An Ill Fate Marshalling

by Glen Cook

  He spoke a while longer, trying to restore morale. He did not scruple against lying. When he finished he turned the troops over to their captains, who prepared to move into the city.

  “Major, they seem a little weak, number wise. What happened?”

  “Desertions. We lost close to seventy men. All the Marena Dimura scouts. Most of the lads of Nordmen background. The Wessons stood up better.”

  “They were always a more solid lot. All right. We’re going to split the force into two companies. One will accompany the Queen to the palace. The other will follow me to the Vorgreberger barracks. We’ll get them stirring, then start clearing the streets.”

  The Major looked out his window. An orange glow illuminated the underbelly of the clouds. “It may be too big a job for the tools at hand. General.”

  “We’ll try anyway, Major. That’s our job. Don’t relay your doubts to your men.”

  “Of course not, sir. If you’ll excuse me? Your Majesty?”

  “One moment,” Michael said, speaking for the first time. “Where’s Colonel Abaca?”

  “I haven’t heard anything since he ordered us into barracks.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  Passing through the city’s unguarded, deserted, open western gate, Michael told Inger, “That damned Credence wanted this. Guess he figured he wouldn’t leave you much to take over. Damn. He was a good man, too.”

  “I never saw much good in him.”

  “You looked at him as Marena Dimura, not as a man. Till today he was a perfect soldier. But for Bragi.”

  Inger didn’t respond.

  “Bragi was the glue that held everything together,” Michael mused. “Even the Estates respected him. His is going to be a hard act to follow.”

  “Don’t try to sell me anything, Michael.”

  Shouts came from the head of the column. A squadron whooped off after a band of looters. They were rounded up, tied neck to neck, and forced to march alongside. The number of prisoners grew steadily, though Michael insisted the column keep to the quieter parts of town.

  “They should be cut down where they’re found,” Inger complained.

  “Part of the problem is Credence’s savagery earlier,” Michael countered. “There’s a place for savagery, but not when you’re trying to smooth troubled waters. If we butchered anybody now we’d just get more angry people. You can’t intimidate a mob. It grows faster than you can cut it apart. When you’re dealing with a more limited, planned thing, like the riots a while back, then savagery can have some value.”

  He glanced over. Inger wasn’t really listening. Since departing the manor she had retreated ever farther into herself. She was realizing how much had settled onto her shoulders.

  There was a mob at the palace gate. Nordmen agitators were trying to get them to break in. The Guard was showing admirable restraint by not firing on them. Inger snapped, “Wait! Let me try first,” as the company commander began dispersing for a charge.

  “Your Majesty....”

  “They think I’m dead. Seeing me may calm them down.”

  Michael nodded. “I was right. You do have courage when it counts. Let her, Captain. Fiana used to do this sort of thing and people loved her for it.” Something touched his cheek coolly. He held out a hand. Sprinkles. He looked at the fire-bellied clouds over the Quarter. They seemed lower and fatter. “It may rain. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  Inger looked at him strangely. “I’m scared to death, Michael. I wasn’t born without fear the way you were.”

  Michael felt for more raindrops and replied, “That’s courage, Your Majesty. Courage is what makes you go ahead, despite your fear, and do what needs to be done. Ah. Comes the cold wind. Lovely indeed.”

  Inger smiled weakly. “That’s supportive. A little oblique, but supportive.”

  “I’ll go with you. Captain, how about half a dozen men, just to stay close?”

  “Very well.” The captain called names. Inger started forward. Michael nudged his mount, caught up, smiling into the teeth of the rising wind. The six men hurried after him.

  There was enough light round the gate, from torches in the mob and lights on the wall, for Inger to be recognized. Word spread quickly. Rioters quieted, gawked. Agitators gulped and fled into the shadows. People backed out of Inger’s path. A few dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. Someone atop the wall had the presence of mind to sound trumpets and add to the impact.

