by Glen Cook
Once he became the Queen’s own sorcerer Babeltausque spawned rumors that bigger and more deadly traps had yet to be sprung. He then installed a few of those himself.
At first he wanted the house shunned because he suspected the treasury might actually be there, despite repeated failures to find it. Then he had come to appreciate the place for its more arcane possibilities.
He had yet to explore it all. There were areas where the residual sorcery was so brawny it frightened him, left him feeling like he was sliding through a canebrake of spells. He never stopped turning up new facets of the most magically active site in Kavelin. Still, he had yet to make an effort to chart its defenses or uncover what it was hiding.
Because it was shunned it was now the place he went when he wanted to be alone, to relax, to enjoy.
He had been conquered by his need. He had begun to indulge it. Here.
He could wait no longer. He must run to his beloved.
SIXTEEN: YEAR 1017 AFE
THE EAST
Mist took every precaution testing the portals into Kavelin. Tang Shan’s skills had been sufficient to establish connections with each, but there was no way to know what lay beyond without going to look.
She chose to go herself, despite the protests of her lifeguards.
She did indulge in one old-time, non-magical safety technique. She tied a rope around her waist before she stepped through. Her bodyguards could drag her back.
They could have overruled her. They had that right. But to do so could mean loss of place or even exile should the Empress be sufficiently irked.
Her first crossing took her into the caverns behind Maisak. She stepped into utter darkness. The air was still, dry, and carried a taint of old death. She withdrew immediately. “I need a lantern.”
The lantern helped only a little.
She was in a large, empty space once used to receive transferring troops. Dead portals stretched away to either hand.
Lifting her lantern overhead, Mist could just make out a sprawled skeleton.
Those bones were not human.
Something moved behind her. She gave up a startled squeak.
A lifeguard joined her, bringing another lantern. He said nothing. He followed when she moved toward the bones.
The Captal of Savernake, once master of Maisak, had enjoyed the friendship of many nonhuman creatures, mostly products of his own sorcery. Mist had met some in those dark old days. They had been gentle, timid creatures who loved their creator too well. They were all gone now. The world was poorer for it.
From her vantage over the bones Mist could see three more skeletons, all human.
Her bodyguard said, “We are not alone. Return to the portal.”
She felt it, too. Somehow. She neither saw, heard, nor smelled anything, but something was watching. This was a moment when she was not the paramount will of Shinsan. She moved.
The lifeguard’s sword sang as it cleared its scabbard.
From the darkness came a long, sad sigh that turned into a desperate moan.
Mist stepped across to safety. Her bodyguard followed. She asked, “What was it?”
He snapped, “Seal it! Shut it down!” at the operators.
Something as pale as a grub began to emerge from the portal.
The operators ended the session.
Three quarters of a man fell to the floor. He left behind parts of his right leg and right arm. He did not bleed. He did not speak. His eyes blazed with a desperate, hungry madness. He was a wild, nasty mass of filth, unkempt hair, and rags.
Mist said, “He’s wearing Imperial… He’s been trapped there since…”
Despite his injuries, the man crawled forward, toward humanity.
The enormity of what he must have suffered hit Mist like a fist in the gut. She threw up.
“I’m all right. Get me something to rinse my mouth with. Let me get cleaned up. Tang Shan. Send a task group to find out if more of our people are trapped in there.”
“Any who are will be quite insane.”
“Even so. They’re ours.”
“As you will, so shall it be.”
“Good. Where to next?”
Her bodyguards and the portal specialists alike looked at her askance.
“I’m fine. Just bring me some water. Let’s get on with it.”
Tang Shan said, “I would recommend the mausoleum of the Kaveliner queen. Lord Yuan is not yet entirely confident of the connection with the other portal. Nor am I.”
Mist frowned. Tang Shan remained cautiously neutral always but she suspected him of traditional convictions. The Imperial throne should not be occupied by a girl.
She said, “I’m ready.”
