Reap the East Wind

by Glen Cook

  That third day Lord Shih-mihn sent a message saying he was embattled with a horde of natives. Young, old, women, children, armed and unarmed, dead and living. They had swarmed out of the forests screaming, “Deliverer!” The legionnaires were destroying large numbers, but could not continue their withdrawal while the battle lasted.

  Shih-ka’i stared out at the ragged thousands surrounding the fortress. “This Deliverer can’t be everywhere at once.” The enemy stood frozen, in ranks of motionless, slowly corrupting flesh. Something had been lost in the transfer of power. The Deliverer’s host was rotting slowly. The stench of corruption had joined that of burning flesh. Before long the Deliverer would need a whole new army. He could not make skeletons walk. “Lord Lun-yu. Take a brigade and sortie. They won’t put up much of a fight.”

  Tasi-feng destroyed thousands of listless besiegers before the air suddenly became angry and the rest returned to life. He withdrew. Shih-mihn reported that the horde attacking him had collapsed.

  “Gentlemen,” Shih-ka’i said to his Tervola, “if this Deliverer makes one more mistake, we’ll destroy him.”

  No one asked what he meant. He told them without being asked. “One, he could expose himself to injury. Two, he could let us get his witch. Three, he could get too eager and stop recruiting savages. Or let us stop him from recruiting.”

  Still no response.

  “Anyone want to be a hero?”

  There was another message from Shih-mihn. His attackers had fled into the forest. He was moving toward the Tusghus again.

  “Shall I sortie again, Lord?” Tasi-feng asked.

  “No. He’ll bring those poor creatures here now, to finish us. We taught him a lesson today. Now he knows he can’t bypass us.”

  The assault began during the night, spearheaded by children and women. It never let up. More natives came out of the wilderness, some having walked a thousand miles. Shih-ka’i cursed them for not having had the sense to stay under the empire’s protection. And congratulated himself for having had the foresight to get the majority moved.

  Shih-ka’i destroyed them by the tens of thousands, and still they came. And the transfers kept sending casualties to Liaontung. Sections of fortress fell. The courts and cellars and barracks filled with dismembered corpses awaiting destruction. The stench was as wearing as the interminable attack.

  “Lord Lun-yu, what kind of monster is this Deliverer? What mad creature depopulates half a million square miles to take one fortress? Is he some demon who’s slipped his master’s leash?”

  “He’s just a boy, Lord. Seventeen or eighteen. Normal in most respects. With a big grudge against the empire.”

  “A grudge!”

  “Live prisoners say he’s vowed to destroy us.”

  “You think he will?”

  “No, Lord.”

  “He’s made an impressive start, hasn’t he? How long can we hold out?”

  “Two days, surely. He’s short of draftees.”

  “I’ll leave it with you. Keep buying time. We bought enough for Northern Army. Now I’m afraid we’re buying it for Lioantung.”

  Tasi-feng sighed and stared at the floor. “As you command, Lord. Lord... maybe you can contact Lord Kuo now.”

  “Lord Kuo? I thought he was being retired.”

  Tasi-feng shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he has been. We haven’t been in touch.”

  Shih-ka’i made a last inspection of the fortress. It was in abominable shape. The witch still lobbed in the occasional blue egg. He suspected Tasi-feng was too optimistic, claiming they could hold two more days.

  He and Pan ku went down to the deep cellar where the portals were massed. As always, casualties were passing through. “At least they’ll get out,” he observed. “This is the last place the Deliverer will reach. The men won’t have to make a pointless last stand.”

  Pan ku replied, “I hope not, Lord. I’d feel bad if we lost them. The Seventeenth is a good legion.”

  10 Year 1016afe

  Fire in the East

  NEPANTHE SAT AT her window, staring without seeing. The extreme end of pregnancy had worsened all her tendencies toward alienation, introversion, and brooding. She cried a lot. She snapped at people for no good reason. She considered the gross swollenness of her belly and loathed herself for being ugly, hated herself for bringing another child into a pitiless world. There were irrational moments when she hated the little parasite growing inside her. She spent much of her time feeling sorry for herself, or, gradually, adding to her obsession with her lost son.

