Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  “We’d better get there before Kuo closes the portals.”

  “It could be too late already,” Lord Ch’ien said.

  “The more we talk, the worse our chances.” The King charged the portal Varthlokkur had reset. The wizard followed as closely as he dared, the snakes in his gut coiling and writhing once more.

  They exited into a vast cavern. The nether end was a den of chaos. Abaca was cornered, making a last stand. Varthlokkur hurled a vicious spell of corruption. A dozen eastern soldiers rotted where they stood. Then he was too busy using his sword to loose more than the occasional nuisance spell.

  He was cornered, battling an equally inept swordsman, when Lord Ch’ien announced that Lord Kuo’s people had decided to surrender. He dropped his guard, sighed, shook his head. His opponent, a mere Aspirator, smiled weakly. “It’s over, Lord.”

  “Aye. Come here. You’re as nicked up as I am.” They supported one another as they limped over to where Lord Ch’ien and the King were assembling the prisoners.

  Baron Hardle, who had led the third assault team, staggered up to the King. “By God, sire, we pulled it off.”

  “We sure did.” Bragi glowed.

  “Better get set for the counterattack,” Varthlokkur said. The adrenaline was going. He was tired and his wounds were beginning to ache. He would be stiff soon. His temper was turning foul. “Lord Ch’ien, you’d better get those portals secured.” Ch’ien nodded, delegated several men.

  Tervola spilled from several before they finished. Spell vied with spell. Blade met blade. Blood ran. Varthlokkur ignored the encounter. Lord Ch’ien could handle it. He was more use to the wounded.

  One of Lord Ch’ien’s men reported, “These men are from Western Army.”

  The King frowned, asked, “Hsung’s gang? Lord Ch’ien, wasn’t Mist supposed to take care of Hsung?”

  Lord Ch’ien shrugged. “The best laid plans, and all that, I suppose.” And, a few minutes later, after the counterattack had waned, he added, “This doesn’t look good. Lord Hsung has recaptured the other two headquarters.”

  Varthlokkur caught the King’s eye. “Careful,” he mouthed. Bragi nodded.

  “Can we get back into those places?” Bragi asked.

  Lord Ch’ien replied, “Not without marching. Across Matayangan ground. They’ve closed the portals.” Then, “Too late anyway. Win or lose, the coup has run its course. We won’t waste any more time on it. Matayanga would regain the initiative.”

  “Damn!” Bragi swore.

  Varthlokkur drew him aside. “This stinks of trap. It’s all too pat. Lord Hsung knew we were coming. How else could he have been ready to counter? Apparently he couldn’t get word to Lord Kuo in time to make the trap work.”

  The King nodded thoughtfully. “I thought it had an odd smell. Think we’re in trouble?”

  “I think you’d better send someone to see what Mist is doing. Hardle, perhaps.”

  “What about you?”

  “I have wounded to tend. You want to save Abaca, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. He’s my best soldier. Soldiering-wise.”

  “Alert the men. Start collecting the wounded near the portals. We may want to disappear in a hurry.”

  Bragi nodded, went.

  Hardle was not gone long. Varthlokkur joined the King when the Baron returned. He reported, “The coup was successful everywhere but where Lord Hsung intervened. Lord Kuo seems to have been killed. Nobody can find him. The Council of Tervola mean to delay taking any position till the war situations stabilize. Lord Hsung is negotiating with Mist. We’ve won.”

  “Does Lord Ch’ien know any of this yet?” Varthlokkur asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What’s the situation in Kavelin?”

  “Crazy. Total confusion.”

  “Don’t tell Lord Ch’ien. Bragi, we’ve outlived our usefulness. Let’s get out of here. And don’t turn your back on him till you’re gone.”

  “I won’t.” The King hurried off to inform his officers.

  Am I being paranoid? Varthlokkur wondered. Maybe. But there’s no sense in taking chances with officers of the Dread Empire. Especially those of Lord Ch’ien’s ilk.

  The King began sneaking his wounded through portals reset to carry men back to Kavelin. Lord Ch’ien’s people paid no attention. They had their hands full taking control of the Matayangan war.

  As the wizard guided the litter cases into a heavy portal, he overheard Baron Hardle telling the King, “You’re too trusting, sire. Your friend was Chatelaine of Maisak. Was. Now you’re dealing with the mistress of Shinsan.”

