An Ill Fate Marshalling

by Glen Cook

  The first flare caused a chorus of angry snarls. Trebilcock thought there were four hunters. Their claws clicked. Angry ruby eyes glared through gaps in the flames. “I hope you’re patient, boys.”

  They were. Till dawn threatened. Then they became ever more restless. Trebilcock wondered how intelligent they were. Would they realize that he could play this game almost forever?

  Now they made sounds like none he had heard before, deep-throated sounds of rage. He pictured four oversized black tigers slowly losing their tempers, though he knew any resemblance to big cats was coincidental.

  A pair of eyes drifted toward the fire. Though the beast was just beyond the fire, Michael could discern nothing of its size or shape. Norath meant them to be creatures of darkness, and they faded in perfectly.

  What might have been a paw lightninged through the flames. It ripped air a finger’s breadth from Michael’s nose. He was tempted to throw rocks and taunt the beast, the way monkeys torment a leopard. He thought better of it. Sometimes the leopard got even.

  Another beast reached in. This time Michael laid his blade along the flashing paw. The thing yelped, but Trebilcock knew he had not injured it seriously. Wounds bothered them very little. During the Great Eastern Wars only one means of handling them had been found. That required burying them too deep for escape.

  The things growled among themselves and paced.

  “Michael, old friend, I think you miscalculated. You should have kept going. They wouldn’t have caught you before dawn. They’re working themselves up to jump in here now.”

  Though the heat was murderous, he built his fires higher.

  He was not afraid of death, but the pointlessness of its occurring here irked him. He had always expected a more useful end.

  The growling and spitting hit a new note. They were ready. He braced himself, his sword poised to skewer the first monster through the fire.

  The caterwauling changed tone. Michael could see nothing through the intensified flames, but would have sworn that one beast’s howls were fading into the distance.

  The others were not pleased.

  A second monster voice hurtled away. Then another. But one remained, and he could read its thoughts from its low, soft sounds of rage. It was coming.

  He burrowed into his brush pile and waited.

  The thing roared. Its claws cut stone. Michael’s eyes widened as a darkness blotted his wall of flame. He thrust, every ounce of strength behind his pitiful toothpick of a blade.

  The monster halted in mid-leap. Trebilcock’s stroke fell short. He gaped as the savan dalage hurtled back through the fire, screaming and writhing. “What the hell?” he murmured. “Just what in the hell?”

  Claws scraped stone. Michael crouched. Another was coming.

  The angry protests began.

  Three repeats and then there was no sound in the wilderness. Michael Trebilcock seated himself cross-legged and faced his fire, sword across his lap, his forehead puckered in a frown.

  The fire suddenly died. And Michael said, “You. Of course. I should have guessed.”

  Ragnarson and Varthlokkur had taken turns dozing. Now Bragi wakened as a bar of sunlight slipped over the east wall and smacked his face. He moved a few feet to the right, cracked one eyelid.

  The wizard was awake too, and as groggy as he. Bragi asked, “Think we ought to give up? It’s got to be too late now.”

  “Not necessarily. Radeachar will bring him back.”

  “In pieces, maybe.”

  “If it comes to that.”

  “That pigeon restored my faith. I’d hate to lose him just when he turned me around. Wouldn’t hardly be fair, would it?”

  Irritably, the wizard said, “Do we have to talk? I’m a little old for these vigils. Give me a break.”

  “You got it.” Ragnarson leaned back, closed his eyes, let the torpor steal over him. Damn, but it was hard to sleep on a stairstep.

  Next thing he knew, someone was shaking him. He grabbed his sword.

  “Take it easy,” Michael said. “We’re all friends.”

  Ragnarson looked round quickly. The sun had risen to the ten o’clock position. Varthlokkur was trying to wake up too.

  The wizard asked, “Michael, will you crack my neck for me? I think I popped it out, leaning against this damned wall.”

  Trebilcock placed one hand on the side of the wizard’s head, the other under his chin. “Don’t everybody get excited at once.” He rolled Varthlokkur’s head a few times, yanked. The courtyard walls echoed the pop.

  “Ey! Don’t break it!”

