Keeping up the odd bombardment, she stealthily approached the door. She drew a metal object from her scabbard, not a thin sword but a slender iron rod.
In between tossing her seashell fragments, Bonny measured off a section of the rod, then bent it, with some difficulty, over her knee. She spaced off a longer length and bent the rod again at a different angle.
Kiya queried the queen with a glance. Casberry merely looked wise.
Bonny tossed all her remaining shells up the side of the blockhouse. They cascaded down, bouncing and clicking off the close-fitting stone blocks. Before the sound died, she had slipped the rod under the door and twisted it upwards. She stepped down hard on the upraised end of the rod. There was a distinct clank as the door was lifted up slightly, and then Bonny pushed the portal inward.
With a whoop, Kiya rushed forward, sword out. Much of the Household Guard followed.
A wall of wind erupted from the dark interior, sweeping Bonny off her feet. The larger, heavier Kiya leaned into the blast. With great effort, she dragged her feet forward until she could grasp the doorjamb. A lone figure stood inside the blockhouse. The only illumination came from the arrow slits, striping the interior with narrow lanes of dark and light.
The gusting wind suddenly eased, and curious kender scrambled past Kiya. The wind died completely when two knelt on all fours behind the stranger while others bowled him over. Like a pack of puppies, the kender swarmed over the fallen man. Kiya’s sword was at his throat in the next moment.
“Peace, peace! I am not your enemy!” he cried.
Kiya seized him by the front of his robe and shoved him outside into the sunlight.
With much injured dignity, he swept shell fragments and dirt from his red silk robe. He was a tall fellow, and thin, with tightly curled sand-colored hair and a short beard. Every finger bore an ornate, jeweled ring.
“There’s no need for violence,” the Red Robe said. “I told you, I’m not your enemy!”
“That’s for us to decide. Who are you?” asked Kiya.
He refused to say. Several kender hands began reaching for his rings, and he drew back, closing his fists tightly. “Each and every ring is warded! Touch them, and there will be dire consequences!”
Now he had his audience’s undivided attention. The kender demanded they be allowed to see “dire consequences” immediately. Only Kiya’s threats silenced them long enough for her to continue her questioning. The wizard still would not tell her anything about himself or his purpose, but kept insisting he was not their enemy.
He began fingering the large opal ring on his left forefinger. The kender perked up, obviously hoping for a dire consequence, but Kiya laid the flat of her sword tip on his wrist.
“Stop what you’re doing, or I’ll chop off your hands.”
Her calmly delivered threat shook him, but he hissed, “You have no idea who you’re meddling with, barbarian!”
“No, I don’t. So tell me your name.”
Heavy silence ensued. Surrounded by armed, insatiably curious kender and a forester woman with a thirsty blade, and with bands of hostile nomads in the vicinity, the Red Robe made his decision.
“I am Helbin, chosen chief of the Red Robes of Daltigoth. You mentioned Lord Tolandruth; you may take me to him.”
Kiya recognized his name. “You’re not one of Husband’s enemies,” she said, sheathing her sword. “What are you doing so far from the city?”
“I cannot divulge my purpose, except to Lord Tolandruth himself.”
Kiya shrugged, secure in the knowledge that Tol would know how to handle the mage.
After Helbin gathered his possessions and was put under guard, the army prepared to move on. Several kender lifted the still-groggy, soot-covered Rufus onto a horse. Casberry returned to her sedan chair. Immediately an argument erupted between the queen and Bonny Waterwide. Bonny claimed her payment of a day’s ride in the Royal Conveyance. The queen reminded her no particular day had been specified.
“So you’ll just have to wait,” Casberry finished with a satisfied smile.
When they were finally underway, Kiya ruminated on the fact that half a dozen nomads had failed to draw the wizard from his hiding place, but a single kender had succeeded. Maybe Tol’s idea to recruit Casberry and her army wasn’t as ridiculous as it seemed. But what was Helbin doing in these parts? Whether or not he was a respectable member of the Red Robe order, Kiya distrusted anyone from Daltigoth. In her opinion, people from the capital were either Ackal V’s lackeys or his collaborators.
