Upland Outlaws Read Free

sorcerer could sense their aura of sulky disapproval. Even more than the foul weather and slummy neighborhood, they resented being under the command of a non-Praetorian. Centurion Hardgraa’s shiny bronze breastplate bore the lion insignia of the XIIth Legion. That had been old Emshandar’s outfit and young Shandie’s, also.
    The centurion was a gnarled hulk of a man, who glared with dark suspicion at the stranger. His nose had been broken at least once, and the thick torso under his armor bore many old scars. When Rap was introduced, however, his ugly face at once broke into a wide grin. He saluted sharply. Apparently he had brains to go with his bulk, as was to be expected of a prince’s bodyguard.
    “The imperor will be delighted to learn of your arrival, your Majesty,” he rumbled.
    “And I shall be happy to renew our acquaintance, Centurion. No, forget the pomp; just lead the way.”
    Radiating approval of this practical approach, Hardgraa offered the countess an arm to steady her on the snow-laden steps. The newcomers climbed to the front door. Rap could sense the occupants of all the adjoining houses and even those across the street—most of them now abed, some still sitting around, mourning—but the Sagom residence was masked from him by its shielding.
    The narrow street was cramped into a gorge by continuous facades of buildings, whose regularly spaced doors and windows implied that the interiors were more or less identical. This was far from the case, however. Sagorn’s dwelling had been extended in all directions at some remote time in the past, stealing rooms and corridors from all its neighbors, so that now it was a complex labyrinth on many levels, a maze of stairways and corridors and oddly shaped rooms. It had entrances on other roads, also.
    Halfway up the steps, Rap risked a brief glance at the future. The impact was so intense that he doubled over and almost fell. He slammed his defenses shut again, appalled at the scale of the looming disaster. The distant evil he had sensed for weeks had now infested the city. It was everywhere-perhaps that had been the rumbling of sorcery he had detected earlier. Despair screamed at him that there was no way to resist the tides of history. Every nerve twitched with the need to flee, although he knew of nowhere safe to hide. For a moment he shivered in near panic.
    He thought of Inos, and the children, and Krasnegar, calling up their likenesses in his mind’s eye. He thought of the God’s censure, and warnings. If he was somehow responsible for this impending catastrophe, then he had a duty to fight it, however hopeless the struggle might seem.
    He squared his shoulders and continued on up to the door. Still shaky, he passed through the shielding. The outside world vanished from his farsight, and he saw only the convoluted interior of the warren itself. The present occupants were all huddled into a room on the floor above, and the rest was deserted.
    As he followed his companions up a narrow, creaking staircase, he noted that the place was in no better shape than it had been eighteen years before. If anything, it was even shabbier and more untidy. Each of the five bachelors who inhabited it in turn seemed content to leave housework to the others.
    Still, the security of occult shielding gave him a great feeling of relief and safety. For the first time in weeks he could relax the rigid control he had been holding over his powers. Just for starters, he banished his own physical weariness, and then he unobtrusively eased the painful inflammation in the backbone of the old count climbing slowly ahead of him. Sorcery brought ethical burdens, but it could also be a blessing.
    He heard himself being announced as he followed the others into the crowded room. It was a pigsty of a place, stuffy and dimly lit by wavering candles, and there were only three chairs for, now, eleven occupants. The window was tightly shuttered, the grate heaped with litter.
    He had no trouble