  “Yes sir, Mister Crab-Ass Wizard, sir. Maybe I should fly back and keep walking. Give you time to organize the parades.”

  Bragi grumbled, “Glad you’re back, Michael. Glad you’re alive. Where the hell have you been? We waited up all night.”

  “The Unborn didn’t find me till almost sunrise. Then he wanted to play with the savan dalage. Flying is something! I’ve got to try it again. You can see half the world. You look down and it’s like seeing a perfect map.”

  Varthlokkur rubbed his neck. “Next time you feel one of these mysterious jaunts coming on, tell somebody. Save us some time and grief.”

  Ragnarson growled, “I want to talk to you about that, Michael. Somehow, I got to get the word through to you. Stop being so damned secretive. You were lucky this time. Your pigeon beat the odds. But what if it hadn’t? Your whole damned outfit would have died with you. Nobody else knows what the hell is going on.”

  Michael sighed. He turned to the Unborn. “How about taking me back? Let’s try this homecoming again tomorrow.”

  Varthlokkur asked, “What did you mean about the savan dalage?”

  “He kept them off me till the sun came up. Then he plopped me on top of a pillar of sandstone. Then he dragged one out of hiding, backed off about ten miles, and came at me so fast I wouldn’t have seen him if he wasn’t coming right at me. I had to lay down so the wind wouldn’t blow me off when he went over.

  “Just before he got there, he dropped the savan dalage. It hit the rock so hard I thought the whole pillar would go down. And....”

  “And?” Varthlokkur prompted.

  “Those things are tough. Not tough enough to take that, but you know what? It didn’t die. It was smashed up, but it kept trying to get into the shade.”

  “Norath invests his monsters with a certain vitality. The thing will mend and be back in business in a few months. But congratulations, Radeachar. An effective expedient. Better than anything we thought of during the war.”

  Groaning, Bragi climbed to his feet. “What say let’s go have breakfast? Maybe full stomachs will make us more enthusiastic about your return, Michael. And you can tell the story from the beginning. I mean the beginning where you got the notion that Al Rhemish was the place to dig.”

  Michael developed a sour expression. He looked as though he might have been happier back in the desert.

  Ragnarson had gotten in a solid six hours of dreamless sleep. He was feeling good. He barely cursed Dahl for having wakened him. “You’re sure Nepanthe’s in labor? It’s awful early yet, isn’t it?”

  Haas shrugged. “I don’t know, Sire. I did hear that they thought it might be another two weeks.”

  “That’s pretty close. Elana always came in a little early. Happens with big babies. Mine were all whoppers. That reminds me. Today is Ainjar’s birthday. They’re giving him a party tonight. See if you can find something he’d like. I don’t know if I’ll go yet. If I don’t, we’ll send it out.”

  “Of course, Sire. I know just the thing.”

  “Don’t make it clothes. Kids hate getting clothes. One time, when we still had the place in Itaskia, Elana gave Ragnar a suit in cloth. Beautiful blue cloth. Expensive as hell. Specially tailored in the city. Know what he said?”

  Dahl looked nostalgic. “Those were happy days, weren’t they? Oh. Excuse me, Sire. No. What did he say?”

  “‘But Mom, I already have a pair of pants!’
” Ragnarson guffawed. “He already had a pair of pants! He was right, too, far as he went. He wouldn’t have changed them before they fell off if his mother hadn’t made him.”

  “You miss them, don’t you, Sire?”

  Ragnarson went cold. “Yeah, Dahl. I miss them awful. All of them. Your mom and dad as much as any of them.”

  “There’s hardly any of us left.”

  “But this is a new life. That’s what I tell myself. That we’ve been lucky enough to have two lives. What do you do, Dahl?”

  “Try not to remember too much, Sire.”

  “Ever met my daughter-in-law, Dahl?”

  “I know her, Sire. Just to speak to.”

  “Want to come along if I go out there tonight? Take a closer look?” It had struck him that, while Kavelin suffered a shortage of bachelors, he was surrounded by unattached males. Dahl. Gjerdrum. Aral Dantice. Michael. Even Derel. Of the lot only Gjerdrum had a regular girl, and that was a doomed relationship.