She would keep an eye on Helbin. At the first hint of treachery, she would act. There would be no humiliating red paint for the Red Robe. If he played her false, he would die.
Chapter 12
A Fatal Slip
The bakali were across the Dalti.
The news flashed through the streets and squares of Daltigoth. No one knew who first delivered the awful tidings, but within a day, everyone in the capital had heard them. Prices of food, wine, cloth, leather, and other commodities tripled in a single day. A family’s carefully horded savings evaporated before their eyes. For the common folk of Daltigoth, there was only one recourse: they rioted.
Hundreds of people spilled out into the streets and market squares, smashing sellers’ stands and assaulting merchants. The city guards were quickly overwhelmed. In the Canal District, warehouses were broken open and looted. This encouraged hundreds more to take to the streets and make their way to the waterfront to join the plundering.
Ackal V, wrapped in furs despite the summer heat, listened stone-faced as anxious representatives of the merchants’ guilds recited the growing chronicle of lawlessness. When they finished, silence descended on the audience hall. The interval lengthened, grew awkward, and the guildmasters and merchants nervously shuffled their feet.
“Summon the city garrison, Your Majesty!” urged the chief of the goldsmiths. “Give the rioters a taste of imperial iron!”
Still, Ackal V said nothing. He seemed lost in a dream, eyes staring into the distance. Valaran, seated at his side, prompted him almost inaudibly. Her veil, white this time, allowed her to do this without attracting the notice of the assembled commoners. Ackal V glanced at her and smiled. The empress drew in a breath. The closest ranks of petitioners recoiled from the deceptively benign expression on Ackal V’s face. They knew only too well that when the emperor smiled, blood would flow.
“The garrison is arrayed to protect the Inner City,” he said. “There it will remain.”
The merchants and guildmasters dared not protest. Valaran did so on their behalf, albeit most tactfully, her voice low.
“Sire, please reconsider. The safety of the city depends on order being kept.”
“Oh, I shall put Daltigoth in order.” He raised his voice. “Tathman! Captain Tathman, where are you?”
The Wolf stepped forward and bowed stiffly.
“Captain, you and the Wolves will stop the rioting,” Ackal V said simply.
Equally simple was the reply: “As you wish, Majesty.”
Tathman’s sepulchral voice always made the hair on Valaran’s neck rise. The assembled guildmasters were stricken. The thought of the Emperor’s Wolves set loose on the city stunned and terrified all.
The emperor said, “You want order, don’t you? You want an end to the looting, don’t you? My Wolves will pacify the city in one day-maybe less.”
They had come to beg for protection, so the merchants and tradesmen could hardly protest, yet all knew the Wolves were capable of any atrocity. Recruited from the poorest, most distant provinces of the empire, they owed nothing to Daltigoth and everything to their patron.
Ackal V stood abruptly. In a body the guildmasters shrank back from him.
“You see? You have only to ask, and your emperor responds!” He folded his arms and glowered down at the cowering men. His words laced with irony, he added, “I know you’re anxious to return to your shops. Go, and spread the word that peace will soon return to the city-p
eace guaranteed by the Emperor’s Wolves.”
They managed to depart without actually trampling each other, but no one could mistake their desire to be elsewhere.
Ackal nodded to Tathman. The captain and the other Wolves followed the guildmasters and merchants out.
The next order of business was the emperor’s council with his warlords. Lackeys struggled forward with a carpet-sized map of the land east of Eagle’s Ford. They unrolled it at the emperor’s feet, and the leaders of the Great Horde lined up along the map’s edges. The warlords saluted Ackal V, but there was a notable lack of fervor in their greeting.
Consternation gripped Valaran as she realized she didn’t recognize a single face among them. The warlords from her first husband’s reign were gone-slain by bakali or nomads, or executed by their own emperor for failing to win victories. Only two commanders of experience remained, Lord Tremond and Lord Regobart. Tremond governed the city of Thorngoth, on the south coast. He and his hordes guarded the mouth of the Thorn River, doorway to the heartland of the empire. Regobart commanded the garrison at Six Dunes, the imperial fortress near Tarsis. The empire’s longtime enemy had been quiet so far, but Ackal V did not dare withdraw Regobart’s hordes, for fear the Tarsans would join against the empire.