  She had little spirit or volition now. She did what her husband told her, what her maids asked. Her great initiatives consisted of starting the occasional conversation.

  She had been listless, most of the time, since her first husband’s death, not long after they had lost their son. She’d always been susceptible to mood swings, into this grey state and out. Since Mocker’s death the downs had grown longer every year. She had tried to fake the highs and had failed. She now just stayed out of the way ana tried not to complicate her second husband’s life.

  Varthlokkur had pursued a hundred wild goose trails in his efforts to quicken her soul. She was aware of his attempts, and only wished he wouldn’t bother. She didn’t think she was worth the trouble.

  The most potent draughts and magicks worked only for a short time. Varthlokkur had concluded that only that supreme medicine, time, would cure her. He now left her to haunt her inner landscapes as she would.

  She sensed that he had come to stand behind her. She turned. “You look tired, dear.”

  “I was up all night. Michael Trebilcock was away on a mission and ran into trouble. I had to send Radeachar to get him out. He’s safely home now.”

  “Michael? Isn’t he the one who took Valther’s place?” Thus far had she slipped. Sometimes she couldn’t remember.

  “Yes.”

  She resumed staring out the window, no longer interested. She had lost six brothers as well as her husband and son. Well, five. Luxos was alive, living in the Kratchnodian Mountains like some crazy old hermit. Crazy like me, she thought. We both might as well be dead.

  The world had taken everything. Everything but Varthlokkur and this child as yet unborn.

  She could not care about them. She didn’t dare. Fate would punish her if she did. They would be taken too.

  “Varth?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I really do feel Ethrian sometimes. I still don’t know what it means. Can’t you find out for sure?”

  Varthlokkur sighed. “I’ve tried, dear. There’s just nothing there. I’m sorry. I truly wish there were. It’s just your heart trying to turn back the sands of time.”

  He’s probably right, she thought. He’s so seldom wrong. But... there was some doubt. No one had ever actually seen Ethrian dead... “It’s not imagination, Varth. It can’t be. He’s there. I know it.”

  “Then why can’t I find him? Why can’t I find one shred of evidence that he survived? Why do I find so much that says he’s not? Stop tormenting yourself. Please. It’s not healthy.”

  True concern edged his words. She sensed it and shied away. “It’s not false hope!” Emotion began to flavor her voice. It grew stronger as she shouted, “He’s alive and I know it! Why are you lying to me?”

  “I’m not.” He spoke gently, as if to an injured, retarded child. “You’re lying to yourself. Please don’t. It’s not healthy.”

  “Not healthy! Not healthy! Stop it!” She surged out of her chair. “It’s because he’s Mocker’s son, isn’t it? That’s why you want me to forget him.” Her reasoning was insane and she knew it, but the words just would not stop. She wanted to hurt someone, to give some of the pain away.

  Agony tightened his features. He calmed himself before responding, “That isn’t so. And you know it. He was my grandson. My only. I loved him too. I would have done anything for him. But he’s gone now, Nepanthe. It’s time to accept that. Please. This is starting to tear us apart.” H
e took her into his arms.

  She pounded fists against his chest, the irrational words exploding forth. “You’re lying! He’s alive. I know he’s alive. He’s in trouble, and you won’t help him.”

  “Dear, this isn’t good for the baby.”

  She kept hitting, weeping. Finally, she sagged against him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know... Oh!”

  “What? What happened?”

  “I think my water broke. That shouldn’t happen yet... Oh! Yes. It did. I can feel it.” Her mind became very clear. Not here! Not now! Please... Everything else fled. “Get a doctor. Wachtel if he’s still Royal Physician. Help me to the bed.”

  Her voice had changed dramatically, had become all business.

  Varthlokkur guided her across the room, turned her so he could help her lie down.

  “No. Undress me first. This was an expensive dress. Mustn’t ruin it. Then find Mary and Margo. Tell them to get everything ready.”

  “Shouldn’t I get the doctor first?”