A lifeguard said, “This time I go first.”
“Of course.” Though what danger was likely to be lurking in a mausoleum?
Ghouls? Hungry ghosts?
All right. Danger might be sleeping with the dead.
She got squatters.
They were a Siluro family of six who had not emigrated. They belonged to the smallest and least loved ethnic group in Kavelin.
Mist did not ask for their sad story.
Any couple with four sprats under six, driven to take refuge with the revered dead, would tell a sad tale indeed.
Her charity went only so far as to flush them out rather than compel them to join the occupant of the mausoleum.
The lifeguard did not approve. They might carry tales.
“Ghost stories, perhaps.”
She paused to consider the dead queen. “The wizard did wonders with this one.”
Fiana looked like a girl asleep, awaiting the wakening kiss of her prince. She remained as colorful and fresh as she had in life.
Her glass-topped casket was filled with a gentle light that remained active after all these years. It made her look younger and more beautiful than she had at her passing. The long agony of birthing Radeachar had been massaged out of face and body.
Bragi’s last gift to his love, begged from Varthlokkur.
“Extreme caution is necessary,” the lifeguard said. “This place hasn’t been plundered or vandalized.”
“The homeless lived here unharmed.”
The beauty in the box had been the best loved of Kavelin’s recent monarchs. That was why no evil had taken place.
“Let’s go outside.” It had been a long time since she had looked into Kavelin’s skies. She had fond memories of a less harried life here. Her children had been conceived and born here. The only man she ever loved was buried here.
It was nighttime. No clouds masked the shoals of stars. There was no moon. Only a few tiny lights marked the location of Vorgreberg.
The bodyguards said, “To the north. The woods.”
“I see it. Let’s go.”
A pinkish dot had risen. It quested briefly, then headed their way, fast.
Back in the staging room, Mist said, “The Unborn sensed us.”
Tang Shan suggested, “Or it sensed the portal’s use.”
“Whatever, I won’t test the other one yet. It’s only a few miles from that one.”
Tang Shan seemed relieved.
Mist asked, “Is that a good thing?”
“I said, Lord Yuan isn’t comfortable with the…”
“You told me all three were sound.”
“And so they are, Lady. In the sense that we trust them enough to send me through them. But the escape portal in your old house has a bitter flavor. We are less willing to risk you going through.”
Should she be flattered or frustrated? “I want it usable by this time tomorrow.” Flattered, because Tang Shan disdained female leaders.
“As you will.”
The door to the world creaked behind Ragnarson. He looked over his shoulder, saw Mist and her right hand, Lord Ssu-ma. But who else would it be? It was not mealtime
Mist looked puzzled. “What are you doing?”
It was unusual to find him reading or writing, though he could manage both wi
thout much skill.
“Derel Prataxis once suggested that I would find it useful to make tally sheets if I was contemplating actions that might impact a lot of lives. I didn’t listen then.”
“And this is what you got.” Her gesture included his surroundings.
“This is what I got.”
“So what are you planning?”
“Nothing. I’m working the sums for what I lost because I didn’t think before I acted and then was too stubborn to change once it was obvious that I’d done something stupid.”
Ragnarson considered the Tervola. Lord Ssu-ma seldom said much. His opinion, though, carried considerable weight with Mist.
She asked, “How are you managing emotionally?”
“I’m operating under the conviction that losing Sherilee shocked me sane. That could be a delusion, though.”
Lord Ssu-ma said, “You have failed to take advantage of the new liberties you have been granted.”
Ragnarson was free to go to the tower top. He had done so only once. It had taken immense will to abandon the safety of his prison, though he knew he should be challenging the stairs regularly, building himself back up. He shrugged, reported the truth. “I don’t feel comfortable up there.”
Mist asked, “Have you lost your taste for freedom?”
“No. What are you up to?”
Lord Ssu-ma wore his mask. This visit was not informal.
Mist said, “What would you do if I sent you back to Kavelin?”