  “I don’t think so, Sire. That would be inappropriate.”

  “Inappropriate? She’s female and alive.... Dahl, sometimes you beat hell out of me.”

  “I’m sorry to distress you, Sire.”

  “Shit. Distress me? Hell. Never mind. Go tell the Queen I’m on my way over. That I have a favor to ask.”

  Haas bowed slightly, stiffly, and backed out. Bragi muttered, “Well, I got to him for a minute. There’s somebody inside there.”

  Ten minutes later he was at Inger’s door. “Hello, Toby. Want to tell them I’m here?”

  “Yes, Sire.” The guard knocked, spoke to a woman. “Just a minute, Sire.”

  “How’s life treating you, Toby?”

  “Good enough, Sire. Uh.... Do we have to forfeit if we miss our next match?” He was an alternate on the Guards team.

  “I still have to talk to the judges. Maybe they’ll give us a postponement. We don’t want to chance somebody getting killed just so we don’t miss a match, do we?”

  Toby looked dubious. Captures was important. The Guards had lost just the one match so far. They were in contention. “But if we did forfeit, we’d be one down. We’d never catch those Charygin Hall bravos.”

  “That’s life, Toby. Sometimes you have to make the hard choices.”

  The door opened. Ragnarson stepped past the guard. In seconds he was crossing a room to take Inger’s extended hands. She wore one of her more dazzling smiles.

  “I must be doing something right. This’s the second time this week. In broad daylight.”

  He kissed her cheeks, surprised her with a strong smack on the lips. “That green does things for you. Randiness didn’t bring me here, but maybe I’ll change my mind.”

  “Thelma, go away before you find out how human royalty is.” Inger raised an eyebrow. “What, pray, did bring you?”

  “Nepanthe’s water broke. I thought it would be a nice gesture if you offered to help.”

  Inger frowned. She abhorred the birthing process. “What could I do?”

  “Moral support. It would mean something to her.”

  “I see. Another installment on your debt.”

  He winced. “Maybe. And maybe because I wish you could be friends.”

  “All right. Maybe it’ll do me some good too.”

  “You’re okay, you know that?”

  Her eyes recovered their twinkle. “It’s rumored that I’m good in bed, too.”

  “Who could’ve told you that?”

  “A man I went to bed with in a hospital in Itaskia.”

  “I remember him. Soldier fellow. Wounded. Maybe the fever clouded his judgment.”

  “I could always prove it.”

  Bragi latched the door. “You’re talking yourself into trouble, woman.”

  “Oh, no.” She rose. “You’re the one who’s got trouble, old man.”

  “Old man?” He lunged. She squealed as he threw her over his shoulder.

  After supper Ragnarson joined Varthlokkur in his sitting room. “You have a classic gait to your pacing.”

  “Should I be in there?”

  “Does she want you?”

  “I don’t know. Wachtel doesn’t.”

  “I see his point. How’s she doing?”

  “All right, they say.”

  On cue, Wachtel and Inger came from the bedroom. “Well?” Varthlokkur demanded.

  “She has a long way to go. It’ll come around midnight, I’d guess.”

  Inger slipped her arms around Bragi. “It’s not as bad as I expected. She’s braver than I was.”

  “You did all right.”

  “I acted like a spoiled kid. I’m ashamed whenever I remember the things I said.”

  Bragi shrugged. “Women do that. They don’t really mean it. If they did, the race would die out. No woman would have more than one baby.”

  “It’s changed her. She’s out of her shell. She’s interesting.”

  “All my friends are interesting. Maybe not very nice, or couth, but interesting. I’ve got to go. It’s Ainjar’s birthday. I promised I’d go to his party.”

  “Tell him happy birthday from me.”

  “Sure. Look at that.”

  Varthlokkur was furiously busy. “I forgot to cast horoscopes for the child.” He flung books and charts, pens and inkwells onto a table. “Midnight. Damn.”

  Ragnarson grinned. “That’ll keep him out of the way. Bye, Love.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Be good.”

  Ragnarson went to the stables wondering what was happening to them. A refreshing warmth had crept into their relationship.