  “He’s right, Bragi,” Varthlokkur said. “She has to live the role.”

  The King frowned, grumbled, “She still at her house, Baron?”

  “She was when I left. Busy as a one-handed puppeteer, trying to keep hold of all the threads.”

  “Then her fate isn’t out of our hands, is it? Varthlokkur, let’s go back. Baron, you get the men home.”

  The wizard followed the King. He stepped up to the portal, closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, stepped. He sensed nothing as he passed through. No great hungry shadow in the distance. Three times through, and not even a hint of the thing he feared. Was it gone?

  He stepped into a situation room which had changed dramatically. The big map table was gone. Wounded men carpeted the floor. Half were not Kaveliners. Lord Hsung’s surprise counterstroke had come near succeeding.

  Mist was arguing with several Tervola. Varthlokkur recognized only the one. He eyed the man, then looked for the King.

  Bragi was talking to Dahl Haas. “Go downstairs and collect up some good men. Have them slip up here a few at a time. Varthlokkur?”

  “I was going to suggest that. We might need them.” He watched Mist closely. The woman had just now noticed them. She appeared bewildered by their presence. “Baron Hardle was right. The Princess Mist isn’t Kavelin’s bosom friend.”

  “So I see. She looks like she’s seeing a couple of ghosts. Figure we’re supposed to be spooks by now?” He sent men to guard the portals. “There’s a certain value to our controlling her physical whereabouts, wouldn’t you say?”

  Varthlokkur smiled a thin, evil smile. “Of course. Unless we hang on too long. Then some other opportunist will promote himself number one.” He closed his eyes, reached out with his thoughts. He felt the thing. Come to me, Radeachar. Come to me. Unborn. It stirred, responding. It moved his way… He opened his eyes, smiled again.

  Mist said something to her companions, came toward the wizard and King. “I see you’re back.” She extended an imperious hand toward the King, as if expecting a bow and kiss. Bragi shook.

  “Not all of us, Chatelaine. A lot of good men died out there. Some were captured. Hsung set a trap. We walked in. It almost worked.”

  “My people were hard hit too. As you can see.”

  Varthlokkur admired her aplomb. She’d had just the one bad moment when first she had seen them.

  She added, “The trickster who did it would like to meet you.”

  “Hsung? He’s here?”

  The wizard had recognized the Tervola immediately but hadn’t mentioned him. Bragi was volatile enough without knowing the man he considered his great enemy was here in the room.

  “Lord Hsung.” Mist’s voice was snappy and cold.

  “Ain’t Lord Nothing to me, woman. Just another beastmask. Don’t start taking yourself too seriously. Not here in my territory.”

  Varthlokkur considered Mist from beneath lowered brows. He couldn’t stifle his smile. She saw it and realized what she was doing. She became conciliatory immediately. “Of course. I apologize. It’s been an emotional day.”

  Lord Hsung stepped forward, inclined his head an inch. “Pardon me,” he told the King. “I do not yet speak your language well. I wished to make your acquaintance, after our three years of sparring. I had pictured someone smaller and more shifty.”

  “I learned from a small, shifty guy. Keeping your j
ob? Still going to be boss of the occupation?”

  “Her Highness has entrusted me with our western provinces.”

  “Figured you’d twist her arm. Going to be the same old crap, eh?”

  Lord Hsung stiffened, glanced at Mist. Varthlokkur gave the King a warning headshake. It wasn’t wise to irritate a Tervola too much. He let his senses drift, thought, Where are you, Radeachar?

  Here. And a window shattered behind the King. A vast chill filled the room.

  The Unborn had come.

  It was a thing that looked like a fetus inside a globe of crystal, but no human fetus was ever that big….

  Mist squeaked, dismayed. “Do you know how much good glass costs, Varthlokkur? When you can find a decent glazier? I thought we were on the same side.”

  “I wasn’t the first to forget.” He beckoned. The Unborn drifted over and hung behind his left shoulder, its infant eyes open and wise in the ways of evil, filled with malice. “I can’t prove anything, of course, but I’m morally certain that the King and I weren’t supposed to return from our little jaunt into the east.”

