Mist asked, “You have any thoughts on that subject?”
Ragnarson grunted again. “None charitable toward him. But I don’t have any toward the wind or rain, either. Weather is a fact of life. So is Old Meddler.” Then, “I saw him once, you know.”
Mist frowned. “And? A lot of people have.”
“They hadn’t, back then. Some of Nepanthe’s brothers and El Murid were about all. It was during one of the fights in the Savernake Gap. The time the Power went away. He was way up high overhead. I only picked him out for a second, I’m pretty sure because he screwed up. Nobody was supposed to know he was interfering.”
He guessed his confession meant nothing here. Mist had gone away inside her head while he was talking.
She came back a new woman, full of energy and excitement. “I’ve had an epiphany. And I’ve made up my mind. You’re going back to Kavelin even if you are still crazy. I’ll put a leash on you so I can calm you down if you need it. We have to end the chaos. We need stability and strength. Some things can’t be allowed to relax. Some things have to be kept together.”
Ragnarson confessed, “You’ve lost me completely.”
She was not listening.
...
The Empress ran her lifeguards ragged. She was manic. She darted round the empire till she found Lord Ssu-ma. She spent an intense hour with the pig farmer’s son, then scampered back to the Karkha Tower for a slightly less intense sit-down with Kuo Wen-chin. It would have been more efficient to do that before she looked for Lord Ssu-ma but she had been excited and just had to see Shih-ka’i first. He was now the man she most trusted in this world—despite his deceit in the matter of Kuo Wen-chin. And that had begun to look like an inspired bit of insubordination.
From the Karkha Tower she raced off to see Lord Yuan Tin Yuan, rousing that ancient from the bed that was the one luxury he allowed himself. Following a long chat she plunged into the night in a Kaveliner graveyard.
Nothing had changed there. Nothing had been done to keep Shinsan from walking the transfer streams into Kavelin.
However…
The mausoleum portal had been sabotaged so that it could not be used to make a getaway. “Which might not demonstrate clarity of reasoning by whoever did the damage,” Mist told portal technician Tang Shan, who had accompanied her. “Snap this trap on the wrong prey, you could end up wishing you’d left them a half-dozen holes to get back out.”
The technician was not smitten by her brilliance. He nodded vacantly and focused on finding the problem. Mist led her lifeguards out into the night.
A pink dot appeared in the direction of Vorgreberg seconds later. She remarked, “That didn’t take long.”
The dot headed their way.
Closer, something stirred amongst the tombstones, hurried away. It was something sizable but left too fast to be identified. It might have been a deer. Deer did graze among the tombstones. The grasses were sweet and some flowers left by the living made tasty treats.
An owl said something suitably mournful not far away. A bat swooshed within grabbing distance.
A lifeguard drove a short infantry thrusting spear into the ground. Another tied a courier case to its butt using the cord the infantryman would keep tied to his wrist so his weapon would not get lost if his grip failed.
“Good enough.” Mist led the way back into the mausoleum as the Unborn drew close enough to be seen as something less pleasant than a pink light.
One added level of clever lay behind the sabotage. If she got away that indicated the existence of another portal.
Unless…
Genius Tang Shan reported, “Somebody drove a sliver the size of a toothpick in beside the access modal. The catch was jammed. We’re all set now.”
“Great work, Tang Shan,” Mist said. “So, let’s get the hell gone. That thing turned up faster than I expected.”
...
Varthlokkur approached Throyes cautiously. It was nighttime, of course, and there was no moon out. No need to let people down there get a good look at what the Unborn was hauling. Troubling enough that they would see the monster itself.
Radeachar deposited him atop the Karkha Tower. He waited while the lookout went for the man in charge. The Candidate took his time. Varthlokkur did not recall his name. He arrived moving slowly and with considerable care. He had not yet recovered fully from wounds suffered earlier in the year. He talked slowly, too, enunciating carefully, apparently unaware that Varthlokkur had spent his youth in Shinsan and spoke the principal dialect quite well.