  “I don’t need him right this minute. Ethrian was twelve hours coming. Elana said he was easy. We’ve got time. Just warn him that it’s coming.”

  “It’s too early.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I figured it wrong. Nothing we can do about it now.” She was half undressed. She saw how nervous he was. “Let me finish this. You get the maids, tell Wachtel, then come back and get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? How could I sleep?”

  “You’d better. You won’t be any help at all if you don’t. You’re too tired to think straight now.” She was amazed at herself. She seemed to have changed personalities like changing shoes. The whiner had vanished the instant she found herself faced by a situation wherein she had some control.

  “Okay. Sure you’ll be okay if I leave?”

  She touched his cheek tenderly. “Of course. Silly man. Old as the world, you are. A destroyer of empires. Creator of a monster like Radeachar. And you’re as nervous as an eighteen-year-old awaiting the birth of his firstborn. And I love you for it. I love you for caring.”

  “I’m worried for you.”

  “Stop. This isn’t anything a million other women haven’t survived. Just do what I told you. Here. Wait. Help me lay down.”

  He looked down at her distended belly and its fiery stretch marks, at breasts swollen to twice their normal size. Nepanthe flinched. She knew she was not attractive this way. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  Tears sprang into her eyes. “Pull the sheet over me and go. Please.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just do it. Please?”

  He did.

  Nepanthe broke into wild tears after the door closed. She could not decide whether they were tears of joy or of disappointment.

  The wizard moved through the palace with a fast, jerky step, like a marionette manipulated by a drunken puppeteer. Puzzled eyes followed his progress. He didn’t notice. He went directly to the suite occupied by the Royal Physician.

  That Doctor Wachtel was held in high regard was evidenced by the fact his personal suite was outshone only by the Queen’s. King Bragi himself occupied only two small rooms. The doctor had five.

  Wachtel and the wizard were old philosophical adversaries. The doctor received him with ill-concealed glee, yet did not crow about his having come to petition aid. He asked the pertinent questions, reiterated Nepanthe’s advice. “Get what sleep you can. It’ll be a long time yet. I’ll just check in occasionally till the pains get closer together.”

  The wizard grumbled and babbled and asked foolish questions, and the doctor humored him. Only mildly reassured, Varthlokkur returned to his apartment. He went in and held Nepanthe’s hands till the maids ran him out. He tried to rest, without much success.

  Varthlokkur was pacing, oblivious to his companions. The King stepped into the wizard’s sitting room, watched him for half a minute. “You’ve got a classic gait,” he observed, chuckling, “Get any sleep?”

  “A little.” As if only suddenly aware of location and situation, he asked, “Shouldn’t I be in there?”

  “Does she want you?”

  “I don’t know. Wachtel doesn’t.”

  “I see his point. Made a nuisance of myself at a few birthings. Fathers may be good for the mother’s morale, but they’re hell on doctors and midwives. At least till they’ve had enough kids to know when to keep their mouths shut.”

  “I could help. I have skills... “

  “I think the main help Wachtel wants is a closed mouth. He needs you, he’ll ask.”

  “I’m well aware of his opinion of me.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “All right, they say.”

  As if on cue, the doctor came from the bedroom. He was drying his hands.

  “Well?” Varthlokkur demanded. “Is it here?”

  “Take it easy. No. She has a long way to go. It’ll come around midnight, I’d guess.”

  “Guess? What do you mean, guess?”

  The old doctor scowled. “I meant what I said. I don’t have your faculty for seeing the future. All I can do is go by past experience.”

  “The future? My heavens. I forgot to cast horoscopes for the child.” In moments he was furiously busy. He flung charts and books, pens and inkwells onto a table. “Guess I’d better do both today and tomorrow,” he muttered. “Midnight. Damned.”

  The King grinned at the doctor. “That’ll keep him out of your hair. See you all later. Duty calls.”

  Pink ripped the night above Castle Krief. Bold letters formed: IT IS A GIRL. People were amused. The King was heard to say, “Wizard, that’s carrying the Proud Papa routine a little far.”