“I’ve played that what-if a thousand times. Till last month I wanted to show the world what the poet meant when he said don’t inflame the wrath of kings. I was set to burn Kavelin to the ground. I was pitifully selfish. Now I understand who did the real betraying. So I’m just pitiful.”
“That response surprises us only in that you were able to articulate it,” Mist said.
“Is that why you’re here? To see if you dare cut me loose?”
“What would you do if you woke up in Kavelin tomorrow morning?”
“Go looking for my family. Kristen and my grandkids, not Inger and Fulk. I wouldn’t make war on Inger. I’d try to get her to go home to Itaskia.”
“She might not be able. The Greyfells fortunes collapsed after she locked up the Duke.”
He could not restrain himself. “Excellent!” Greyfells villains had caused him misery since he was a boy.
Mist said, “Sending you to tame the chaos is under consideration. Steps are being taken. But nothing has been decided. My councilors will argue that the chaos is benign. Why risk loosing such a stubborn enemy?”
Ragnarson smiled. “Nor would I want the world to think I was beholden to you.”
Mist actually chuckled. “You wouldn’t, would you?”
The door shut behind them. Shih-ka’i asked, “Was that true?”
“He could pull Kavelin together. A strong central authority there would be to our advantage, commercially.”
“I see.”
“We’re here. You said you want me to see something.”
“I have captives of my own. One, as Ragnarson is for you, is an old friend and recent enemy, now entirely harmless.”
“Ooh. Mysterious.”
Shih-ka’i’s nerves tautened.
“You want to show me your prizes, then?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Do it. I don’t have much free time.”
No one would ever call Shih-ka’i a coward. Not after his war with the Deliverer. But the pig farmer’s son was not confident. His hands trembled as he entered the apartment where Kuo Wen-chin and the sad old man were caged.
Kuo was nowhere to be seen. The old man was a few feet from the entrance, looking vague.
Mist halted as though met by some savage weapon. “Lord Ssu-ma. Can this be?”
“Illustrious?”
“This ancient…?”
“He is the companion of my friend, who is my prisoner.”
“You don’t realize who he is?”
Shih-ka’i stopped. Her intensity alarmed him. “I do not, Illustrious. He is here because my friend insisted on bringing him. He’s feeble-minded. He can manage only simple tasks.”
“Really?” The Empress sounded disappointed.
Shih-ka’i studied her briefly before asking, “Who is he, then? Or, who was he?”
“One of the eyewitnesses to my father’s demise. That night probably left him like this. I suppose nobody in the whole world knows he’s still alive.”
Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i had not been a witness. He said so, tartly.
“I’m sorry. He’s the legend. The Old Man of the Mountain. He occupied Fangdred before Varthlokkur.”
Shih-ka’i was so moved he took off his mask. This man might be as old as the Star Rider. He stood witness to thousands of years.
Kuo Wen-chin stepped into view. “The Old Man? Truly?” His voice was soft but rich, vibrant with awe.
Shih-ka’i failed to catch the Empress’s response to Kuo’s continued existence. He was enthralled by the moment, too. That grinning idiot was half as old as time?
That brain must hold incalculable knowledge. The magics of the ages, perhaps. All inaccessible, now? Sad beyond comprehension if true.
Shih-ka’i asked Kuo, “You didn’t know?”
“I had no idea. Of myriad possibilities that particular one never occurred to me. I thought him a tool abandoned by Magden Norath.” Kuo bowed to the Empress. He did not speak to her.
Lord Ssu-ma asked her, “You’re sure he is who you say?”
“I’ve done dozens of past divinations involving that night. This man was there. He hasn’t changed in appearance, except to become more gaunt and frail.”
Mist considered Shih-ka’i and Kuo, unshaken by Kuo’s survival. She asked Kuo, “You consider him your friend?”
“Not exactly. I felt responsible for him after I found him. He’s better now than he was.”
