An Ill Fate Marshalling

“I don’t know. He’s not good at writing letters. Don’t be upset if there isn’t. He said a lot more by sending you here with me.”

  Children whined and fussed. They had throughout the journey. Sherilee snapped, “Gundar, act your age. And help your sister.”

  Maykin Shastain was a cherry-cheeked, fat little fellow with a tonsure of white hair and a cherubic smile. He brought the letter pouch. “Mrs. Shastain explained the rules?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Kristen broke a nail trying to unbuckle the pouch. “Why do we have to stay locked up?”

  “You’d understand that better than I, Mistress. I have no idea who you are or who might be looking for you. I don’t want to know. It’s not my job to know. My job is to look after you.”

  “I guess Michael knows what he’s doing.”

  “He usually does, Mistress. He usually does.”

  “There is one for you, Sherry.” And three for her, one each from her father-in-law, Michael Trebilcock, and Dahl Haas. Her eyebrows rose when she saw the latter. She smiled, opened that letter first.

  “A month down here,” Sherilee said. “He wants us to stay a month. Just in case. I can’t not see him for a whole month. What’s the matter with you?”

  “They’re sending Dahl to Itaskia.”

  “Oh. I guess I shouldn’t complain, then, should I?”

  “No.”

  “You decided you like him, huh?”

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s just because he doesn’t care that I was married to the King’s son.”

  “I wonder how Julie is doing.”

  “Julie? What made you think of her?”

  “Talking about men. She’s going to marry Sir Gjer-drum.”

  “He’s engaged to that Gwendolyn creature.”

  “That will change.” Sherilee grinned. “She hasn’t told him yet. But she decided.”

  “I see. One of those situations.”

  “One of those. I wish I knew what was going on in the city.”

  “They won the match.”

  “Then why do we have to stay?”

  “Because they think somebody might try to hurt them through us. A lot of people lost a lot of money, I guess.”

  “Well, I hope it blows over fast. I miss him already.”

  Kristen shook her head and went to check on the children. Sherilee was getting strange. Acting too possessive. That might cause trouble....

  Well, that was what she’d wanted when she’d pushed them together, wasn’t it? A gimmick to pry her father-in-law away from Inger and make the path wider for Ragnar.... I guess I just won’t ever be satisfied, she thought.

  Michael eased his mount nearer Derel Prataxis. He leaned, watching the King’s back. “He said anything? Let on at all?”

  “No. I don’t think he’s been up to see her. He doesn’t even know she’s locked herself in.”

  “No time?”

  “No. He hasn’t been that busy. Last night he had time to do some reading. I guess he just doesn’t want to see her.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  Ragnarson growled, “You want to listen up back there? Derel? Michael? You need a special invitation?”

  Ragnarson scanned his henchmen. Those who were going along looked ready to go. Those who were staying looked impatient. Good. Everything as it should be. “Sergeant, get with the pipes and drums. Let’s get the crap over so we can hit the road.”

  Drums boomed. Pipes tootled. The castle gate swung open. Outside, trumpets sounded. Bragi glanced up at the window of Inger’s bedroom. He saw a face barely visible in the pre-dawn light. It jerked out of sight. He looked through the gate and tried to put her out of his mind.

  For most of an hour the Vorgrebergers and King’s Own passed in review. Those of Ragnarson’s intimates who were to stay in the city fretted. Some wanted to be about their own business. Others, like Credence Abaca, chafed at being left behind. Finally, the last troop filed past.

  Ragnarson turned. “Credence, Michael, Cham, I’m counting on you to keep things quiet. Derel, rap them on the knuckles if they don’t.” He chuckled. It was difficult to picture Prataxis physically chastising anyone.

  Prataxis scowled and grumbled. Then he scowled some more. He was thoroughly disgruntled. Never before had he been denied the chance to accompany Ragnarson when something important was going on. But he understood. His pretense to be an historian had evaporated. He would be of more value here, overseeing the palace and mediating between Cham, Credence, and Michael.

  “Be good, people.” Ragnarson nudged his mount into a walk. His staff and bodyguards formed around him. At last, he thought. After three years, back in the field. Away from the endless bickering and backbiting. Away from all the insoluble problems. Back to doing what he knew best. Soldiering. It felt good.

