A Cruel Wind

by Glen Cook

  ii) Walk to the coast

  With one exception, the people chose to abandon everything to Captain Wilhusen. The exception was Bevold Lif. The Freylander refused to budge. They had survived bandits, wolves, weather, and war, he declared, and he would survive Greyfells’s political successors. He was staying. Somebody had to keep the soldiers from stealing the silverware.

  They left the grant with little but food and clothing. Preshka was the only adult not walking. He rode a donkey. The forest paths were impassable for wagons and horses.

  The way led within forty miles of Itaskia, and for two days they had to travel open farmlands above the capital, hurrying to cross a strait of civilization which ran north to Duchy Greyfells and West Wapentake, a strait that separated two great islands of forest in the midlands. Unfriendly eyes found them there. As they reached the western forest, they spied the dust of many riders.

  “You think they’ll wait for us on the other side?” Elana asked.

  Turran shrugged. “They don’t know where we’ll come out.”

  “How much figuring would it take? They know where the Minister’s place is…”

  “But we’ve got the jewel. We can slip past them in the dark.”

  “You hope. You said you’d tell me about it.”

  “Later.”

  “It’s later. Talk.”

  “All right. After I make sure they don’t come in after us. Go on a few miles. We’ll catch up.”

  She took the trail-breaker’s position, following a path tramped by generations of deer. Valther followed her, hand on sword hilt but eyes faraway, as if he were remembering another retreat. Turran had promised to tell that tale, too.

  After posting sentries she sat with Rolf, who was pale with discomfort. Valther remained near her, as he always did when Turran was absent.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked, laying one hand on Rolf’s.

  “Miserable.” He coughed softly. “Lung’s never going to be right.”

  “Think we’ll make it?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s out of our hands. We will or we won’t. Depends on how much manpower they want to waste. They’re not stupid. Catching us won’t change the big picture.”

  “Tell me about Kavelin. I’ve never been there.”

  “I’ve told what’s to tell. Except that it’d be a nice country if someone skimmed off about fifty thousand Nordmen and ambitious commoners. I liked it. Might settle there if Bragi straightens them out.”

  “You think he can? I mean, sixteen hundred men against a whole country, and maybe El Murid?”

  “Sixteen hundred plus Bragi, Mocker, and Haroun.”

  “Who’re only men. Rolf, I’m scared. It’s been so long since I was on my own.”

  “I’m here. I’ll always be here… I’m sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I understand. Ah, here’s Turran.”

  The man came over, squatted by his brother, said, “Well, no worse. I was afraid being chased would hurt… Oh, they’ve posted watchers, but the rest went south again. Guess they’ll wait on the other side. How’re you making it, Rolf? Pushing too hard?”

  “I’ll survive. Iwa Skolovdans are feisty.”

  Turran smiled wanly. “Won’t lay down and die, that’s sure.” Once, briefly, he had been master of that city. “Might as well make camp. We could do a few more miles, but we’ll be better off for the rest. Especially the children.”

  Elana snorted. “Not Ragnar. Nor Ethrian. They’ve put in more miles than any of us. But maybe you’ll find time to tell the story you’ve been promising.”

  Turran’s dark eye went to Valther. “All right. After supper.”

  “I’ll tell Nepanthe.”

  iii) War in the east

  “I suppose the story begins,” Turran told an audience of Elana, Nepanthe, Preshka, and Uthe and Dahl Haas, “when Valther talked Brock and me into going to Hellin Daimiel. Jerrad wouldn’t go. He went back to the mountains. I guess he’s probably hunting and trying to rebuild Ravenkrak. Fool. Anyway, in Hellin Daimiel we were approached by a representative of the Monitor of Escalon. He was recruiting westerners to help in a war.

  “We became part of a devil’s catch of hedge wizards, assassins, mercenaries, and marginal types that might be useful in a wizard’s war.

  “It was a long journey east. By the time we reached Tatarian, Escalon’s capital, there were a thousand of us.

  “We found out that the country was at war with Shinsan. Escalon was strong, but no match for the Dread Empire.

  “Escalon was losing. The whole kingdom lay under a siege of night. Demonic, poisonous hordes of hell-things fought for both sides.