  “I’ll interrogate Lord Ch’ien. Perhaps he exceeded his instructions.”

  “Perhaps. But I doubt it.”

  The King said, “When people mess with me I get mean. Mist, you and your friends are going to be my guests for a while.”

  The Unborn stirred slightly, bobbing behind Varthlokkur’s shoulder. Mist glanced at the thing and grimaced. “For how long? I’m involved in two desperate wars.”

  “Two?” Lord Hsung asked.

  “Eastern Army was beaten. Northern Army may not hold. Lord Ssu-ma has performed brilliantly, but even genius has its limits. The eastern front is about to collapse.”

  Bragi smiled. “Ask me how much I care. The worse the whipping you take, the lighter the weight on my back.”

  Varthlokkur made another warning gesture. “Not so belligerent, my friend.”

  Mist said, “This threat has big dreams, Bragi. It won’t be satisfied with us. It hates the world.”

  “Come on.”

  “These are armies of the dead. They have no love for the living.”

  Varthlokkur felt the snakes wakening in his belly, felt the color leave his face. The Unborn stirred, disturbed by his emotion. That damned mess out east… It wouldn’t go away. Were the gods themselves determined to drag him in?

  “Still irrelevant,” Bragi said. “I want to know how to get you to deal straight.”

  Mist took his hand. “I made some rotten deals to put this over, Bragi. The rottenest was to try trapping you. You refuse to understand what you mean to the Tervola. They want your scalp. Bad. I made it as soft a trap as I could, trusting that you’d have your usual luck. And we all got what we wanted. So let’s stay friends.”

  “Okay. For now.”

  Varthlokkur smiled again, both at Mist’s relief and at this flash of the flexibility of the old Bragi. He sighed, “On your way, Radeachar.” And, “Home at last. You realize I haven’t seen my daughter since right after she was born?”

  “I haven’t seen Inger,” the King said. “Let’s get out of here.” But before they departed they reminded their people to keep close watch on Mist and her followers.

  “That was close,” Mist murmured to Lord Hsung. “Why can’t you people be more flexible?”

  “We people, Mistress?”

  “Tervola. Not one of you learned from the example of O Shing. You forced him to go after Ragnarson because of the defeat at Baxendala. So a lot of great Tervola lost their lives. Whole legions were destroyed. And the balance was not rectified. The ignominy was compounded. And now that same obsession has nearly destroyed me….”

  Lord Hsung chuckled. “You forget, I was on the other side.”

  “You represent the sort of thinking that causes the problem. Don’t forget, I’ve been sitting up in Maisak for three years, watching you. You’ve been conspiring with both sides in the fighting in Hammad al Nakir. You’ve been sneaking agents into Kavelin. You’ve been spreading threats and rumors of war just to keep the King on edge. I don’t know how much of that I can tolerate. It could come back on us like a bad spell.”

  “In time, you’ll tolerate as much as it takes to destroy the man and his cohorts.”

  “Perhaps.” We’ll see, she thought. We’ll see. “We’d better move out of here while he’s in a mood to let us go. Lord Ch’ien! Where is Lord Ch’ien? Isn’t he back yet?”

  Varthlokkur encountered the King in the halls of Castle Krief. “How’s Nepanthe?” Bragi asked.

  “Fine. Just fine.” For a woman spoiling for a fight all the time. For a woman barely in touch with her own world.

  “What about the baby? Decided on a name yet?”

  “She’s perfect. No, we haven’t.”

  “Something bothering you? You look distracted.”

  “A lot of things. But mainly Nepanthe.”

  “Still nagging you about Ethrian, eh?”

  “Mostly.” The wizard resumed walking, leaving the King wearing a baffled expression.

  Yes, Nepanthe was still nagging about Ethrian. And he was having an ever more difficult time not betraying his suspicions about what was happening in the far east. There was going to be a blowup…. Hell, Bragi wouldn’t tell her. He was a politician. He could subvert his friendship for Nepanthe to his need for the aid only a wizard armed with the Unborn could provide.

  Couldn’t he?

  Mist sighed and dragged herself out of the lethargic half-sleep that held her. Gently, she tugged her arm from beneath Aral, sat up, swung her feet to the floor. Dantice snorted, rolled onto his belly. She looked at him fondly.