  One battalion each of Vorgrebergers and King’s Own swung out of the parade and returned to barracks. Ragnarson didn’t expect trouble during his absence, but Vorgreberg could be volatile. He couldn’t deny Credence the tools needed to control it.

  He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the palace till he returned. He was tempted to stretch the maneuvers just as an excuse to stay away.

  Sherilee drifted across his mind. One good reason for hurrying back. Maybe he could bring her home by then. “Miss you, little girl,” he whispered.

  Inger jerked back from the window. He had seen her. And he hadn’t made a sign. He hadn’t come all week, and now he hadn’t bothered to say good-bye. She could no longer doubt the estrangement.

  For a while she’d hoped he would come see her and they could talk it out. The mess wasn’t insoluble. With Josiah gone she felt less constrained to stay with the program. But he hadn’t come. He hadn’t even inquired about the poisoning attempt.

  She was sure he’d had no part in it. It wasn’t his style. If he had wanted her out of the way, he would have done something very direct. No, someone else was responsible. He probably didn’t know.

  She could think of only two candidates. Michael Trebilcock and Bragi’s daughter-in-law. She was inclined to suspect the girl. The grasping little witch was determined to have her son installed as crown prince.

  She looked out the window again. She saw pennons dip and sway as troops passed in review outside the wall.

  He was leaving, they said. Going up to Baxendala with the troops. He would be gone for a month.

  For a month there would be no one between her and the person who wanted her dead. Fear clawed at her guts. Again she told herself, “I was a fool to let Dane get me into this.” She was living like she was besieged, making friends taste everything before she touched it herself, sweating whenever there was a knock. The fact that none of Bragi’s people knocked didn’t soothe her nerves. She had this paranoid certainty that they were biding their time, drawing the noose tighter, before they kicked her feet from beneath her.

  She was getting cabin fever. And there was no end in sight. Unless they were starved out. Just like a regular siege.

  Maybe they hadn’t thought of that yet. “Sally. Janey. I need men for a bodyguard. We’re going out to market.”

  “My Lady? Do you think that’s wise?”

  “No. I don’t, really. But with the King gone we’re going to be in worse danger. We won’t dare go out. But if we don’t, we’ll starve. So before it occurs to our enemies to watch for it, we’re going to stock up on provisions.”

  The response to her coming forth was baffling. No one seemed to notice, care, or react. The palace people, all devoted to Bragi, ignored her, but did nothing to hamper her. The guards at the gate let her go without comment. “Hunsicker.”

  “My Lady?”

  “I thought they wanted us to stay locked up.”

  The soldier shrugged. “Maybe they changed their minds.”

  It was a bright, warm, windy day. Birds sang in the park. Some of the trees bent their shoulders under the weight of early-ripening fruit. It was not a day belonging to Inger’s troubled world. She wanted clouds and gloom and dr
izzling, chilly rain.

  Should she run for it now? Ride right through the city to the estate of one of her friends? She liked the notion....

  “We have company, My Lady,” Hunsicker said. Inger glanced over her shoulder. Three riders were following them. “Shall we try to lose them?” Hunsicker asked.

  “No. We don’t want any more trouble than we have.” Her heart sank. So much for running away.

  All day long she sensed the presence of watchers. She recognized only one man. In the market she once found Michael Trebilcock staring at her through the crowd. The cold pallor of him sent tremors up her spine.

  She was glad when it was over and she could retreat to her apartment.

  “I’ve been studying it for three days,” Michael told Prataxis. “There’s no way in except by force. And her people are loyal enough to fight.”

  “Why?” Derel asked. “She wasn’t that important before she came here. She shouldn’t command that much devotion.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe Haas will find the answer.”

  Dahl Haas had driven himself to exhaustion. His quarry was older than he, and more easily wearied, but he had ridden hard too. It had taken Dahl a long time to overtake

  Gales. They were in northern Ruderin at the time. Dahl was satisfied that Gales was headed home. To reach Itaskia the man would have to cross the Great Bridge over the River Silverbind at the City. He decided to race ahead, rest, and be fresh when Gales hit town.

