Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  The Duke grunted, disappointed. He surveyed his advisers. “Gentlemen?”

  No one responded.

  “Babeltausque? Anything else?”

  “Someone in Vorgreberg is in contact with the commander of Shinsan’s Western Army.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. The shielding around Castle Krief is oppressive. I did come up with one related piece of intelligence. Ragnarson will back an attempt by Mist at overthrowing Kuo Wen-chin.”

  “That is worth knowing. Do you think…? The Colonel didn’t mention that or the eastern agent. Of course, he might not know.”

  The wizard said, “It takes time for messages to get here, Dane. His reports only tell you what he knew when the courier left.”

  The Duke pursed his lips. Babeltausque was getting presumptuous. “Should we warn Lord Kuo? Should the Colonel push harder while Ragnarson is distracted?”

  Babeltausque said, “No. The attacks on Liakopulos and Abaca will have them looking for trouble. Stop the attacks. We’re dealing with Varthlokkur and the Unborn here. One slip could ruin everything. Tell him to keep his head down unless he can grab off a major victory.”

  Already Babeltausque’s rasping had so irritated the Duke that he was considering eliminating the wizard once the dust settled.

  “And don’t contact Kuo. Let the cards fall as they may. It won’t matter in the long run. You don’t want to form an association that might haunt you later.”

  “That will be all, Babeltausque,” the Duke said. “Return to your work.” Privately, Dane agreed. The family had enough troublesome alliances now.

  The wizard departed. There was a hitch in his step which suggested that he was offended by his dismissal.

  Definitely have to get rid of him, the Duke thought. He’s ambitious. That makes him a liability.

  Someone agreed. “He’s getting ideas, Dane. Watch him.”

  “Of course. One thing more. Our people in the city say the King is wondering about us. We’ve been too quiet. Mortin, you’re down there more often than anyone else. Give him something to keep him happy. That’s it for today, then, gentlemen.”

  He remained seated as they filed out. Things were going about right. That worried him. He wasn’t accustomed to the family luck running favorably. It gave him the feeling fate was storing up something nasty.

  TWELVE: YEAR 1016 AFE

  ON THE MOVE

  Ragnarson was passing through the park surrounding Castle Krief when the sky erupted with pink fireworks. Big, bold letters formed. They proclaimed: IT IS A GIRL.

  He laughed till his sides ached. “Wizard, that’s carrying the proud papa routine too far.” But he understood. This birth culminated a star-crossed love centuries in the waiting.

  Ragnarson dragged his weary carcass to the wizard’s apartment. A grinning Varthlokkur was accepting congratulations from all and sundry. He shook hands with people who had never dared approach him before.

  “Make way for the King!” someone shouted.

  Bragi extended his meaty sword hand. “It was a long time coming, wasn’t it? How’s Nepanthe?”

  “Perfect. Happy as anyone could be.”

  “Good. Good.” Bragi joined Inger. She leaned against a wall, drooping in exhaustion. “Why don’t you go to bed now, love?”

  “I will. In a few minutes. Just doing some thinking. About how her whole attitude was different from mine while she was in labor.”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. Sleep. You’ll have a better perspective in the morning.”

  “You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”

  “About a week’s worth, and I’m starting in five minutes.”

  “Wrong.”

  “Hunh?”

  Inger pointed. Dahl Haas was pushing his way toward them, immaculate as ever, face taut.

  “What is it, Dahl?”

  “You’d have to see to understand, Sire. If you’ll follow me?”

  Just then a pallid Varthlokkur grabbed Bragi’s hand. “Come on.”

  “What the hell?”

  “Just come on. You’ll see.” The wizard hurried to the east wall.

  Horrendous flashes backlighted the Mountains of M’Hand, making their peaks look like the teeth of a rusty saw. “Gods,” Bragi said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.” The barrage rolled on. It couldn’t be lightning. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The stars stared down with cool indifference. “What is it?”

  Varthlokkur did not reply.