  It had been pleasant while it lasted. Now it had to end. For real. The moment she returned to Venerable Huang Tain she would come under the closest scrutiny, scrutiny unceasing. It would be a long time before she could do anything without first acquiring the approval of the Council of Tervola.

  She had few illusions about how much power she had acquired in the coup. A great deal, to be sure, but nothing like what her father and uncle had commanded in the days of their Dual Principiate. She would rule, but would have to avoid giving offense. She would have to exercise the greatest care, and would be able to eliminate rivals only with the utmost caution. It would be a generation before she consolidated completely.

  If she survived the first year. She didn’t doubt that there were counterplots afoot already.

  What had the empire come to? All this conspiracy, all this grasping after power—there hadn’t been any of that in her father’s time. He and his brother had ruled for four hundred years and had faced fewer plots than had formed over the two decades since their passing. Was it a sign that the empire was dying? That it was decaying even while it grew?

  She left the bed and, without dressing, sat at her writing desk. She wrote a long missive to the King.

  She repeated her apologies, telling him he had been a good friend throughout her exile. As a gesture, she was going to leave her children in Kavelin.

  She smiled. Crafty witch. Who do you think you’re fooling? He knows you. He knows Shinsan. He’ll realize they’ll be less hostages to fortune if they stay here. He’ll know you’re trying to shield them from the vicissitudes of Shinsan’s politics.

  “Aral? Come on. Wake up. It’s time.”

  He sat up, avoided her eye. He had the look of a whipped puppy. He had asked to go with her, and hadn’t understood when she explained why he couldn’t.

  “Up, soldier. Get yourself dressed.” She began donning her own clothing. She decided to gather a new wardrobe first thing. She couldn’t stroll the places of Venerable Huang Tain clad as Chatelaine of Maisak. Her sojourn in the west, and her having served the western cause during the Great Eastern Wars, would cause her trouble enough. “Here’s a letter I want you to take to the King. Okay?”

  Aral muttered something she didn’t catch. For just a moment she relented. She kissed him. He tried to pull her into the bed. “No. No. Try to
understand, dear.” She disentangled herself. At the door, she said, “Good-bye, Aral.”

  It came out sounding more sad than she intended. She wasn’t enjoying this parting.

  Varthlokkur cradled his daughter with his right forearm. His left hand lay folded between his wife’s fingers. He stared out the window at silvery cumulus galleons rushing eastward in ponderous battle array. “Looks like rain tomorrow.”

  “Something wrong?” Nepanthe asked. “You’re pretty remote.”

  He shifted his attention to the baby’s tiny red face. “You thought of a name yet?”

  “Yes. I don’t know if you’ll like it. What about you?”

  “No. I’ve been distracted.”

  “Distracted? You’re always distracted. Lately you’ve been in another world. What’s wrong?”

  “Trouble.”

  “There’s always trouble here. Vorgreberg breeds it the way other cities breed cockroaches.”

  “This is the King’s trouble.”

  “He’s always in trouble. How about naming her after your mother?”

  “My mother? Smyrena?” That hadn’t occurred to him. “Smyrena. It wasn’t a lucky name.” His mother had been burned at the stake for witchcraft. “I don’t know.” How much did the King suspect? You couldn’t tell a man his wife was behind half his troubles. He might take a poke at you. And the poke Varthlokkur dreaded was a comment about Ethrian to Nepanthe.

  And what of Mist? She couldn’t ignore the eastern situation….

  “There you go again. If you can’t talk to Bragi, tell Derel Prataxis. Bragi will put up with anything from him.”

  “That might do.” But he was thinking of telling Michael Trebilcock. He and Michael understood one another. And Michael had the power to do something….

  “What about the name?” Nepanthe’s eyes were heavy. She wanted an answer before sleep took her.

  “Smyrena will be fine. Mother would be pleased.” He considered the slow cloud castles. “Smyrena it is. Hello, little Smyrena.”

  The infant seemed to smile.

  THIRTEEN: YEAR 1016 AFE

  THE FATES OF GODS AND EMPERORS

  Shih-ka’i limped up the last few steps to the top of Lioantung’s wall. Pan ku remained half a step behind, ready to offer support. He avoided suggesting that his master might require it.