Emperor and Clown Read Free Page B

on his smile
face, briefly-which wasn’t a smile like anyone else’s.
    Shandie
heard a sort of groan from Grandfather and desperately wanted to turn and look,
but he daren’t, and besides, he was suddenly feeling awfully sick in his
stomach. There was a funny ringing in his head, too.
    “Safe
conduct for Thane Kalkor and how many men, Ambassador?” the consul inquired
with icy politeness.
    “Forty-five
jotnar and one goblin.”
    Ythbane
had already turned to give orders, but at that he spun back to Krushjor. “Goblin?”
Grandfather was snoring again. The sunlight was fading.
    “A
goblin,” the ambassador said, “male, apparently.”
    “What’s
he doing with a goblin?”
    “No
idea. Perhaps he looted him from somewhere? You ask-I won’t! But his letter was
very insistent that he will be bringing a goblin with him to Hub.”
    Suddenly
the ringing in Shandie’s ears swelled to a roar. The step swayed beneath him.
He staggered and heard himself cry out.
    As
he pitched forward, the last thing he saw was Ythbane’s dark eyes watching him.
     

2
    Far,
far to the east, evening drew near to Arakkaran. Yet white sails still
sprinkled the great blue bay, and the bazaars were thonged. Palms danced in the
warm, and salty winds-winds that wafted odors of dung and ordure in through
windows and scents of musk and spices and gardenias along foul alleys. All day,
as every day, by ship and camel, mule and wagon, the wealth of the land had
flowed into the shining city.
    Jotunn
sailors had toiled in the docks, while elsewhere a scattering of other folk had
plied their trades: impish traders, dwarvish craftsmen, elvish artists, mermaid
courtesans, and gnomish cleaners; but these outsiders were very few amid the
teeming natives. Tall and ruddy, swathed mostly in flowing robes, the djinns
had argued and gossiped as always in their harsh Zarkian dialect; they had
bargained and quarreled, laughed and loved like any other people. And if they
had also lied and cheated a little more than most-well; anyone who didn’t know
the rules must be a stranger, so why worry?
    At
the top of the city stood the palace of the sultan, a place of legendary beauty
and blood-chilling reputation; and there, upon a shaded balcony, Princess
Kadolan of Krasnegar was quietly going insane.
    Almost
two days now had passed since her niece had married the sultan, and Kadolan had
heard nothing since. Inosolan might as well have vanished from the world. Of
course a newly married couple could be expected to treasure their privacy, but
this total silence was ominous and unsettling. Inosolan would never treat her
aunt this way by choice.
    Kadolan
was a prisoner in all but name. Her questions went unanswered, the doors were
locked and guarded. She was attended by taciturn strangers. She would never have
claimed to have friends in Arakkaran, but she did have many acquaintances now
among the ladies of the palace; persons she could address by name, share tea
and chat with, whiling away a gentle hour or two. She had asked for many, with
no result.
    Especially
she had asked for Mistress Zana. Kadolan had a hunch that Zana’s was the most
sympathetic ear she was likely to find, but even Zana had failed to return her
messages.
    Something
was horribly wrong. By rights, the palace should be rejoicing. Not only was
there a royal wedding and a new Sultana Inosolan to celebrate, but also the
death of Rasha. Arakkaran was free of the sorceress who had effectively ruled
it for more than a year. That should be a cause for merriment, but instead a
miasma of fear filled the air, seeping from marble and tile to cloud the sun’s
fierce glare.
    It
must be all imagination, Kadolan told herself repeatedly as she paced, but an
insistent inner voice whispered that she had never been prone to such morbid
fancies before. Although no one outside Krasnegar would have known it, and few
there, she was almost seventy years old. After so long a life, she should be
able to trust her instincts, and