The wizard did not set the Candidate straight. Little advantages must be hoarded.
The Candidate said, “The Illustrious is not here right now. I am to make you comfortable in one of our apartments till she can grace us with her presence.”
Was he out of touch with the language after all? “Are you being sarcastic, Candidate?”
The very suggestion appalled the young man. “Sir? No! Why would you even consider that?”
“I withdraw the question. I forgot the impact she can have. Indulge me, if you will. I have chosen to bring an associate. I would like to wait here till Radeachar brings him in.”
“But… I wasn’t informed…”
“It won’t take long. He’s just across the river. We leap-frogged getting here.” He spied Radeachar in the distance, approaching slowly, at a considerable altitude.
...
Ragnarson was tired and not feeling particularly patient. It was past his customary bedtime. He had nothing to say, either, though he suspected he had no languages in common with his companions.
Though not dressed it, the younger man was Tervola and had to be in disgrace to be locked up here. The other, who never spoke and did nothing but study a shogi board, seemed vaguely familiar.
Neither introduced himself. Fine by him. He stood by a window, vainly hoping to see something of the city. He saw only the same nothing from a more acute angle.
A strong pink light waxing and waning told him the Unborn was active out there.
Why? What was going on?
He would find out when that suited someone’s whim.
The door opened. People entered. The first two were legionnaires armed and armored for the sorcerous battlefield. Behind came two tall men in western dress, then the Candidate who managed the tower, then three more armed men. The soldiers spread out. The Candidate said, “The Illustrious will be here shortly. Scribes. Your presence will not be required.”
Two nearly invisible little men, not of the ruling race of Shinsan, gathered their writing materials and exited.
Ragnarson paid no attention. He stared—glared—at the westerners. First was Varthlokkur, looking distinctly uncomfortable. A step behind him came Michael Trebilcock, looking far older than his actual age. He had gained weight, gone grey, developed a limp, and acquired a sense of style suited to the common man.
Both gravitated toward Ragnarson, though the wizard had fixed on the old man hunched over the shogi board.
Trebilcock extended a hand. Varthlokkur did not. Ragnarson shook. Trebilcock said, “Reports said you might have survived but I never quite believed them. It didn’t make sense.” Which made it clear that the raid on the tower had not been initiated by Michael Trebilcock.
“Not much that goes on here does.” Ragnarson and the wizard went on staring one another down.
Trebilcock said, “The stupidest thing you can do is hang onto stupidity already committed. Particularly when even congenitally stupid folks see that you were stupid and you’re going right on being stupid.”
Ragnarson broke eye contact. Neither he nor the wizard addressed their conflict nor responded to Trebilcock. They had, silently and tacitly, agreed to put all that in the past, for now.
Ragnarson asked the wizard, “How is the boy?”
“Coming back, but slowly. His mother is more optimistic than I am.” The wizard stared at the old man.
Ragnarson asked, “You know him? He seems familiar, somehow.”
“He should be. From Fangdred. You probably didn’t see much of him at the time, though.”
“That was a long time ago. Michael, I heard you were dead, too, but your name always came up whenever anything happened that nobody could explain.”
“The world is supposed to think I’m dead.” Trebilcock turned to look at the new arrivals.
Ragnarson recognized Lord Ssu-ma but not his companion, a Tervola of extreme age. Varthlokkur, though, did. He headed for the man as though excited.
Ragnarson glanced at Trebilcock. Michael shrugged. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”
“Nary a clue, though this is where they keep me. How come you’re with him?”
“I’m not sure. He’s been freeloading and getting underfoot since he walked into my shop looking for something else. He doesn’t explain himself. No clue at all?”
“None. This is new. But there is one odd note. Other than Varthlokkur and the two who just walked out, everybody here is supposed to be dead.”
Trebilcock frowned. “I don’t know anyone but you and him. Most people do think you and I are dead. There was a hot rumor about you a while back but it blew over when you never turned up.”