  Grinning, Varthlokkur accepted congratulations from a horde of well-wishers. He sprinkled silver. He filled the castle halls with diminutive magical delights. Imps dashed about singing silvery hosannahs. The wizard’s joy was contagious. He shook hands with people who never had dared approach him before. They contracted the joy-fever and carried it to others. It spread out of the castle and caught on in the town. Winecasks rolled out. Kegs were bunged. For a while it seemed one birth, and one man’s pleasure in it, would write the end of an era, would put paid to the long, grim, sober struggle for survival which had ground the nation since the war’s end.

  “Eat! Drink!” Varthlokkur urged, pushing people toward the groaning tables he’d had set out. “Come on, everyone.”

  “Make way for the King!”

  The noise died a bit. King Bragi pushed through the crowd and thrust out a meaty hand. “It was a long time coming, wasn’t it? How’s Nepanthe?”

  “Perfect. Came through beautifully. Happy as anyone can be.”

  “Good. Good. Can I see my wife now?” He had sent Queen Inger to hold Nepanthe’s hand during the delivery, the only meaningful gesture that had occurred to him.

  “If you can find her.” The crowd swirled and whirled and swept them apart. When next the wizard spied the King he was forehead to forehead with Dahl Haas, trying to hear over the merriment. Bragi grew pale as Haas talked.

  Varthlokkur’s joy evaporated. He felt it now. The east was a-boil, roaring, raging. A great typhoon of magical energy had been released there... He should have sensed it earlier. He was getting old, letting one part of life distract him from another this way. He pushed through the crowd, feeling grimmer by the moment. He ignored the startled looks caused by his rudeness. He seized the King’s hand, yanked, did not let go till he had dragged the man to the castle’s eastern ramparts.

  Horrendous flashes backlighted the Mountains of M’Hand. Their peaks stood forth like rotten, jagged teeth. He hadn’t ever seen anything like it. The barrage rolled on and on and on, like endless summer lightning playing mutiny beyond the horizon.

  “What is it?” the King whispered.

  Varthlokkur did not reply. He sealed his eyes and let the indirect might of it touch him. He grunted. Even here, so far away, the psychic impact was like the blow of a mailed fist.

  There wasn’t a
cloud in the sky. A billion stars watched with cold indifference as the two tiny creatures on the stone barrier stood with faces continuously splashed by evil light.

  “What the hell is it?” the King demanded, voice scarcely more than a breath. There was no sound in the east, yet the very roots of the walls seemed aquiver.

  Varthlokkur stared, ignoring his companion. The signal fires which carried messages from Fortress Maisak and the Savernake Gap were all ablaze. He barely heard the King ask, “Is Hsung attacking Maisak?”

  “It’s begun. Matayanga is attacking Shinsan. Lord Kuo was waiting. A god wouldn’t dare those battlefields now.”

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

  “Maybe. Though Lord Kuo has mustered more power than we ever saw during the Great Eastern Wars. What can Matayanga throw at him? Besides numbers? They’re not much in a thaumaturgic way.”

  More and more people came to watch the display. There wasn’t an ounce of joy left. Varthlokkur spared them hardly a glance. He did not want to see them. They looked like refugees, all huddled and silent.

  Bragi said, “I suppose the Tervola will have a taste of that for us someday.”

  “Shinsan is an empire unaccustomed to defeat,” Varthlokkur replied. “We’ll see them again. If they survive this.”

  “If?”

  “Would Matayanga have attacked if its kings believed defeat inevitable?”

  Horns sounded outside the castle. “That’s Mist,” Varthlokkur said. “She’ll have been alerted before we were.”

  The woman joined them shortly. “It’s begun. First reports came in last night. Southern Army detected the Matayangans moving up. With two million men. Just for the first attack. They’ve conscripted everyone over fifteen.”

  “Human waves,” Varthlokkur said. “Will they break through?”

  “Southern Army is outnumbered twenty to one. There’ll be other waves. Lord Kuo is trying to assemble a reserve, but he might not have gotten started in time.”