by Glen Cook
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 profit 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.
The pig farmer’s son, then. She needed his stabilizing support. But how to make him a believer?
That would be a challenge. She was no fanatic herself.
She wanted to do this. She saw it as worthy work that could change the world. But she did not want to become a martyr to her cause.
“Still no one?” She looked at Shih-ka’i directly. He did not respond. “Very well. Some questions, then.”
She meant that not as a call for questions but as a prelude to presenting several topics. But Michael Trebilcock spoke quickly. “Here’s one. Why am I here?”
“The question intrigues me as well. Consult the wizard. I didn’t invite you. Of this gathering you’re the man I know the least and trust the least, but it’s too late to evict you. I won’t rail against what I can’t change, though I suppose I could always kill you. I would caution you but I do
know you well enough to understand that that would be pointless. You thrive on danger. You seek it the way the Disciple seeks opium.”
Varthlokkur volunteered, “I brought Michael because he has unique intelligence resources and can provide priceless support if you do return the King to Kavelin. I thought it would be useful if Michael understood what is going on and why.”
Mist nodded. That exposed a problem sure to rear up again. Some of these men were used to thinking for themselves. They would do what they thought needed doing without asking.
This would be the hardest thing she had done yet. She might be doomed to fail simply for having made the choice to try.
Old Meddler had survived forever. No doubt he smelled this taking shape. Given his oft-demonstrated talent for suborning even those with everything to lose by assisting him, she would not be amazed to discover that someone here was his agent already.
The Old Man? He and the Old Meddler had worked together for ages. Their falling out might be more apparent than real.
Or it could be Michael Trebilcock, just for the thrill? Michael loved complex conspiracies.
Someone said, “Illustrious?”
Varthlokkur said, “Gentlemen, our leader just underwent a severe paranoia spasm.”
Mist glared as he continued, “That’s his most insidious strength. He makes you waste time looking over your shoulder. Your own class relies heavily on the same power.”
She forced a smile. “Well. You haven’t declared yourselves out. So. All right. Are any of you prepared to declare yourselves in?”
Lords Ssu-ma and Yuan did not lift their hands. Lord Yuan she understood. This was political. He was not a political person. He would do as he was told once the political choices had been made. He would go baying after the research possibilities.
The only way Old Meddler could suborn Lord Yuan would be to promise him all the secrets of the transfer streams, which was beyond his power to do. Every historical indicator suggested that those streams were divine artifacts not only alien to the Star Rider but possibly even actively inimical.
Her researches had been limited but she had found no reference to any interaction between the Star Rider and the transfer streams, yet that digging had her thinking that the Windmjirnerhorn had to operate on a related principal. The riches that thing spilled had to come from somewhere.
She said, “During our wars with the west the entity we will not name once thwarted everyone by using the Poles of Power to kill all sorcery for a brief time. Do any of you know anything about them?”
No one volunteered anything. She peered at Varthlokkur, sure he must know more than she did. He said nothing.
“All right. The thinking used to be that the Windmjirnerhorn was one of the Poles. That’s probably not true. I can find no reason to believe it. It is certain though, that one is something called the Tear of Mimizan.” She surveyed both attentive and marginally bored faces.
“My late husband and his brothers served the Monitor of Escalon during Escalon’s war with Shinsan. Once it became obvious that defeat was inevitable the Monitor slipped the Tear to my brother-in-law Turran. There is nothing on record to explain how or why the Tear came into the possession of the Monitor. My suspicion is, he got it from a certain old villain who thereby created false hope that extended the struggle and guaranteed a good deal more destruction. Turran had the Tear smuggled west to Bragi Ragnarson’s first wife, Elana.” It would not be politick to mention that Turran had had a considerable affection for Elana. Bragi would not be pleased by any public reminder that she had been murdered while in bed with Mist’s brother-in-law “She didn’t know what she had. Others suspected, though not how important the trinket might actually be. But never mind all that. I want to know what became of the Tear.”
Lord Yuan lifted a hand tentatively.
“Lord Yuan?”
“You proffer an essentially traditional view of the Poles. It may not be correct.”
“Lord?”
“A strong case can be made for the transfer streams being one of the Poles. Possibly the more important Pole. Leakage may be what all sorcerers feed on. Leakage could be the Power itself.”
Mist was not about to debate Lord Yuan. He knew this subject better than the rest of the room combined. “Will you explain that in words fit for a simpleton? I don’t follow.” Near as she could tell, neither did anyone else, excepting possibly the Old Man. And his nod might be due to sleepiness.