“How come you’re dead? Why aren’t you helping Inger?”
“Truth? You may not like it.”
“Try me.”
“She didn’t deserve help. I tried. I cut her miles of slack. She couldn’t stop being a Greyfells. So now the only people she has left are ones who didn’t have the balls to run away.”
Wistfully, Ragnarson said, “She was so fine when I met her.”
Michael responded with a conspiratorial smile. “That would be back when she was just another woman amongst women you hadn’t yet had.”
“Yeah. Before the world made her over. Before I opened the gate to hell.”
He watched Lord Ssu-ma introduce the ancient Tervola to the Tervola in civilian dress. The former, plainly, was astonished to find the other in good health.
Varthlokkur returned. “That old man was one of my teachers. He was a youngster then, though. We were as nearly friends as could be where one was a fast-rising technical genius and the other an emotional cripple with extreme potential. I’m amazed that he’s still with us. He claims they won’t let him die because he knows more about the transfer streams than any dozen of his staffers combined.”
Ragnarson showed Trebilcock a set of raised eyebrows. This excited wizard was not the Varthlokkur either of them knew.
Trebilcock asked, “He say anything about why we’re here?”
The wizard shook his head.
Trebilcock said, “As usual, he knows more than he’s telling.”
Ragnarson said, “Whatever, they’re taking it to the highest level. The other Tervola is Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i. He’s Mist’s number one military guy.”
“She’s up to something.”
Varthlokkur said, “Her father was the Demon Prince. Imperial founder Tuan Hoa was her grandfather. She has made herself empress twice. She was born, ‘Up to something.’ She’ll die when something she’s up to bites her head off.”
The legionnaires along the far wall, beside the entrance, snapped to attention. They had not done so before, even for Lord Ssu-ma.
The Candidate bellowed, “The Most Illustrious…”
Mist patted his left cheek. “They know who I am, Lein She.” She told her chief lifeguard, “You may leave, now.”
Neither he nor his men moved.
“Daring,” Ragnarson said. “They do have the right but, man, will they pay later!”
Mist was irked in the extreme. Obviously, she thought the safety of her secrets trumped that of her person. And it was plain that she did not want to press the issue. That would require compulsion and, likely, lead to a dearth of volunteers for the lifeguard company.
Michael Trebilcock observed, “That wasn’t smart. She must be under a lot of stress.”
Ragnarson grunted agreement.
Varthlokkur asked, “What do you mean?”
“She should have anticipated the problem. She should have worked it out ahead of time.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe it’s supposed to show us how determined her lifeguards are.”
Ragnarson did not think so. What it might mean down the road would depend on the characters of the men gathered here—and might depend on the purpose of the gathering, as well.
Mist chose to pretend that she had provoked her lifeguards deliberately. She said, “We’re here to talk about the entity who rides the flying horse. Don’t use any of his customary names. He may have placed spells that will alert him if he’s mentioned directly by someone he thinks might cause him grief.”
Silence followed.
“I want to destroy him. I know it’s been tried before. Failing destruction, I mean to disarm or to weaken him. Failing that, I mean to gather a body of information so large and spread out so widely that it will survive any effort to extirpate it. The information will be hidden in a thousand places, to be found by some fool who can build on it, toward a more successful outcome.”
The man opposite the Old Man moved a piece on the shogi board. “Were I himself and inclined to spy, this tower would be a favorite target.”
“You would need to know it exists.”
Ragnarson noted the subtlest of changes in Lord Ssu-ma. The man had regained respect for his empress, but something disturbing had occurred to him. He beckoned the Candidate, Lein She, to him, breathed into the man’s ear. Lein She turned pale, nodded, limped out.
Mist continued, “Until today no one came here except by transfer.” She watched Lord Ssu-ma and the Candidate, constrained a frown. “Most of you prisoners are dead to the world outside. Unless he cares about a handful of local criminals left over from before we took over… Lord Ssu-ma, what?”