  “Can you read those, Dahl?” The signal fires which carried night messages from the Savernake Gap were all ablaze. “Has Hsung attacked Maisak?”

  “No, Sire.”

  Varthlokkur whispered, “It’s begun. Matayangan has attacked Shinsan. A god wouldn’t dare those battlefields this morning.”

  “I wonder,” Bragi said. “Did Baxendala and Palmisano look that hairy from this far away?”

  “Maybe. What are the Matayangans doing? They’re wholly unprepossessing at thaumaturgy.”

  Haas murmured, “Is he speaking Wesson?”

  More and more people came to see the display. Bragi studied them. Seldom had he seen them so subdued.

  Horns sounded outside the castle gate. Hooves clattered on cobblestone. “That will be Mist,” Varthlokkur said. “She’d have been alerted before we were.”

  “Dahl, find Colonel Abaca, Sir Gjerdrum, and General Liakopulos. There’ll be an alert, just in case. Have them meet me in the War Room. Get Captain Trebilcock, too, and send somebody after Mr. Dantice. And find Baron Hardle. We don’t want the Estates to feel slighted.”

  “Of course, Sire.” Haas departed at a run.

  Mist appeared a few minutes later. “It’s started. The reports started coming in after the birthday party. The Matayangans have conscripted everyone over fifteen. Those without arms are supposed to take their weapons from the dead.”

  “Will they break through?” Varthlokkur asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “When will you move?” Bragi asked.

  “Too early to decide. I want to see what’s happening first.”

  “I’ve already got Dahl setting up in the War Room.”

  “Go to my place instead. I’m in touch with my people out there. And I’m already set up.”

  And, Bragi thought, somebody here in the castle writes love letters to Lord Hsung. “Expect us in two hours.” He took another look at the fire gutting the eastern sky, shook his head. “Varthlokkur, are we backing the wrong horse?”

  “We’re tempting fate.”

  “I meant to tell you. We’ve got a traitor in the castle. Not one of those minnows who spy for the Estates. A real shark. Working for Hsung.”

  The wizard whistled through his teeth.

  “Yeah. So far only four of us know we’re backing Mist. That’s probably safe. But what else has leaked?”

  “Time for Radeachar to interview people,” Varthlokkur said. “Maybe we should cull them more often.”

  “Why do they turn on me when they know there’s no chance to get away with it?”

  “Because they think they’re different. That the odds can’t catch up. The same reasons any of us play the long odds. The big payoff. Don’t question that. Ask about their secret motives.”

  “Eh?”

  “You want the truth? Most people don’t believe in what you’re doing. Not even those who benefit most.”

  They entered the War Room. Liakopulos, Abaca, and Sir Gjerdrum were waiting. So was Derel Prataxis, whom Bragi had not remembered to invite. The secretary gave him an accusing look. He ignored it. Trebilcock appeared a moment later. Then Dahl Haas, who said, “I’m going after Dantice now.”

  “Get the Baron instead. We’re moving to Mist’s place. Ride out with us.” Baron Hardle’s townhouse was not far from Mist’s.

  Ragnarson told his officers, “Before we leave, put all the regular units on full alert. Move the Breidenbachers up to Baxendala. Hsung shouldn’t try anything, but let
’s not take chances. Assemble the other regiments. Derel, have the Thing keep an hour open for me. I may want to make a speech.”

  “Are you going to drop it on them cold?”

  “No. Hotter than a rivet. After we’re committed. General, can you ride?”

  Liakopulos nodded. “I’m almost completely recovered, Sire.”

  “Good. Credence, you’re squirming.”

  “Why don’t I know what’s going on?”

  “I’ll explain when we get to Mist’s house.”

  Abaca muttered something about not trusting that Shinsaner witch.

  “Let’s move.” Ragnarson stepped out of the War Room, found a crew of bodyguards listening raptly to Sergeant Gales. “Gales.”

  “Sire?”

  “Find Sergeant Wortel. Tell him I said to trade duty with you.” He surveyed the others. One more Itaskian. “Take Hunsicker with you.”

