The Stricken Field (15 page)

As a hovering footman was removing his plate, Hardgraa barked, "And then goblins?" Cutlery jangled on china. "Goblins. Suddenly the bushes were stiff with them. Arrows going by like mosquitoes." Ylo's smile faded away. "I looked back and saw him go down. The horse fell."

"So you don't really know he's dead!" Hardgraa had been repeating that refrain at every opportunity.

"I hope he was dead." Ylo seemed intent on cutting his meat. "With djinns or dwarves or even gnomes, I would hope he survived."

The proconsul's voice was a ghostly tremor. "Would even goblins kill such a prisoner?"

No, Eshiala thought, they would not kill the imperor himself. Tell me so!

Ylo paused, fork halfway to mouth. "He had no identification on him, sir. As far as I know, in twenty years they have never returned a captive alive."

Eshiala clenched her fists till they hurt. Please, Gods, let him have died at once!

"And you have absolutely no evidence!" Hardgraa barked.

Ylo chewed for a moment with a hurt expression. "I will have. The news will be here any day now. Go into Faintown and-"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight!"

Ylo shrugged and accepted a refill of his wineglass. "Even if some raiding band got over the pass, what then?" the centurion demanded.

The contemptuous smile returned. "Oh, this was no raiding band! We were days away from Pondague. At least one legion was marching. The next day the wind changed, and I smelled smoke for two days after that. The night sky was aglow. This is the millennium! This is the Gods in Wrath!"

"And no Shandie!" Ionfeu moaned, forgetting the eavesdroppers.

"And no wardens," Ylo responded. The other men both flinched.

"But it was not the goblins who injured you?" Eigaze asked hurriedly, hauling the conversation onto safer ground. Ylo glanced thoughtfully at Eshiala before he answered. She sensed devilry coming.

"No, Aunt. I rode like a dervish down the Great West Way. My troubles began at Woggle. You know it?"

"Of course."

"The Warlock's Rest? Dangerous place!" "Dangerous? Why, we've stayed there lots of times!" "Don't. I advise against it."

"But what happened?"

"I got rolled by a whore," Ylo said blandly.

The countess's fat cheeks turned scarlet with shock, and crockery rattled at the serving trolley.

Eshiala suspected that the vulgarity was intended for her, although she did not know why. She never could predict Ylo.

"Now I know you're lying," Hardgraa snarled. "Those girls are employed by the management."

Ylo beamed blissfully, as if springing a trap. "This one was freelancing. Charming young miss. She put something in my wine, I think. And she cleaned me out totally. I came to with a head like a butter churn and nary a kerchief to tie around me."

"You should have complained to the innkeepers. They guard their reputation very closely." But Hardgraa had merely tightened the noose.

"I was about to, dramatically toga'ed in a bed sheet. At the bottom of the stairs, I almost ran into an old friend of mine, Centurion Hithi. Legate Hithi of the Vth, he is now." Ylo raised his raven eyebrows in mockery. "Family influence, of course. Fortunately he didn't see me. I departed by the window."

"You walked all the way from Woggle?" Eigaze wailed. "I did. I stole clothes from the next room and was gone. I was rained on, eaten by dogs, and chased by a mad bull. I slept in a hedge." He sighed elaborately. "But the pleasure of your company makes up for such trivial hardships."

Hardgraa looked baffled. It was impossible to believe that Ylo would have deliberately put himself into the state of collapse in which he had arrived. His leg had certainly been bitten by something, and the soles of his feet had been raw. He could still barely walk. So part of his story had to be believed, and he knew that. What reason could he have for inventing the rest of it?

Hardgraa thought he knew the answer.

They moved then to the fireplace to drink coffee. The servants were dismissed, even the odiously attentive Ukka. The scene was an eerie echo of the previous evening, long ago when life had been much simpler. Dust motes glinted in beams of sunlight from high windows; ancestral portraits frowned down through the smoke-stain of decades. There was no fire this time, for the Great Hall was still warm from the day, but the same four persons gathered on the same seats.