  The mob began dispersing as the gate opened and twenty Guardsmen came forth. They began departing even faster when Michael took out a scrap of paper and nib of charcoal and pretended to be noting names. It was one moment when his reputation was a positive. As they passed beneath the wall, Trebilcock said, “They’ll spread the word. Things will start calming down. If a good storm breaks, so much the better. They’ll go home to get out of the rain.” Distant thunder punctuated his final remark.

  “I hope so, Michael. I saw enough getting here to last me a lifetime.”

  “Get used to it if you’re going to be Queen. These things happen. I’ve never figured out why. It’s like Vorgreberg has a fever it has to purge every so often.”

  A Guardsman rushed up to Michael. “Captain Trebilcock. Doctor Wachtel would like to see you immediately.”

  “About Prataxis?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How is he?”

  “Still breathing, sir, but that’s about all.”

  “I’ll be right there. Captain, you know what to do. Inger, you want to start taking charge?”

  “What about Fulk? Michael, it worries me, leaving him out there with only two women to watch him.”

  Michael smiled gently. “You might send some of your people to collect him, Your Majesty. If you’ll excuse me?”

  “Of course.” Inger dismounted and marched across the courtyard, toward the great audience chamber. The regal hauteur came over her. Michael heard her give orders to the nearest Guardsmen. He smiled again.

  “She’ll do,” he murmured. “She’ll do. Now, if we could do something about her cousin....” He hurried inside, toward Wachtel’s quarters.

  Prataxis was conscious when he arrived. A weak smile flickered across the old scholar’s lips. “Took you long enough,” he whispered. “Is she all right?”

  “Fine. And taking charge. We’ve got the troops moving again. Looks like there’ll be rain to help.” Michael glanced across Prataxis, his question unspoken. Wachtel shook his head.

  “I’m on my last legs, Michael,” Prataxis said. “I never thought it would come to this when I came here. Who attacks dons of the Rebsamen?” He tried to chuckle. It came out a pathetic gurgle. “Stay with her, Michael. Guide her. Your organization is almost a shadow government. Use it. For Kavelin’s sake.”

  Michael sighed. “Don’t put that on me, Derel.”

  “Was all your work in vain? Have you spent so many years building just to walk away? You can lighten the winds of change and soften the coming night. Don’t walk away. But be careful. There will be dreadful people near her.”

  “All right,” Michael said. “All right.” He didn’t mean it at the moment. He was just saying what a dying man wanted to hear. But even then, way back in his mind, there was a part of him which still believed in the dream.

  “Thank you, Michael. Now I feel I won’t have died entirely in vain.”

  “Die? Who’s going to die? You’ll be up and around in a few days.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Michael. I’d be dead now if I hadn’t been determined to see you before I go.”

  Yes, Michael thought. He could see Derel’s reserves going as he talked. He didn’t have long.

  “Michael, do one more thing for me.”

  “Name it.”

  “In my quarters. In the big cedar chest at the foot of my bed. All my notes and manuscripts. All the drawings I did with Varthlokkur... they’re more precious than gold, Michael. Get them back to the Rebsamen.” A pleading note had entered Prataxis’s voice. He was begging
that his life’s work be preserved.

  How could Michael deny him? “You’ve got it.” And this promise he meant to keep. “They’ll be gone before dawn.”

  “Thank you, Michael. You’re a good friend. Doctor, I’m finished now.”

  Wachtel gestured toward the door. “He’d rather it happened privately.”

  Michael nodded, began retreating.

  Prataxis went before Michael got out, a last, soft, “Gods save the King,” drifting over his dry lips.

  Michael walked alone for a long time, thinking. Prataxis had been his last friend here. He was alone in a hostile land now, surrounded by the growing might of people who hated him. He wouldn’t survive long if he stayed and tried to fight the good fight.

  He wasn’t afraid. Death held no terrors for him. But he was lonely, and loneliness was a foe he did not know how to defeat.

  Eventually he went down to Prataxis’s quarters and prepared the man’s manuscripts for shipment.

  It was there, deep in the night, with lightning stalking the heavens and a hard rain driving into the streets, that Inger’s messenger found him. “The Queen would like you to join her in the audience chamber, Captain. Planning session, she said.”