  Gales looked as doleful as a freshly kicked puppy. “Yes, Sire. Hunsicker.”

  “What’s that about?” Prataxis whispered, dismissing a messenger.

  “I’ve started wondering about the sergeant. He’s getting too strange.”

  “The man barely has the brains to get out of the rain.”

  “Maybe. I’ve been spooky since my best friend tried to murder me. Maybe that’s why I’m alive. ‘A Prince durst trust no man. Trust least of all him thou needs most trust.’”

  “Radetic? He felt justified at the time. Overall, though, Advice to the Prince speaks in extremes. I didn’t know you’d read him.”

  “I try to surprise everybody, Derel. Anybody sent word to the stables?” Messengers were coming and going in gaggles.

  Dahl Haas materialized. “Horses should be waiting when we get there, Sire.”

  “You boggle me with your efficiency, Dahl. Let’s move.”

  They made a fair-sized parade. The city was up early, roused by the eastern display. People made nuisances of themselves, asking what was happening.

  There were guards behind the hedges at Mist’s home. They wore no uniforms, but to the trained eye it was obvious they were soldiers of the Dread Empire. Bragi said, “I don’t want to hear a word from anybody. That clear? Dismount.” Mist’s people took their animals to the stables behind the house.

  Ragnarson hastened inside. “Mist, better replace your friends with our bodyguards. We’ll draw enough attention without orientals parading around out there.”

  Mist agreed. “I’ll see to it.”

  “Dahl, take charge of the guard detail. Nobody in or out without my permission. If you need more men, send Wortel to the King’s Own barracks.”

  Mist said, “I’m up on the third floor. Come on.”

  As he climbed the stairs, Ragnarson said, “You sound disturbed.”

  “I am. You’ll see in a minute.”

  He was amazed. He had not visited Mist’s third floor in years. It had changed dramatically. The partitions were gone. The windows were masked by heavy drapes. An elevated tier of seats ran along the nearer and side walls. Some were occupied. Ragnarson met the snakelike eyes of maskless Tervola. The far wall was bare and shadowed.

  A man stepped out of thin air there. He conferred with the gentleman in charge of the room’s awesome centerpiece. “I’d give an arm for a map like that in my War Room,” Bragi murmured. The map represented Shinsan and its tributaries. A red splash denned the Matayangan advance. It looked too orderly to be credible. The miles and numbers involved belittled any expectation of order.

  “Let’s move over here and sit,” Mist said. Another messenger popped into existence. A tableman spread red sand. Mist said, “My people are doing better than I expected. I’m getting first-rate information.”

  Ragnarson kept staring at that unnatural orderliness. He glanced at his commanders. They were equally impressed. It was against this sort of discipline they had succeeded during the Great Eastern Wars.

  “How is Southern Army doing?”

  “You can see the map. Maintaining the integrity of its lines. That’s all you could expect against the odds.” A messenger appeared. Mist leaned to eavesdrop on his report. The table chief began moving unit markers at the map’s easternmost edge.

  “What’s all that?” Bragi asked.

  “Eastern Army is under attack.”

  “Matayanga caught them with a surprise ally?”

  “This has been going on a while.”

  “A whole separate war?”

  “Yes. Not large, but…. Something awful is going on there.”

  Ragnarson glanced at the representation of the Matayangan front, rose. “I see. Come with me.” He headed for the door to the stairs.

  Mist gave him a hard look that faded to bland. After a moment, she followed. Varthlokkur’s eyes tracked them, his face tight. Outside, safe from other ears, Mist asked, “What?”

  “Would you guess I know you and Varthlokkur fairly well? Considering the years I’ve had to watch you? Would you guess I’m moderately able to estimate the thinking of Tervola in general?”

  “I suppose. It’s been your career.”

  “Then how long do you think you can put me off by skipping over, glossing over, subject changing, whenever Shinsan’s far eastern situation comes up?”

  “What are you…?”

