A man of His Word 4 - Emperor and Clown by Duncan Dave

Author:Duncan, Dave [Duncan, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780759239586
Publisher: e-reads.com
Published: 1992-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Whispered word:

It is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale’s high note is heard;

It is the hour when lovers’ vows

Seem sweet in every whispered word.

Byron, Parisina

EIGHT

Fortune’s Fool

1

He ran north, knowing that what he sought would be somewhere to the north, near the White Palace. Near the lake.

He ran through the rain, wishing he still had the legs he’d had in the taiga. First sailoring and now weeks of driving had spoiled him for running, and he was trying to hold back on magic.

Running into rain; running into dawn, too. His time was draining away. He had not slept that night, and would not. There would be a long sleep ahead, if this last chance failed.

This was his third day in Hub, and the inexplicable white horror must be very imminent now. It would come today, he thought. God of Justice, let me kill Kalkor first! He still had no more clue as to what it was, for he feared it too much to use his foresight at all. It might be just death. That was the logical explanation-that the Gods blocked a man from seeing beyond his own death. Yet two wardens had failed to read his future and Ishist had said it hurt to try. If this other fate saved him from dying in the goblins’ lodge, then it might be a good thing, although he doubted that even the goblins could inflict more agony than he had sensed in the white glare.

Meanwhile there was nothing to do but run as fast as he could.

He did not always manage to stay mundane, even after he’d left the palace. Legionary patrols challenged him periodically, a lone man running the streets at night. In the narrower ways, ill-defined shadows moved as if to close in on him, action before query. Each time he just drew an inattention spell over himself and ran on unhindered.

He tried not to think about Inos.

Poor Inos! How his lustful thoughts had confused her! Being a mage was a hateful thing. But if the wardens took the curse off her husband, she would soon be safely back in Arakkaran, embarking on the life she had freely chosen before Rap had blundered in. In time she would forget him.

He thought instead of Kalkor. He unbottled the rage that had foamed inside him for hours, letting hatred fuel his running. The pains came, in his legs first and then a burning in his chest, but he thought of Kalkor and his anger gave him the strength to run on.

The faun in him went away. The jotunn ruled alone, riding his soul, ranting and rousing. As fatigue and exhaustion built, so did the bloodlust. He had never lost his temper since his childhood except once-almost-in Durthing. That burst of fury had frightened him, but it had still not taught him what a jotunn rage could be. Now he felt it in its full adult form for the first time. It was wonderful, irresistible, intoxicating. He might regret this after, for as long as he might live, but now that did not matter.

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