  Baxendala was refreshingly friendly after Vorgreberg. The townspeople came out cheering when the troops marched in. They lined the road up to Karak Strabger, the castle overlooking the town, and cheered their King as he passed.

  Sir Gjerdrum said, “They figure we’ll spend a lot of money.”

  “Cynic.”

  “I can’t argue that. This damned country makes you cynical. I should have listened to my father. He never wanted me to come back.” Sir Gjerdrum’s father, Eanred Tarlson, had been Marshall when Ragnarson had arrived in Kavelin. He had died during the civil war. Ragnarson had replaced him.

  Bragi stopped the column. “Gjerdrum, look out there.” He pointed west. It was a fine, clear day. They could see all the way down the Gap to the more level lands. The view was tremendous. Snowcapped peaks framed it.

  Gjerdrum looked for more than a minute. Finally, he said, “All right. I can’t say it isn’t worth it. If you can go on after all you’ve lost, so can I.”

  An hour later, looking at the same view from the higher vantage of Karak Strabger’s watchtower, Sir Gjerdrum said, “Sire... Bragi... I need a big favor.”

  “Anything within reason.”

  “It’s Julie.”

  “Julie? What happened to Gwendolyn?”

  “She’s ancient history. Anyway, Julie’s whole family died during the wars. She’s all alone.”

  “So I’ve heard. Wasn’t her father with the Damhorsters?”

  “She had brothers and uncles and cousins in the South Bows, the Sedlmayr Light, and the Damhorsters. But yes, her father was with the Damhorsters. He’s buried over there.” Gjerdrum indicated a sprawling memorial cemetery filled with the dead of the battles fought here. “She wants me to lay a wreath.”

  For a moment Ragnarson stared up the quiet, bright pass and recalled the sound and fury and gloom and fear of days gone by. He pictured the air aswarm with dragons, the slopes dark with the eastern hordes, the earth trembling under the thundering contest of rival sorceries. This soil was rich with the blood of good men. Of too many good men, on both sides, driven by the ambitions of their captains. “We’ll lay wreaths for them all, Gjerdrum. For them all. What was it you wanted?”

  “For you to stand up for Julie. She doesn’t have anyone to do it.”

  They’re all dead, and they died for me, Bragi thought. “All right. Getting married, eh?”

  Shyly, Gjerdrum said, “Once winter sets in and the pressure is off us for this year.” During winter Kavelin was safe from her enemies. The little kingdom’s people dared get domestic then.

  “Yeah,” Ragnarson said. “All right.”

  “What’s the matter? You sound a little strange.”

  “Nothing.” Bragi smiled. “Just never thought of you as the marrying kind.”

  “I’m getting older. And I found the right woman.”

  “Can’t argue with that. They ought to be about ready downstairs. What say we go get this thing rolling? Those people from Maisak here yet?”

  “No. But they should be in before sundown.” Two flights downward, Gjerdrum asked, “You think Hsung really is pulling the garrison out of Gog-Ahlan?”

  Bragi shrugged. “It’ll be interesting to find out. That’s all I can say. Interesting to find out.”

  Aral Dantice eased up out of a sleep haunted by dreams of a woman he would never again see. “Damn,” he said. “Why won’t she go away? How is she different from any other woman?”

  A sleepy voice muttered, “Hunh? What’s that, Honey?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. He eased out of bed, went to a window. Heart of the night. He couldn’t have slept more than an hour. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all.

  “Damn,” he said again. “Got to get back before they steal me blind.” He dressed quickly and hurried downstairs.

  The place was three-quarters empty, and this was usually its busiest hour. He ambled over, took hold of the Fat Man’s elbow. “Still bad?”

  “It’s terrible.” Their upper-class customers were staying away in retribution for their suspected part in the Captures match fleecing.

  “It’ll pick up. Here or one of the other places. People need their vices.”

  “No doubt. No doubt. You get those boxes shipped for your friend yet?”

  “Seventy percent. Takes a lot of men to move that much stuff.”

  “You ever find out what it was?”