  Michael rose from Derel’s pallet. Despite the wealth that had been at the scholar’s command, he had lived a spartan life. “I’ll be right there.”

  26 Year 1016 AFE

  BRAGI CAME OUT of it suddenly, like flying through a door kicked open. One moment he was unconscious, the next wide awake. He surveyed his surroundings. He was in a large, well-furnished room. It was daytime. The air was hot and muggy. He tried to rise. Pain stabbed through his chest. His muscles refused to do more than pretend to try. He fell back.

  A man stepped through the door immediately. He wore the dress uniform of a noncommissioned officer and the badges of one of the legions of Shinsan’s Western Army. He stared for a moment, left without speaking.

  So, Bragi thought. Captured. Must have something special planned for me.

  They would, wouldn’t they? Mist had warned him often enough. They didn’t accept defeat gracefully.

  The battle came back. All the stink and sweat and fear. All the memories of how badly it had gone, how badly it had hurt Kavelin. He sank into a morass of shame. He should have known better. But he had bet against the long odds, counting on his luck. And luck had deserted him. And that was only right. Only a fool bet his luck. A wise man accepted it when it turned his way, but he didn’t count on it.

  Where am I? he wondered. It’s too warm to be anywhere in Shinsan.

  The door opened. The noncom reappeared, followed by two maskless Tervola. A short, broad one wore the badge of an army commander. Bragi frowned. Hsung was tall and lean, like most of his breed.

  The taller Tervola pulled the coverlet off Ragnarson’s nude frame, prodded his left side. Bragi winced. “Still tender?”

  “A little.”

  “Should be. You had six broken ribs and a punctured lung. Not to mention cuts, scrapes, bruises, and a concussion. A challenge to my art. He can talk, Lord Ssu-ma. Call me when he tires. I’ll give him a sedative. He still needs bed rest, and he looks like the kind who climbs out too early if you let him.”

  The shorter Tervola nodded, gestured in dismissal. He pulled a backless stool over to Bragi’s bed. “Thought we would lose you for a while,” he said.

  Bragi frowned. The voice was familiar.

  “Ah. Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i. We met at Lioantung. The day we disposed of the Deliverer.”

  “Now I remember. You didn’t speak....”

  “I’m a quick study with languages. Interpreters can be troublesome.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You have questions. Where are you? Argon. I have shifted Western Army’s headquarters here. We are harassing Matayanga’s flank. What else?”

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Why am I here? Why am I alive? I’ve been number one on your hate list for ages.”

  “Perhaps for some. Not for me. You’re here because you saved my life. I owe a life for a life. So you will become a guest of the empire. With the approval of the Princess.”

  Ragnarson struggled to get into a sitting position. His muscles betrayed him again. Shih-ka’i helped him sit, propped him with pillows. “Better?”

  “Much better. What happened? I had Hsung nailed to the wall, I thought. He was making an ass of himself. I should have had Throyes in my pocket before he knew I was there.”

  “You didn’t know? Prisoners said as much, but we didn’t believe them. Lord Hsung was removed. With extreme prejudice, as some say. I was sent to replace him, apparently after you were out of contact with Maisak. I broke off the attack on Hammad al Nakir, as the Princess instructed, then detected you moving in the north. The trap I laid almost destroyed me instead of you. I hadn’t given sufficient weight to your horsemen, not having served in the west during the war. Had we closed with you earlier in the day, our places would be reversed now. In fact, if your final charge hadn’t succumbed to panic, the situation might be reversed.”

  “They ran. I vaguely remember. The finest soldiers I’d ever led, but they panicked when it counted most.”

  “Perhaps if their commander hadn’t been killed at the beginning of the charge?”

  “Gjerdrum? Yes. Now I remember somebody saying he was dead. Maybe so. If he’d stayed alive to show the way.... But what does it matter? It’s over. It’s lost. Kavelin is lost. I played the fool, and handed all my enemies what they wanted.”

  “We all err.”

  “When I do, I do it right. One thing. I’ll never understand why you didn’t use the Power. You had us surrounded and pinned down. All you had to do was hit us with a few nasty spells. We couldn’t have done a damned thing. But you used your infantry, and almost got whipped. You must have lost a lot of men, and you need every one in Matayanga.”