Most of the new warlords were quite young. There were a few graybeards, men loyal to the Ackal line who’d been recalled from home and hearth to serve in this time of crisis. But not one of them had ever commanded more than a handful of hordes, much less an army.
“The enemy is across the Dalti,” Ackal V said, his matter-of-fact tone at odds with the frightening news. “Their strength and purpose are unknown. Where and how do we destroy them, my lords?”
One of the graybeards, Andruth by name, stepped forward. “Your Majesty, we have twenty hordes concentrated at Verdant Isle.” He bent stiffly and placed a fist-sized onyx token on the map at a spot some five leagues from the capital. “Twelve more are coming down from the Northern Hundred under Lord Ducarrel, and eight are mustered at Bengoth. Lord Crumont’s army has fallen back to the Ackal Path to defend the capital.” Andruth set more tokens down at those spots.
“A line two hundred leagues long and only ninety-eight hordes to defend it?”
Andruth scrubbed his iron-colored beard and exchanged a look with several of his older comrades.
The emperor knew the meaning of that look. “I will not call up the landed hordes! Fat landowners and their sheep-herder minions! I might as well cast the crown of my ancestors into the gutter and be done with it!”
“Majesty, the landed hordes are loyal to the empire.”
Valaran admired the old general’s nerve. His well-chosen words were a veiled reproofs-loyal to Ergoth did not necessarily mean loyal to Ackal V.
“In the reigns of my uncle and father, of unfortunate name”-the emperor meant Pakin II and III-“landed hordes fought against the dynasty and for the line of the usurpers.”
Many provincial hordes had indeed aligned themselves with the Pakin Pretender. That was ancient history to everyone but Ackal V.
Andruth nodded, “Few warriors from those days remain, Majesty. There are over one hundred and fifty landed hordes available. They need only be summoned to service.”
Ackal kicked over the onyx marker signifying the troops at Verdant Isle. “Mention those traitors again and I’ll have your tongue out!” he snarled. Andruth firmed his lips and said no more.
“Send couriers to the Seascapes and the Southwest Hundred,” Ackal V said, resuming his seat. “Muster every imperial horde in both provinces and march them”-he looked at the map-“to Gaer.”
This was a small town in the fertile, forested triangle between the Thorn and Dalti rivers, southwest of the city. Scribes took down the emperor’s order, and couriers were dispatched immediately.
The warlords took turns describing the progress of the bakali through the open country northeast of the capital. Following their usual pattern, the lizard-men moved in a tight column, driving out every human they encountered.
Thousands of refugees were streaming south, to Daltigoth, seeking protection. So far the enemy was moving more west than south, toward the hill country between the capital and Ropunt Forest. There would seem to be nothing there to entice them-no cities, not even many farms. The council listened to learned sages from the College of Wizards speculate on the bakali’s goals, but in the end, no one could say with confidence what the lizard-men would do.
A courier arrived, and hurried to whisper in Andruth’s ear. The old warrior said, “Your Majesty, there is news from the east-a messenger from the governor of Caergoth!”
The messenger came forward. Although exhausted and still covered by the dust of his journey, he saluted his emperor smartly.
“Wornoth, by Your Majesty’s grace Governor of Caergoth and Marshal of the Plains Hundred, sends you greetings,” the messenger declaimed.
He then described rather grim conditions in Caergoth. The city was strongly held by eleven hordes, but food was in short supply as marauding nomads had cut off incoming supplies.
The emperor appeared bored by another litany of trouble, but the courier’s final piece of news pierced his disinterest.
“There is good news Your Majesty! We have word of a victory over the plainsmen!” Surprise rippled through the council. “Lord Wornoth has it on good authority that the raiding tribes of Chief Tokasin were defeated near the razed town of Juramona.”