“That may, in fact, be true, Illustrious. I asked Lein She to consult the records, to see if any of those men were involved in the Pracchia conspiracy.”
Ragnarson saw the red flags. The Star Rider might know about the tower already. He might have initiated that attack. The Unborn’s several visits would not have gone unnoticed either.
Mist said, “That possibility hadn’t occurred to me. It’s certainly plausible. The raiders’ true purpose might have been to plant spying talismans.” She began to think out loud. “That would be something small and easily overlooked. So he wouldn’t be watching directly, himself. He would get reports from someone here in the city. Those would be slow, infrequent, and unreliable. Magden Norath may have been the last dependable friend he had.”
Lord Yuan invited himself to leave without asking permission.
No one said anything. Ragnarson thought the slapped-together character of the gathering was about to assert itself. Chaos might be afoot, particularly if Old Meddler was watching.
He considered Varthlokkur. The wizard would have been the most difficult to locate and get to attend—had ridden the Unborn into a half-ass conspiracy in full view of thousands.
Old Meddler might still be several steps ahead.
Questions, questions. The wizard had come from Kavelin. Mist must still have transfer access there. Why, then, would Varthlokkur show himself getting here? He could have made a transfer and remained invisible.
Mist said, “We here share a treasure house of knowledge. Especially…” She indicated the Old Man, who flinched, for the first time demonstrating any awareness of his situation. “There are others I wish could be here. The Disciple and the Deliverer would be especially valuable.”
That caused a stir. It surprised Ragnarson, for sure. But neither of those two had more than a couple toes anchored in this world. Right?
Lord Yuan returned. “Lord Ssu-ma’s intuition was correct. Monitors are parasited onto the transfer portals, presumably about the time of that raid, but only big enough to report usages, not who is coming and going. They’re not sophisticated. It will take time to wring out the details. Illustrious, you should consider how best to prof
it from the opportunity.”
Might Varthlokkur have suspected and so have avoided using the portals? Probably not.
Once there had been talk of a dread monster that lurked inside the transfer streams, preying on travelers. But that had been dealt with during the war with the Deliverer. Had it not?
Maybe there was something else.
Everything seemed to have an underground, secret side.
Ragnarson enjoyed an intuitive moment.
Mist wanted to pull the relevant secrets into a single pot so she could cook up something unique. Though chaotic at this moment, this was no spur of the moment gathering.
She asked, “Are any of you opposed to what I’m proposing? On any grounds but degree of difficulty?”
...
The Old Man turned, peered at Mist directly, entirely present and fully engaged. A remarkable change, if real.
He did not speak.
“No one? It’s a good thing I mean to do? It could risk this entire empire.”
Wen-chin said, “It may be too altruistic for most, Illustrious.”
Was there a caution buried there? A subtle admonition that this was not a path her ancestors would have chosen to walk without first having seen a major chance to aggrandize themselves?
She shrugged. Whatever she did, some Tervola would suspect a darker intent. That was the nature of the beast. Such men viewed the world through the lenses of their own characters.
“I see no objections. Gentlemen, I do mean this.” Despite the terrible fright Lords Yuan and Ssu-ma had just delivered. “I will take the Empire to war against that wicked entity. There’ll be no getting out after this.”
She proposed an adventure that had begun a thousand times before.
She looked round. She had, indirectly, polled each one earlier. Lords Yuan and Shih-ka’i would be reluctant. They had no skin in the game—though Lord Yuan could be captivated by the technical challenge of implications that had emerged during the contest with the Deliverer.
He had remained invisible throughout that struggle, behind the scenes, fixated on maximizing the carrying capacity of the transfer portals. The success of the eastern legions had depended entirely on transfer logistics. Tactical and operational stresses had been extreme, too. Lord Yuan had not had time to examine all of the temporal anomalies and philosophical conundrums that had arisen. But he was getting excited now.