  “Indeed.” Shih-ka’i rose, began to pace. “I didn’t use the Power because I was ordered not to. The Princess had been told not to.”

  “Who gives Mist orders?”

  “She wasn’t ordered. It was suggested. By your wizard friend.”

  “Varthlokkur?”

  “He promised to remain uninvolved as long as we didn’t call on the Power. I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t pretend to now. The man has been at your side for a decade. Why did he abandon you?”

  “Personal conflict, I guess. But I don’t understand either. So. Here I am. Prisoner for life, eh?”

  Shih-ka’i nodded. “Your imprisonment won’t be hard. You won’t be treated as a trophy, or such. You’ll live in comfort. You simply won’t be allowed to return home.”

  “How about if I give my parole?” He was thinking of Sherilee now, and growing melancholy. Never to see her again? That was sad.

  Shih-ka’i smiled. “I think not. It has long been the estimation of the Council that you are the empire’s most dangerous enemy. Having met your army, with it at a severe disadvantage, and been thoroughly bloodied, I’m inclined to agree. I owe you a life. Don’t ask for more.”

  Ragnarson smiled too. They understood each other, somewhat. “I was thinking of a woman. I’ll miss her a lot.”

  “She’s now Queen. And seems to be doing an unexpectedly competent job of maintaining order.”

  Bragi shied away from thoughts of Kavelin, except to remark, “I didn’t mean Inger. She and I went our own ways before I came east. I was thinking of... a girl I knew. A girl I’ll miss. There was something special there.”

  Shih-ka’i paced. After nearly a minute, he said, “Perhaps something can be arranged. We’ll speak of it after I’ve considered. For now, rest. You have a lot of recovering to do.” He removed the pillows from behind Ragnarson’s back.

  As Shih-ka’i was about to depart, Bragi said, “Lord Ssu-ma? You’re all right.”

  Shih-ka’i’s eyebrow rose questioningly.

  “Just saying I’m pleased that there are decent m
en among the Tervola.”

  Shih-ka’i smiled. “Thank you. Though I don’t think my colleagues would enjoy hearing that.”

  “Probably not.”

  The stay at Sam Chordine’s home had become a grinding bore for Sherilee. She was becoming neurotic, worrying about the King and fending off the fat man. “Kris,” she said one morning, “I’ll go crazy if we stay here much longer.”

  “We may not. We may go back.”

  “Back? We can’t do that.”

  “I talked to Aral again a little while ago. He’s heard from the Marena Dimura. Inger still thinks we’re dead. Credence wants us to come back and prove we’re not. To give him a rallying point.”

  “He wants young Bragi for a pretender, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “He could be that with us still here. The kids are too young for the Marena Dimura life, and that’s what they’d have to live. I could do it if I thought there was any point....” She burst into tears.

  “What is it?”

  “Kris, I miss him. We never had that much time together, but it’s like part of me has been ripped out. I just can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Kristen took the smaller woman into her arms, comforted her. “I know. I know. It’s still unreal to me, too. But we’re going to have to accept it.”

  “I don’t want to accept it. I want everything I’m never going to have. I hate politics.”

  “Take it easy.” Someone pounded on the door. “What is it?” Kristen demanded.

  “It’s Slugbait, Lady. I got a message from Captain Trebilcock.”

  Sherilee turned off the tears. Both women answered the door. Slug passed the courier case inside. “Something wrong?” he asked. “Anything I can do?”

  “Get Chordine to leave Sherry alone,” Kristen snapped.

  “He been after her again? I’ll break his legs.”

  “No. No. Just get him to back off. Don’t hurt him. We need him too much.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” Slugbait departed looking grim.

  Kristen ripped at the pouch. The enclosed letter was long, convoluted, and often confused. In part, it was a diary of recent events. Michael had included his misgivings, his dreads, his battles with his conscience. He had used the letter the way he had sometimes used Aral Dantice during their morning rides, as a vent.