Reap the East Wind

by Glen Cook

  “Lend me your mouth, Deliverer.”

  “No.”

  The beast’s rage hammered him. He endured it more easily than he endured his own.

  “Don’t fight,” Sahmanan pleaded. “Ethrian, call an animal out of the forest. Anything large will do.”

  He reached out, found a she-bear immediately. He brought her shambling to the hilltop, trailed by baffled cubs.

  “Send her to the river,” the beast snapped. His rage continued unabated.

  Ethrian drove the bear, and followed himself. Sahmanan brought the box. Deep inside him the youth felt the Great One probing, trying to insinuate a tentacle or two, trying to take over. There would be a showdown. He or this dark godlet would bend the knee...

  The beast’s anger boiled. It fumed and smouldered and spread. Ethrian felt it touch the baffled she-bear as she started across the ice. Her cubs skittered and whimpered behind her. She ignored their snuffling and whining.

  Ethrian smiled. What were they thinking over there? All this great sorcery, the freezing of the river in summer, so a bear and her cubs could cross?

  Maybe they wouldn’t connect her. They might think her just a poor creature wandering on the ice...

  They weren’t deceived. Ethrian felt the shaft barrage screaming down the sky. He felt the beast’s rage crest, then explode. The bear’s mouth opened, then Spoke.

  The youth reeled as the Great One shifted his attack, trying to take him by surprise.

  The Word rolled across the ice. It fell on the might of Shinsan.

  Ethrian’s universe went dark.

  He wakened to find Sahmanan leaning over him. “Are you all right?” she demanded.

  He searched his mind. “Yes.” He was surprised. “How long was I out? Where’s the Great One?”

  “Twenty minutes. I took him back uphill. He’s still out. He didn’t expect you to hit back.”

  “You left him?”

  “We don’t need him now, do we?”

  He examined her closely. She meant it. “Then take him back to the desert.”

  “All right.” She donned a conspiratorial smile. “He won’t be happy about it.”

  “Do I care?” He faced the far bank of the river. They were stirring over there! He left his body, fluttered over, flew back. Distracted, the stone beast had done only half a job. “I’m wasting time,” he muttered.

  The army of the dead marched onto the ice. It was a pathetic assemblage of stiff-legged men, slipping and falling and rising to try again. The ice had developed a water film. The beast’s strength had gone out of Sahmanan.

  Will it last? Ethrian wondered. Faster! Faster!

  Groggy legionnaires were at work over there. Six unconscious men into every portal every minute... They were escaping! “Faster!” he shrieked.

  The first clash of arms echoed across the ice.

  The least stunned of his foes responded to his attack. They rekindled their fires and remanned their breastworks. And the ice kept melting.

  It was the shortest and most profitable of his battles. It lasted only an hour. He gained eight thousand recruits. The legions fell back, almost in disorder.

  His gains barely replaced his losses. The ice broke up too fast. Some of his creatures were caught on floes that swifted away on the flood. They fell into the water. Fish got some. Others became entangled in the roots of trees growing along the banks. Or they raced on toward the distant sea, ever farther from his control.

  The Tervola blasted away as they withdrew. They salvaged the bulk of their army. He tried to pursue them, but each mile they covered lessened his control of his warriors.

  It wasn’t till the last redoubt had fallen that he flew over to join his army.

  Sahmanan returned from the desert. “He’s back in his temple. I can feel his rage and fear from here.”

  “He shouldn’t have tried to trick me. Look here. We’ve won. They can’t stop us now. There aren’t any more big barriers.”

  “What happens when you destroy them? Go on till the only people left are the dead you command?”

  He looked at her, and sensed a touch of loathing, of incipient hatred. “Let me be, woman. I have only one goal. The eradication of Shinsan. We’ll worry about what’s next when that’s done.”

  “I thought you’d say that.”

  “What do you mean? Never mind. Let’s go. We have an appointment at a city west of here. If we move fast they won’t have time to prepare. And we can catch up with the refugees.”

  Sahmanan shook her head dolefully, led him to their dragons.

  For two days Ethrian patrolled the remote flanks of his host, seeking recruits. His efforts were hardly worthwhile. Only the very old, lame, and weak had stayed behind.

  He recruited them. He took anything that would move.

  The third morning after the Tusghus crossing Ethrian departed a wood and found himself facing Northern Army across a small plain. “I don’t believe it. Where do they get the nerve? After what we did at the river.”