The fifth, the newcomer, sprawled back in a soft armchair with his feet up on a stool, and regarded their shocked, worried faces with cynical unconcern. His amusement seemed designed to antagonize them all. He was openly baiting Hardgraa at every opportunity, being little more respectful to the count and countess. He had known about Shandie's death for a month and thus had had time to adjust, but his attitude was cruelly callous.

He almost ignored Eshiala; his occasional sultry glances seemed to convey no messages, just curiosity. She was disappointed, somehow. She certainly had not wanted Ylo bursting into Yewdark playing passionate lover, but at the moment she could have used a strong, supportive friend. He had always been good at cheering her up. Now she felt that he was laughing at her.

"I was thinking about the preflecting pool," he said before the count could start the conversation. "I forget how much you were told about it, Aunt." His dark eyes flickered over Eshiala. He knew very well how much she had been told, but only he knew whether there had been any truth in it.

"Not much, dear."

"Four of us got prophecies. Hardgraa, here, didn't want to get his feet wet. We had the choice of the good or the bad, and only old Umpily had the sense to choose the bad."

Eigaze remembered that she was supposed to pour the coffee, and spasmed into action. "Yes?"

"I think its forecasts were probably sound," Ylo said, smirking at the centurion's continuing scowls, "but the poor thing was limited to a single picture. If it could have talked, it would have done better. And dangers are easier to illustrate than opportunities, aren't they?"

The count nodded, although he seemed to be barely listening. No one said anything. Again Eshiala sensed devilment lurking under those long lashes. Surely even Ylo would not drag her into this, naked among the daffodils? She did not trust him, though. She did not trust him at all.

"I think we tend to take such things too literally. No cream, thank you, Aunt. Sir Acopulo described the visions as signposts, and for once I think the old crab had a point. Umpily saw a dwarf on the Opal Throne, but as far as we know, he hasn't seen that actual scene, not in reality. It was a symbol, a warning-a signpost. Acopulo himself was directed to Doctor Sagorn, of course, who could have identified Krasnegar for us right away."

"I wonder what good such a device can do," Eigaze sighed.

Ylo beamed, and again glanced momentarily at Eshiala, to see how she was taking this. "It helped me! I saw a woman. But again, you see, she was only a signpost." "To whose bed?"

"Centurion!" Eigaze protested.

"Away from the grave!" Ylo said dramatically. "Without the prophecy, I would have accepted the honor of Rivermead when Shandie offered it to me."

"So?"

"So I would now be very dead! The goblins overran it. It was still burning the following dawn."

He was saying that he no longer believed the vision of Eshiala among the daffodils? That the assignation was not preordained after all? She had never really believed in it, but she had thought he did. He might have invented the whole thing. What woman would ever be fool enough to believe Ylo?

"And what good did Shandie's prophecy do him?" Hardgraa asked.

"None. It led him to his death. But you see, he waited too long. That's what I realized on my stroll in from Woggle. Remember we got back to Hub a day or two later-after the pool business, I mean-and found the Impire falling apart?" Suddenly Ylo was starkly serious. "Acopulo failed to track down Sagorn. Shandie failed to track down Krasnegar. He didn't act on the warning soon enough! If he'd gone off to talk with King Rap last summer, then things might have been different, a lot different. You can't blame the poor old pool; it did its best."

He sipped coffee, eyeing them all over the top of the cup.

The count had been sitting hunched forward in his chair even more than usual; now he roused himself with an effort. He seemed frail. "So what do we do now?"

Ylo raised eyebrows in astonishment. "I have no idea what you do, my lord. I know what I'm doing. I'm just passing through."

"Going where?"

"Oh, somewhere with a warm climate." He glanced around to judge reactions. "I've played my part in this. I find history-making a very stressful occupation. I'm going to give it up. Now I shall find me a beautiful rich heiress and settle down. I have a couple of candidates in mind."

Eshiala was not a rich heiress. She was a penniless refugee, bound to a child who belonged to the Imperial government. She must either surrender to the Covin or flee, abducting the lawful impress, which was at least a capital offence. She could see no escape, no road that did not end in disaster.

But of course her decision would be made for her by the count and the centurion. Shandie had left them in charge. Hardgraa's dislike and distrust of Ylo were palpable. "He's still an Imperial soldier, my lord. You can give him orders. We don't know that he's telling the truth."