  “We foreigners were thrown in right away. And we stalled Shinsan for a while. But then they started advancing again.

  “The Monitor decided to chance everything on one vast thaumaturgic battle. It defies description. It lasted nine days. When it was over an area as big as Itaskia had been wasted. Millions died. In Escalon only Tatarian and the major cities survived. In Shinsan, we don’t know. We hadn’t lost, but we hadn’t won, and that, in the long run, meant our defeat.

  “It was during that battle that we lost Brock. We got too involved to look out for ourselves. An arrow got through and wounded him.

  “That it had been loosed a thousand miles away in Shinsan was no excuse. We’d been provided with ways of sensing the attack. We just didn’t pay attention.

  “The wound was minor, but the shaft bore soul-devouring spells. In the end he begged us to give him a clean death.”

  Turran paused for a moment, locked in his memories.

  “Afterward, the Monitor decided Escalon was lost. He summoned Valther and me. He told us that Shinsan would turn on Matayanga next. He believed the world’s hope, ultimately, lay in the west because Yo Hsi and Nu Li Hsi had been destroyed here. What he was trying to do, he told me, was to buy time. He hoped somebody like Varthlokkur or the Star Rider would see what was happening and do something about the west’s political choas.

  “That’s when he gave me the jewel, Elana. The one I sent you. You’ve been using it for a warden, its least important power.

  “The Monitor believed it was one of the Poles of Power. How he came by it I don’t know, and I don’t think it really is a Pole, but one thing’s sure. It’s important. I saw him use it. He could move mountains… He wanted me to get it to the Star Rider. But I don’t think so. I don’t know why. When this’s over, I’m going to try to take it to Varthlokkur. He knows the Dread Empire. I think he’d have the best shot at stopping them.”

  Silence closed in, drawing a tight circle round the campfire. For several minutes Turran’s audience digested what he had had to say. Then his sister, glancing at a fitfully dozing Valther, asked, “Why didn’t you come home? You lost Brock, and the war was over…”

  “It wasn’t over. Just lost. There was time to buy. We thought we could help. After the great wizards’ battle both sides had to rely on ordinary soldiers for a while. It’s generally conceded that I’m a pretty good general. Impetuous and over-optimistic, they tell me, but less so when I’m working for somebody else. I managed to take the battle to Shinsan for several months.”

  “I’m confused. You’ve mentioned Nu Li Hsi’s heirs, and Yo Hsi’s. Who were you fighting?”

  “Both. Sometimes one, sometimes the other. They were feuding. Shinsan’s army wasn’t. It took the orders of whoever gave them. When we first got to Escalon, we fought Yo Hsi’s daughter. After the great battle, it was O Shing. I don’t know when they made the changeover. The transition couldn’t be detected. A few months later we were fighting Mist again.

  “I saw the woman… Unbelievable. So much evil in such a beautiful package.”

  “But what about Valther?” Nepanthe demanded.

  “You never did have any patience, did you? Well, it’s a complicated story. Try not to interrupt.” Nepanthe and Turran had been bickering for years.

  “By some snare of the Power he still had, the Monitor cau
ght one of the Tervola. He managed to keep the man alive long enough to find out that Mist herself would take charge of the final assault on Tatarian.

  “The Monitor planned one last cast of the dice. Its only objective was Mist’s death.

  “Valther and I were heart and soul of the plan. And we blew it.

  “Our job was to get captured.” Turran talked in little gusts, like an indecisive breeze. During his pauses he poked the fire with a stick, threw acorns at tree trunks, used the fingernails on one hand to clean those on the other. He didn’t want to relive these memories. “Because we’d been involved in her father’s death. The Monitor thought she’d want to question us. If she did, we were supposed to change sides, then kill her when we got the chance.

  “It worked too good.

  “The woman has a weakness. Vanity. Make it two. Insecurity, too. We played to them. And she started keeping us around like pets. She had a million questions about the west.

  “Things started going wrong when Valt started believing what he was saying…”

  Sighs escaped his listeners. They became more attentive. Turran stirred the fire again.

  “It was my fault… I should’ve… In Shinsan they use herbs to increase their grasp of the Power. It stops you from getting older, too. But once you use them, you have to keep on…”

  “You?…” Nepanthe interjected.

