanced reproachfully at Umpily.
"I'm astonished," Acopulo said dryly. "You have exhausted neither the fifteen minutes allotted nor yourself, apparently. Is that not remarkable, Legate?"
"Commendable," Shandie said. His heartbeat was slowly returning to normal. Obviously his companions had heard nothing of the bizarre conversation. "Very efficient. What do you know of Wold Hall, gentlemen?"
"The Treaty of Wold Hall? " Acopulo said, frowning. "Signed in ... around ... 2900. Dwarves."
"It was a hunting lodge," Umpily said, "favored by the Impress Abnila. Used for secret conferences sometimes. Somewhere on the Great East Way, I believe. "
There are precedents. If the Impress Abnila had consulted a preflecting pool, then her great-great-grandson certainly could. "It may be around here, then," Shandie said. "Can you find out for me? "
Surprised, Umpily nodded. "If it is in the neighborhood." He pushed away his bowl and drained the tankard. Then he licked his spoon to tuck it back in his pouch. "I think I saw a selection of cheeses over there on the bar." He heaved his bulk up and pushed away through the mob.
"What do you know of preflecting pools?" Shandie asked. Acopulo's scrawny face narrowed in astonishment. "As much as any, which is little. The dear doctor made a study of such devices and discovered almost nothing. I have heard opinions that preflecting pools are more dependable than magic casements, which promote only the interests of the house. The pools may be more limited in scope, but less devious. They supposedly give honest answers to the inquirer. Talking statues, of course, are something else again . . . "
"Thank you," Shandie said quickly. "I was told once that there was a preflecting pool at Wold Hall. "
The priestly face lit up with interest. "If that is so, then it would be worth a visit. "
"Exactly what I was thinking," Shandie said.
"Shall we be staying here awhile, then?" Ylo asked thoughtfully.
Wold Hall, or what was left of it, stood in a rugged glen about a league west of the inn-so the innkeeper had reported, and the travelers found the turnoff without trouble. The rain had gone and a quarter moon floated among silver clouds, but dawn could not be far off. An ancient military road wandered away over the hills, then plunged steeply down into woodland. The horses soon became as jumpy as fleas.
It was hard to blame them, for the wind rustled leaves overhead, spattering cold drops of water at random, while the footing was a treacherous medley of rocks and mud and puddles.
The obvious danger was making Hardgraa petulant. Had the centurion known of the mysterious shrouded woman, he would have become mutinous, but everyone assumed that Shandie had dreamed up the expedition on his own and had been planning it for some time.
They all wanted to wait until daylight, of course, but that would have meant staying on all night, as well, to see the pool by moonlight. The moon might not be visible the next night; there might be no pool at all. The whole thing could even be a well-organized assassination plot, but Shandie hated reversing a decision once he had made it. He knew that streak of stubbornness might land him in trouble one day; he just hoped this was not the day.
Then an owl glided overhead, spooking Ylo's horse, which was the most skittish. Skilled rider though he was, he almost went into the mud. Shandie called a halt. The legionaries were left to tend the mounts and the others set off on foot. The civilians were well shod, but the soldiers had to manage in regulation army sandals.
A half hour's misery brought them to an imposing wall, of standard military construction-when the legions weren't fighting, they were always kept busy building something. It was in sad disrepair, showing evidence that the locals had been quarrying it for building stone. The gates were missing, doubtless long since melted down; Shandie led the way through the gap, into a tangle of unkempt forest.
Numerous jagged walls within the undergrowth hinted at former farm buildings and remains of guard barracks, all roofless now and decayed among the encroaching jungle. The whole complex would likely have held a population of several hundred in its days of glory.
Eventually the half-buried path led to a clearing before the main building itself, stark in the moonlight. One end was obviously very old, the other could be dated by its pointed arches to about the time of the great impress. It had all been gutted by fire. Its windows were gaunt as sockets in a skull.
The sky was already growing brighter.
"Let's split up," Shandie suggested. "The pool must be somewhere around here. "
"Sir!" Hardgraa rumbled warningly. He had been carrying his sword in his hand since leaving the horses. "You have no idea who or what may live here! "
"Whoever it is, it doesn't trample weeds." Shandie strode off to begin exploring.
No squatters were discovered before a shout from the portly Umpily brought the others to inspect his find. He was standing on a terrace, overshadowed by trees. Weeds and roots had thrust up the paving stones and the flanking balustrade was half in ruin. A flight of stone stairs led down to a gleam of water directly below.
"Not very impressive," Acopulo remarked with a disparaging sniff. "I certainly don't recommend drinking from it."
"I wouldn't water a horse at it," Shandie agreed, scowling at silvery scum and odd wisps of mist that drifted over the surface.
"You couldn't get a horse to it."
And that was obviously true. The pool was smaller than he had expected, but its edges were concealed by trailing shrubs and willow trees, so it might be larger than it seemed. The sides of the hollow rose steeply, the steps being the only visible access.
"What does one do?" Umpily inquired, coughing in the morning damp. The air was cool and everyone was shivery with lack of sleep. "Chant at it, or invoke it, or jump in?" He sounded unwilling to do any of those things.
"You put one foot in it," Shandie explained, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Right foot to see what you should seek, left foot to see what you should shun." No one asked where he had learned such flummery-they all knew that he spoke with warlocks.
"One prophecy per customer?" Acopulo said.
"Sounds like that." Shandie headed for the top of the stairway. The woman had implied that the pool was in magical disrepair. There might only be one prophecy per night, and if so he intended to have it for himself. More likely nothing at all would happen and he was going to make a fool of himself.
The steps were unsteady, caked in loam, masked in shadow. He felt his way down very cautiously, one uneven tread at a time, while steadying himself with a hand on the mossy blocks of the wall. Unless the construction was a faked antique, this part of the complex predated Abnila by centuries. It might have been a mundane pool at first, of course, and been ensorceled later.
He almost stepped into water before he realized, for the steps continued on, under the surface.
From the last dry slab he looked across a dark and oily expanse much larger than it had seemed from up high. The wind did not penetrate into the hollow. The slowly writhing traces of mist were more obvious at this level, as unpleasantly eerie as the pallid patches of scum. There was no color in the moonlight. He could see the moon reflected, of course, and the silvered edge of clouds and the trees. No water weeds or lilies, but there was an odd scent-not decay, but almost sweet, like a hint of incense.
Leaning over, he could make out his own reflection, his helmet shining. The heads of his companions stood out against the sky, as they peered over the balustrade to watch him. He hoped they did not lean too hard and bring it all crashing down.
Dawn was advancing, so he must make a move. Did he want to know of danger--the face, perhaps, of a future assassin, or a traitor? He was well protected always and would be even better protected in future. Every man must die at last, and he certainly did not want to view his own death. Nor would there be much value in a prophecy of some catastrophe in the far future-he assumed he would live to a ripe antiquity, like his grandfather.
To ask to see the good news might merely produce an image of his beloved Eshiala, of course. That might not be an earthshattering revelation, but at least it would make the side trip worthwhile. And he had so many reforms he wanted to introduce when he mounted the throne-perhaps this sorcery could help him decide where to start? He leaned against the wall and removed his right sandal. Then he put his bare foot in the water.