She considered the apartment. It resembled the one where King Bragi was confined, two floors below. She instructed the Tervola to arrange cushions around a low table. The three settled there, leaving a space for the idiot opposite the Empress.
She considered Kuo, then looked Shih-ka’i in the eye and said, “I understand.” She told Kuo, “Don’t make me regret my trust in Lord Ssu-ma’s judgment.”
“I am at thy mercy, Illustrious. Blessed be, I am bereft of ambition. Not that I was ever driven. I honor those who were friends in the harsh times as well as the sweet.”
Shih-ka’i frowned. Kuo might golden-tongue himself into a tight spot.
The Empress said, “I hope that we have entered into a new age. The Tervola have begun to demonstrate a more traditional attitude toward the values underpinning our empire.”
Scalza asked, “Do you understand any of that, Uncle Varth?”
“I’d say that I understand without fully comprehending.”
The boy told his sister, “He’s about to unload a bucket of mystic wizard crap.”
The prophecy was harsh but essentially accurate. Varthlokkur had been about to say something vague meant to protect children.
From what? he wondered. Maybe Scalza could use an unadulterated, full-flavored dose of grownup reality.
“Lord Ssu-ma is your mother’s most important ally. The other Tervola is Lord Kuo Wen-chin, the man she deposed. Evidently, he and Lord Ssu-ma were close. Lord Ssu-ma saved his life and hid him. Lord Ssu-ma has revealed himself. Your mother has chosen to honor his decisions.”
Ekaterina asked, “Where does the old man fit? How come he worries you?”
That was a grownup question. “Because he was who he was. The Old Man.”
“The one who was missing here when you went to find him?”
“Yes. I thought he was dead.”
Nepanthe arrived, bringing lunch. Ethrian accompanied her, carrying Smyrena and a pail of small beer. The glow in front of Varthlokkur drew him.
He became quite animated. He pointed at the Old Man and chattered.
Varthlokkur said, “See that he doesn’t drop the baby.”
Unnecessarily. Both children did so automatically. Ekaterina said, “He says that’s the man who helped him get away when he was a prisoner, before he got turned into the Deliverer.”
“You understand him?”
“Sometimes. Not always.”
Varthlokkur was amazed. He had not realized that children often understood one another when adults heard only baby talk and half-formed word sounds.
He did not turn the moment into an interrogation. These kids would turn stubborn on principal. “That old man may be the key to the future. He’s in a bad place mentally but he could recover and help break the tyranny of the Star Rider.”
Nepanthe had come to look. “I thought he died.”
“We all did. We all thought wrong. Eka says Ethrian says he was the one who saved him on that island.”
“Does the Star Rider know he’s still alive?”
The wizard chuckled. “You all need to clear out so I can work without distractions.”
“Can it wait till after lunch?”
It could, of course, having waited so long. But Varthlokkur rushed, making no comment on Nepanthe’s effort. He had banged headlong into one of those rare moments when he could get excited again.
First thing, he had to recall the Unborn. The monster’s transit would take hours. So he went looking elsewhere while he waited.
There was fading excitement at Sebil el Selib, at the extreme range of what he could see. He missed some details. Some people thought they had been visited by the King Without a Throne but Varthlokkur found no sign of Haroun. Clearly, the incident had grown outsized because of deep fears and wishful thinking.
At Al Rhemish Megelin remained paralyzed by indecision. His advisers were content to let inaction prevail. Megelin had dragged the Royalist cause from one disaster to another. Enough. The chance that Haroun bin Yousif might return inspired a thousand hopes.
A sweep round Kavelin left Varthlokkur thinking that Mist’s plan to send Ragnarson home was pointless. Agricultural prospects had everyone outside Vorgreberg warmly optimistic. Inger’s influence continued to dwindle. Kristen’s was waxing. She and the younger Bragi, as custodians of the ideological flame, were attractive right now. The doyen Ozora made arguments the artisan and mercantile classes found irresistible.