  “Sure. Weapons. The gamut. But mostly swords.”

  “Weapons? That many? Your friend equipping an army?”

  “Must be.” Aral had made Michael explain before asking his smuggler friends to do the job. He didn’t like it. Supplying weapons to El Murid’s Chosen. Seemed suicidal. But what did he know about foreign policy? He hoped the Fat Man didn’t find out. The Fat Man had a big hatred for anything that smelled of the Disciple. He’d lost a brother in the El Murid Wars.

  “Going to go out and prowl,” Aral told the Fat Man. “See what’s happening around the neighborhood.”

  The whole district was as quiet as their home place. Aral hoped he was right about business improving with time.

  Time to go back, get some sleep. He was supposed to ride with Michael in the morning.

  Mist had an appointment with Lord Ch’ien Kao E, the man most responsible for her restoration. She faced it nervously. Lord Ch’ien had spent the day representing her before the Council of Tervola. He would bear good tidings or bad.

  He came in with a nod. They had decided to back her! She was Princess in fact as well as name. The empire was hers again, and this time without dispute. There was no O Shing in the outlands gathering armies to challenge her claim. She bounced off the throne and threw her arms around Lord Ch’ien. “We did it. We did it, Kao E. All the way home.”

  Kao E actually hugged her back, lightly, tentatively, in the first affectionate gesture she’d ever seen from him. Behind his rigorously proper demeanor, he was excited too.

  She backed away. “What did it? What convinced them?” She had expected them to temporize because of her long association with enemies of the empire.

  “Your swift stabilization of the southern front coupled with your success in the east. Lord Ssu-ma spoke for you, and spoke well. He was a great admirer of Lord Kuo Wen-chin. He tipped the balance. I think we can look forward to a long and tranquil reign. There isn’t a hint of a plot to come back at you. The Tervola are tired of coup and counter-coup. They’ve seen the cost of disunity. In all the realm there is just one potential troublemaker.” r />
  “Lord Hsung?”

  “Exactly. I haven’t had time to watch him. What’s he done lately?”

  “Nothing new. He just hasn’t canceled his plan to attack Hammad al Nakir.”

  “I think it’s time you replaced him, Princess.”

  “He has a lot of friends. And many of the Tervola share his ideas about the western problem.” She smiled gently. She had decided what to do about Lord Hsung long ago. “We can’t move him out till he does something incontestably insubordinate.”

  “At which point we’ll be at war with El Murid. He’s not a heavyweight anymore, but we don’t need more enemies of any sort.”

  “Did you make the arrangements in Lord Hsung’s headquarters?”

  “Exactly as you directed.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t like doing that to a brother, Mistress. If I may say so.”

  “I don’t either. But there are limits. He’ll damn himself out of his own mouth-and become an example.”

  “As you say, Mistress.”

  “As I say. One more thing. Ask Lord Ssu-ma to see me tomorrow. I want to thank him personally.”

  “Of course.”

  Thank him? Mist thought. He’s been thanked already.

  But only he and I know, Lord Ch’ien. I’m sorry, old friend, but I’m going to disappoint your secret ambition. Lord Ssu-ma is a better man for the job. But your turn will come. I promise you that. You’ve served me long and well. Be patient. I never forget my friends.

  She reflected on old friends in the west, friends who would be ill-served if Lord Hsung had his way. She hoped Bragi would interpret her gesture positively.

  20 Year 1016 AFE

  As the Sparks Ry Upward

  CREDENCE ABACA FOLDED his hands, closed his eyes. “Read the last part again.” His aide went back to the report delivered by Michael Trebilcock’s messenger. “Tonight, eh? Here’s what you do. Have the carpenters rig a sixteen-man gibbet. Send Blakely’s company down there in civilian clothes. Tell him to grab the shit disturbers the minute they start sounding off. Give them to Trebilcock.” Michael’s report predicted rioting in the Arsen Street area.

  “You know what this is, don’t you?” Abaca asked. “A diversion set up by the Estates. The main show will take place somewhere else. They want to test me. Send that back to Trebilcock. Have Adam pass the word to stay alert. Oh. Ask Trebilcock where else we might expect trouble.”