The name of Tol’s hometown made Valaran’s pulse quicken.
“Who has done this? What general? What hordes?” Ackal V queried sharply.
The courier flushed. “Nothing more is known, Your Majesty. Foragers from Caergoth caught some nomads fleeing south. Lord Wornoth had them questioned. Under torture the savages admitted that their chief, Tokasin, had led some four or five thousand plainsmen to Juramona to destroy a band of Ergothians. Instead, he was himself destroyed!”
“Andruth, what imperial troops remain in the vicinity?” the emperor asked.
The old general, lately come to his post, plainly didn’t know. “They could he remnants of Lord Bessian’s men.”
The courier shook his head. “Forgive me, Majesty, great lords, but the nomads said the Ergothians were not Riders of the Great Horde. They fought on foot.”
Astonishment gusted through the audience hall. Valaran, found her husband glaring at her. His thoughts were plainly the same as hers, only far less kindly intended.
“Where’s Winath?” Ackal shouted. “Send the Mistress of the White Robes forward!”
Steady old Winath slipped through the press of armored warlords. She looked small among such company, but carried herself with great poise.
“Old woman,” Ackal said, “scry for me what’s happening at Juramona. Put all your sages to work on this. Nothing else is important right now.”
“Yes, Majesty.” After a brief pause, she added, “We’ve not had much success scrying the distant provinces, sire. An unknown power obscures every scene, like a wall of fog.”
The emperor’s eyes were hard. “Your failures interest me not at all, White Robe. Find out what I want to know, or give way to someone who can.”
Winath understood him perfectly. If she did not succeed, she would face the same gruesome death as her predecessor, Oropash.
As the wizard departed, Valaran, claiming fatigue, excused herself. She exited slowly and with all decorum, but outside the audience hall, she dismissed her escorts and hurried up a small, hidden staircase that led to the rear of the imperial library.
A male scribe working within uttered a startled squeak as he beheld the empress’s entrance. He fled as the law required, and the other scribes likewise abandoned the library. As the main doors banged shut behind them, she knew she need not fear interruption.
She flipped her veil back over her head. Heart hammering, hands shaking, she took down the cedarwood chest that held the Ergothinia and quickly freed the magic mirror from its hiding place. She lifted its lid, bu
t only her own wide, shadowed eyes stared back at her from the mirror’s perfect surface.
“Where are you, wizard?” she hissed. “I must speak with you!”
She continued her attempts to contact him until the lamp’s oil was exhausted and the smoky yellow flame went out. Helbin never appeared. Valaran slammed the mirror box shut, all but cracking the precious glass with the force of her frustration.
Where was Helbin? He was supposed to remain at Tuva’s Blockhouse on the Plucked Path, keeping watch on the advancing bakali, while waiting for Lord Tolandruth to appear from the east. Valaran had no doubt the victory at Juramona was Tol’s doing. Only he could lead foot soldiers successfully against swarms of horsemen. But where in Chaos’s name was Helbin?
Valaran took a deep breath, mastering her emotions. She had to maintain her poise, or Ackal V would know his suspicions were correct. He would know Tol was back in the empire. There could be any number of innocent reasons for Helbin’s silence. He might be involved in an incantation, or perhaps he’d left the blockhouse for a short time and not taken his mirror.
Or perhaps he’d been detected! The wizards in the Tower of High Sorcery had not gained their places by being foolish. Winath’s people might have found Helbin and neutralized his activities. He might even have fallen victim to random brigands or nomads.
She returned the mirror box to the cedar case, and the case to its place on the shelf. Her fears were pointless. Whether Helbin was lost, she certainly was not. She had many resources, her design would go forward. As long as there was breath in her body, she would not give up.
And what of Zala? The half-breed had had plenty of time to find Tol, and perhaps she had succeeded. Valaran could easily imagine Tol, upon learning of his hometown’s fall, rushing there to rally the survivors in the province. It would be a logical step, and an honorable one, just like him. It also would explain both Zala’s tardiness and the unexpected victory over Tokasin’s rampaging tribesmen.
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