  Sahmanan laughed. “You said they were the best. You said they don’t frighten. You said they wouldn’t have time to prepare that city. What else could you expect?”

  “I don’t know.”

  This time the enemy came to him. They cut their way through the recruits. They slashed deep into his better soldiers, whose efficiency suffered from continued decay. They went after legion dead incorporated into his army. They brought with them portals mounted on wagons. The fighting continued till it seemed both armies must be destroyed. Then the legions withdrew.

  Ethrian wept in rage.

  They had taken back their dead. They had robbed him of the seed of a new host. They had left him with fewer than twenty thousand bodies able to hobble or crawl.

  He reviewed them in the dawn. They were gaunt, stinking, horrible things all, clad in rags, with limbs lost, chunks torn from their flesh, missing ears or noses or eyes. Maggots crawled in their flesh. “Looks like the earth opened up and a battlefield yielded its ancient dead.”

  “And you want to go on?” Sahmanan demanded.

  “I intend to destroy them. I’ll find a way.”

  “They bought another day. They’ll be another day ready.”

  “So be it.” He marched westward, leading his shambling, dragging parody of an army. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Destiny rides with me. I know. I hear its voice. I was chosen. I was anointed. I am the Deliverer.”

  Sahmanan stared at him, aghast. The madness had enslaved him. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered. “Not for your nightmareor the Great One’s.”

  Next day they came to the city called Lioantung.

  Ethrian had made a spirit-visit by night. He had seen the panic-stricken mobs streaming westward, leaving the city to the army. He had had an inspiration for his attack.

  It would take time, but time he had. He had been into the minds of those legionnaires who had served him briefly. He now knew that stubborn pig of a Lord Ssu-ma would get no help. Shinsan had bigger troubles on another frontier.

  He was in a gay mood as he surveyed the city walls.

  12 Year 1016afe

  The Day

  I DON’T LIKE THIS, Bragi,” Varthlokkur whispered. “I’ve never liked transfers.” Serpents the size of anacondas were at play inside him. He borrowed a trick from the enemy and began silently chanting the Soldier’s Ritual.

  “What?” The King thumbed the edge of his sword. “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  “They scare me,” Varthlokkur admitted. “There’s something that lives in the transfer stream... I detected it way back when I was a student. Something huge and shadowy, that snaps up the unwary traveler.” Varthlokkur scratched his forehead. His skin was wet and cool. Was he pale as well?

  Bragi looked at him oddly. “How often does it happen? Can’t be too often or Shinsan wouldn’t use them all the time.”

  “Seldom,” Varthlokkur admitted. “Once in ten thousand times. And I haven’t heard of anyone disappearing in th
e last four or five years.”

  “Those are pretty damned good odds. Whoa! There’s the signal, Ch’ien says. Ready?”

  Varthlokkur nodded reluctantly. He did not want to make the transfer, but a man had to do what he had to do. He gathered himself together.

  Bragi sprang at the waiting portal. The wizard heard an echo of curse and metallic clash, cut off suddenly. Then he was through and in the midst of it himself. He unleashed a spell meant to blind the defenders. The King howled.

  “Damn it, I told you to keep your eyes shut!” Varthlokkur roared.

  The King shouted, “The doors! Grab the doors!” They were in a great hall of some sort, rather like the ground floor of a public building.

  The wizard had no time to sightsee. He applied the flat of his blade to the behinds of soldiers stumbling out of the portal. “Move it!” he shouted. “Over there. Block that hearing charm.”

  Wild spells ranged the eastern headquarters, caring nothing for allegiances. Priceless tapestries went up in flames. Works of art wrinkled and blackened, or sagged and began to run like wax in the sun.

  Lord Ch’ien arrived and took charge of the friendly Tervola. In fifteen minutes the inner headquarters was secure. In five more Lord Ch’ien had made peace with the garrison outside. Shinsan’s soldiers avoided becoming involved in the squabbles of their nobility. These men just needed assurance that the headquarters hadn’t been invaded by Matayangans.

  “All secure here,” Varthlokkur said. Lord Ch’ien agreed.

  “For now,” the King said. “Better see how the other groups did. Varthlokkur, send some messengers.”

  The wizard grabbed one of Lord Ch’ien’s assistants and quickly adjusted several portals. He chose soldiers and sent them through. They were back in seconds.

  “Baron Hardle has taken his objective,” Varthlokkur told the King. “But Colonel Abaca is in trouble. He dropped right into Lord Kuo’s lap.”

  “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 t
he 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 job? 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?