  “Point. You would not risk what you’re about to hazard without a damned good idea of the local situation everywhere in the Dread Empire. Nor would your allies. I know you and I know Tervola that well. Either what’s happening out there is of small consequence, and can be safely ignored while you’re carrying out your coup, or it is of great consequence and you’ll use it to keep your political enemies preoccupied. I know Tervola well enough to know they’ll defend the empire before they’ll abandon the frontier to play politics. I favor the latter view. Comments?”

  Mist shrugged.

  “I’m ignorant by your standards but not stupid, Mist. I can add up the odds and ends. Something big and nasty in the far east. Somebody called the Deliverer. You and Varthlokkur not willing to say anything about it even though you have to know what’s happening. Varthlokkur not even willing to hear the name of Nepanthe’s son, let alone make any effort to learn what became of him. Nepanthe becoming almost obsessed with the idea of finding him, and she with the witchy blood of her family. To me all that says Ethrian is alive, up to his ears in whatever’s happening out there, Nepanthe senses it, Varthlokkur knows what it is and wants to shield her from it for whatever reason, and has twisted your arm somehow so you won’t tell anyone what you know, either. For fear it will get back to Nepanthe. Knowing Varthlokkur, I’d guess he’s decided whatever it is will break her heart and maybe cost him her. And he is obsessed with hanging onto her now that he’s got her. Comments?”

  “No.”

  “You expect me to jump into something blind, then. Without being in any position to compel me. Bad tactics, Mist. Bad tactics. I’m the kid that owns the ball. I can pick it up and go home. And leave you twisting in the breeze. You’re almost completely committed already. But I’m not. It won’t cost me to walk away.”

  Still Mist would not speak.

  “I don’t plan to run through the streets of Vorgreberg screaming out the secret. No matter, I guess. You’re going to call my bluff. The old man always told me, the best way to bluff is not to be kidding. I wish you luck with your scheme. If it falls through, come back. I’ll always need somebody tough to hold Maisak.” He started to move around her, to the door to her situation room.

  She eyed him, estimating, and concluded that he was not bluffing. “Wait.”

  He paused. After a few seconds, he asked, “Well?”

  “He’ll be furious. Maybe he’ll back out on me himself. But all right. You’re basically right. About the situation out east. It’s very tight, very dangerous, and with the war with Matayanga having broken out, doubly so. I’m not as familiar with it as I should be. Almost no one but the General commanding really knows what’s going on, and he’s too busy to gossip. But larg
e armies employing the most grim necromantic sorceries having been attacking the empire viciously, ceaselessly, and mostly winning. They are led by someone who calls himself the Deliverer. What that is supposed to mean no one really knows. But it has been determined that the Deliverer was the son of Nepanthe and your friend Mocker.”

  “Was?”

  “He underwent some dramatic changes between the time the agents of the Pracchia abducted him and when he reappeared in our easternmost territories with his armies. He is not the child Ethrian anymore. He may not even recall that child. He is an instrument of destruction. He is a thing that would make you look kindly upon the most despised of my people. He is a creature completely of shadow. And I believe Varthlokkur is right. If Nepanthe saw Ethrian as he is now it would, at the very least, shatter their marriage. She would blame him for not having salvaged her child from the darkness.”

  Bragi leaned against the doorframe, considering. Half a minute passed. “I think you underestimate Nepanthe. Both of you. But I could be wrong. Let’s go back to work.”

  “Are you satisfied?”

  “For the moment. I think later I’ll want more details.”

  “You know as much as I do now.”

  “I doubt that.” Ragnarson pushed inside. Varthlokkur’s iron gaze tracked him from doorway to table. He ignored the wizard. Mist joined him in examining the Matayangan front. He asked, “Have you decided when to move yet?” He surveyed his people. They knew the truth of the situation now. Abaca looked ready to explode in indignation. “Michael. Can you get a message to Throyes fast?”

  “If I have to.”

  “You might suggest that your friends there give Lord Hsung a hard time.”

  Michael laughed. “They need me to tell them that? Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs, boss. This is what they’ve been waiting for. By now the whole middle east is aflame.”