  He could not count the children at the house in Lieneke Lane. They would not hold still. When he arrived they seemed to be playing Captures with the ground floor serving as field. Gundar made a lordly referee. Ainjar and his sister yelled, “Hi, Dad,” as they hurtled past.

  From a seat on the stair Kristen looked at him in mute appeal. “The barbarians are here,” she said.

  “And they’re our children, eh? Sounds like Prataxis. Don’t you have any help?”

  “Mist, of all people. She’s showing the cook how to make some kind of punch. Julie was supposed to come, but her little boy took sick.”

  “That’s all?”

  She flashed a knowing smile. “You were expecting someone else?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I hear you took personal delivery of the message I sent the other day.”

  “Oh.” More to himself than to Kristen, he mumbled, “Women are worse at kiss and tell than men.”

  “Kiss? Oh, my. I didn’t hear about that. Tell me all about it.”

  “In a manner of speaking. Kristen, don’t pull a stunt like that again. Next time it might be somebody nasty. And you might get caught.”

  “Fooey. I’m grown up.”

  “And we live in a world filled with bear-traps. Don’t go sticking your fingers in them.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. What did you get Ainjar?”

  The package rested on the stair beside him. “I don’t know. I had Dahl get it. I was running all day. Nepanthe went into labor. That threw everything out of kilter.”

  “Then you’ll both be surprised. I shouldn’t tease you, but.... Well, Sherilee didn’t come because she isn’t ready.”

  “What?”

  “She’s thinking about what you said.”

  His heartbeat quickened. He had a sinking feeling. He was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He stared into nothing and asked, “Honestly, Kristen, what would you think if something did happen? I mean, I’m a married man. She’s your friend. And half my age.”

  “I wouldn’t think less of either of you. I think I’d be happy for her. The only thing is.... Well, you are married. And she isn’t. Both of you could get hurt. I wouldn’t want that.”

  “That’s why I said what I said the other day. Guess I’m mellowing. Fifteen years ago I would’ve said damn the consequences.”

  “
And I think it’s that caring that attracts her. She’s been through it with the `damn-the-consequences’ type. They’re also the `the-hell-with-you’ type when the consequences close in.”

  “Sometimes you scare me, Kristen. You give me the feeling there’s a wise old woman behind those good looks.”

  “Don’t stop now. I take my compliments where I can get them.”

  Mist entered the room. Ragnarson was amazed. She wore an apron. She looked matronly as she settled the thundering herd. She also looked more radiant than she had since Valther’s demise. Bragi observed, “I guess Aral had the cure for what ails her.”

  “The way he comes and goes, you’d think they were kids having their first affair.”

  “You never get too old for that magic. Especially if it’s a long time between loves.”

  Kristen looked bleak. She asked, “Are you solving any of your problems?”

  “I know who tried to kill Liakopulos and Abaca. Magden Norath. A sorcerer. I don’t know why. Varthlokkur thinks he did it for hire. He doesn’t have any emotional connection with anybody here.”

  “How do you hire a wizard?”

  “Everybody has some kind of price. Somebody offered him something he wanted.”

  Kristen’s doorman approached the stair. “Sire, there’s an officer here who wants to speak with you. Captain Haas.”

  “Send him in.”

  “He didn’t want to intrude, Sire.”

  “He wouldn’t be. He’s like part of the family.” Haas’s mother had been Kristen’s housekeeper till her death last year. “Get him.”

  Dahl stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Report from Throyes, Sire. Through Captain Trebilcock’s people. By pigeon, I understand. Supposedly a final message from Trebilcock’s agent there. He says Lord Hsung received a message from somebody inside Castle Krief. He says he couldn’t obtain access to the text, but that Lord Hsung was pleased. Trebilcock’s contact says he thought the news that there’s an eastern agent here would itself be of inestimable value.”

  “As indeed it is,” Ragnarson replied, aping the younger man’s style. “I’d be amazed if my enemies didn’t have people here. But I am surprised Hsung got his hooks into someone. I don’t want to loose the Unborn.... Bad for morale. But it’s time I winnowed out the dangerous ones. Maybe Michael can turn them around. Any word on the wizard’s wife?”