“As you wish, Illustrious. I believe the Power we use in our sorcery is actually leakage from transfer streams that have become old and inefficient through lack of care, just as irrigation or navigation canals will become porous and leaky if not adequately maintained. Mathematically, we shouldn’t be able to access the Power at all, nor even the transfer streams. Those are, I am convinced, far more complicated than commonly assumed. We see them only in the workaday dimensions, like a network of creeks and canals we use to row our boats from place to place. They may, in fact, be the bones of the universe. Or something beyond anything the human mind can imagine. The Tear of Mimizan and, possibly, the Windmjirnerhorn, may be keys or control devices.”
The ancient may have suffered an epiphany. Or a stroke. He did go still and silent. It was plain that he did not plan to say anything more right now.
Mist said, “Excuse Lord Yuan. He does this. Anyone else care to contribute? Lord Ssu-ma? You’ve been particularly subdued. Would you like to explain?”
“I have no thoughts of consequence, Illustrious. I am a pig farmer’s son. It is beyond my capacity to encompass how this proposition can benefit the Empire if we pursue it with a vigor actually necessary to bring us to confrontation with him so terrible we dare not name his name.”
He had a point. “I see. You so fear the potential cost to the Empire that you concede defeat beforehand.”
“Considering the historical evidence, that temptation is there.”
“Would you have felt the same about the Deliverer had you not been ordered to take charge of a campaign already begun?”
She waited while he gave the unfair question honest consideration.
“I might have had I known the full story of the monster behind the Deliverer while not knowing that we had no choice but to fight.”
Mist said nothing. She wanted more. She thought he could not help but fill a vacuum now. And so he did.
“I spent my life teaching the Empire’s most promising youngsters, knowing that nine of ten would die badly. I did not think that it had to be that way. The Empire did not need to be at war every day, all the time. Our unreasoning passion for conquest drove us to where we are today, exhausted and on the brink of collapse.”
Mist nodded. Shih-ka’i exaggerated but she did not disagree with his sentiments. The Empire had paid an awful price for its recent successes. But it was true that now there were no longer any enemies who could do the Empire serious harm, other than the Star Rider.
Old Meddler always acted through proxies. The collapse of the Pracchia conspiracy had left him with few of those. Magden Norath had been the last of any significance.
Today’s most terrible danger might still be ambition in the Tervola class. The respected old men said they were reining the madness in, because it had cost Shinsan so dearly, but the treachery disease would continue in a certain kind of heart. And Old Meddler might pluck those strings to compose some nocturne where the empire once again turned upon itself.
Mist grimaced. She would have to be as harsh as her father and grandfather had been. Nothing less would serve.
Some people just asked to be killed.
She said, “You took up the struggle against the Deliverer because you were directed to do so. I understand. I’ll rely on a similar formula in the matter of him who toys with the world.”
She paused. She had begun to improvise. And that had hatched an interesting notion. “Lord Kuo. You will assume responsibility for the staff side. Plan. Coordinate. Find resources. You know the staff role. Lord Ssu-ma w
ill be responsible for execution.”
None of the Tervola missed the significance of her calling Wen-chin “Lord.” Good.
Lord Ssu-ma bowed, resigned. “As you command, so shall it be, Illustrious. That settled, may I ask about the others gathered here?”
“I hope to employ their skills, genius, and knowledge. I am counting on Lord Yuan to improve our arsenal substantially.” Did that sound too rehearsed?
She had had little to do with Lord Yuan till recently. Lately, though, he had begged frequently to be freed from workaday responsibilities so he could concentrate on ferreting out secrets of the transfer streams. Which inevitably preceded an appeal for more funds.
In that he was not unusual.
Mist said, “I will step aside and let you brainstorm now. Or complain, or argue, according to your nature.”
She paid little attention. There was not much to hear. No one wanted to say anything. Mist began to contemplate Lein She and her lifeguards.
Michael Trebilcock told her, “Don’t give in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ignore that temptation. They’re good men.”
Had he been reading her mind?
“You don’t need to trust them. Watch them. If they fail you they may lead you somewhere interesting.”
Or not. They had been selected randomly, excepting Lein She, and the tower raid would have weaned him from any service to an outside agency—assuming Old Meddler was the ultimate cause of all that blood.
It would cost little to follow Michael’s advice.
Varthlokkur told Mist, “I should take the Old Man to Fangdred and put him together with Ethrian.”
Ragnarson glanced from the wizard to the Empress. Was something going on in the shadows, there? Both seemed guarded.
Mist responded, “No. Because I think he’ll be safer here.”
Though the wizard looked inclined to argue, he said only, “You may be right. The only way in here is by transfer. He never… Oh! Stupid.”
Ragnarson swallowed a temptation to mention winged horses and flying evil familiars. He needed to stay small, his ears not taken into account.