Ionfeu nodded. "If he is, then the news will certainly reach Faintown very soon. Ylo, you will remain here at Yewdark until I give you leave to depart."

"As you command, sir. I have no desire to walk anywhere for a while yet. Is there any coffee left, Aunt?" "We must review our options," Ionfeu said.

"Please!" Ylo raised a hand. "I don't want to hear them! I don't want to know! I don't want to be involved. In fact, if you will excuse me, I think I'll retire and catch up on some more rest."

The others watched in rockbound silence as he climbed painfully to his feet. He looked them over disdainfully. "Don't forget the other prophecy."

"What other prophecy?" Ionfeu snarled.

"The Sisters, when I was a baby. I told you on the boat, remember? It happened as they said. My family was destroyed. Now the Impire, also. The millennium has come, and the world you know is being stood on its head! Remember that when you make your plans, my lord!"

He bowed, then turned away and hobbled toward the stair. Eshiala wondered how she could ever have thought him charming, or amusing, or attractive. Only-damn him!-handsome.

He had left his door ajar and a light showing. She pushed it open without a knock, closed it and leaned against it, her heart thumping as if lions pursued her. Her palms were wet with fear.

He had been reading, or pretending to read; lying on the bed, still wearing his doublet. He laid down his book and regarded her with affected surprise. His lower half was under a coverlet, and she supposed he might have stripped down to his bandages for comfort. But he was respectable, even if this meeting was not. Whatever would her mother say if she knew?

She was too frantic to care about propriety ... "I must talk with you!" she said.

"I was afraid of that."

"The count has gone crazy!" She realized she was shouting and lowered her voice. "And Hardgraa seems to agree with him. They're talking of handing Maya over to the Covin!"

That awful news did not appall Ylo as she had expected. He shrugged.

"I thought they might come to that conclusion. There's this mystic thing about the blood that some people have, the line of descent from Emine. Gods, but they have a lot of faith in fidelity, don't they?"

"He says Prince Emthoro will be regent."

And that remark did surprise Ylo. "But ... But of course you don't know about him, do you?" He yawned. "Well, it won't change anything. In fact it will probably make them more determined. Never mind. I'm too tired to explain now. I'll tell you in the morning."

His indifference stunned her. Did he not understand? Maya was in danger! Whom else could she appeal to? Somehow she had always had a sense of Ylo as a friend in the background. She had been misled by his bantering and flirting. Perhaps she had not truly expected friendship, but assumed that because he lusted after her, she could use that desire as a lever. Now he was revealed as the selfish lout she had been warned of, and her disappointment was no one's fault but her own.

Or was he playing some sort of rake's double-game? Was she supposed to plead now--to grovel? Help me save my child and I will submit to your advances? How much humiliation would he demand?

"Why did you come here?" she asked. "To Yewdark?" He ran a hand through his curls, pretending to be at a loss. "I was in the neighborhood. And I did promise you I would return in daffodil time. I hate to disappoint pretty ladies."

"The daffodils have gone. You should have come sooner."

Devilry danced in his eyes. "Should have come sooner for what?"

"That prophecy you described to me so graphically." "Ah! Then I return your question-why did you come here-to my bedroom?"

She felt the sweat on her palms again. Her heart thundered and her mouth was dry. She had come because she must have help and she thought she would pay whatever price he demanded for that help. Was he going to make her put it into words?

"I ... I thought you cared." "Cared for your daughter?" "Cared for me!"

Ylo shrugged. "But I told you. Shandie and I became friends. I tarried too long. K might not have come at all if the goblins hadn't intervened. I've changed my mind about seducing you."

"Your imperor's wife is all right, but your friend's widow is not? You have strange values."

"No." He cocked his head on one side like a bird, and it was mockery. "I always look out for me, you know that. I've decided that ravishing you now might get me involved in more affairs of state, and I've had enough of those. Sorry, you'll have to do without."

Her fear turned to burning anger without warning. She restrained it with a real effort. "You are a boor!"

"Oh, you're better!" he said admiringly. "You are a lot better! The old Eshiala was a timorous little thing, who never argued, never went skulking into men's rooms in the middle of the night. What happens next, I wonder?"