  “In the service of the Dread Empire, one must. After he had betrayed Escalon, Valt tried to make it up by killing Mist. It didn’t work.

  “I don’t know. Maybe her wickedness was polluted by mercy. Maybe an accidental thread of love got woven into her tapestry of evil. Whatever, of all the possible punishments, she chose the simplest. She took away our supply of herbs.”

  “That’s why he’s this way?” This time it was Elana who couldn’t restrain herself. “How come you recovered?”

  “I’m not an expert on the human mind. Yes, I recovered. That was six months ago, in an asylum in Hellin Daimiel. For a while I didn’t know if what I remembered was true or just a nightmare. Nobody knew anything about us. The Watch had found us in the street and committed us for our own protection. The scholars who studied us told me Valther is using drug withdrawal as an excuse not to come back and face his guilt.”

  “If only Mocker were here,” Nepanthe mused. Her eyes were sad as she gazed at Valther. “He might be able to reach Valt.”

  “Time is the cure,” Turran told her. “It worked for me. So I keep hoping.”

  iv) Auszura Littoral

  With Elana’s jewel guiding them, they slipped through their enemies to Sieveking. But the transport wasn’t yet there. When

  Dingolfing

  did arrive it was in no condition to sail to the Auszura Littoral. The ship had encountered heavy weather shortly after leaving Portsmouth, then had met a Trolledyngjan reever off Cape Blood. Her captain, Miles Norwine, said rigging repairs might take a week. Heavy damage, where the Trolledyngjan had rammed, would have to wait for the yards at Itaskia.

  “It seems,” said Elana, standing on the quay with Turran and Nepanthe, “that somewhere in the house of the gods, probably in the jakes, there’s a little pervert who gets his pleasure making me miserable.”

  Turran chuckled. “Know what? I’ll bet the head man over there’s been thinking the same thing.” He indicated tents crowning a hill overlooking the estate.

  Later, a messenger brought the news that Bragi had crossed the Porthune.

  “The renegades,” said Turran, “might try their luck when they find out. I’d better get something ready.”

  That night he and the men laid an ambush at the edge of the estate. Elana, with Dahl Haas under her wing, went to observe.

  Sure enough, near midnight, men came sneaking through the brush. Turran sprang his trap. The surprise was complete. In minutes a dozen had been slaughtered and the rest sent whooping up the hillside.

  Dahl, half-wild, used his dagger to finish a casualty who came staggering toward Elana, then, realizing what he had done, heaved his supper and began crying. Elana was trying to calm him when his father appeared.

  “What happened?” Uthe asked.

  Elana explained.

  Uthe put his arm around his son. “You did well,” he said. “It’s always hardest the first time. Lot of men do their conscience-racking first, get themselves killed hesitating.”

  Dahl nodded, but reassurances did little good. The experience was too intensely personal.

  Captain Norwine got his rigging repaired and a patch on his hull. He was willing to risk the trip. Elana put it to a vote. It went in favor.

  Dingolfing

  put out and beat round Cape Blood, sailed south past the Silverbind Estuary, Portsmouth, and the Octylyan Protectorate without mishap. Norwine hugged the coast like a babe his mother. He was prepared to go aground if trouble developed. They weathered a minor storm off the Porthune, spending two nervous days at the pumps and buckets, but came through with no damage other than to landlubbers’ stomachs.

  “Sail ho!” a lookout cried just north of Sacuescu. Norwine put his helm over and ran for shallow water. Turran and the shipboard Marines prepared for a fight. But the vessel proved to be the

  Rifkin,

  out of Portsmouth. The fat caravel dipped her merchant’s colors to

  Dingolfing

  ’s naval ensign.

  Norwine kept everyone at stations once they passed Sacuescu. They were near the Red Isles where, despite regular patrols by the Itaskian Navy, pirates lurked. But their luck held. They made the fishing port of Tineo, midway between Sacuescu and Dunno Scuttari, without incident.

  From Tineo it was a twelve-mile walk to the Minister’s villa, which occupied a headland with a spectacular view of the sea. The staff expected them. They seemed accustomed to hiding friends of the Minister.

  The Auszura Littoral was all Turran had promised, and utterly peaceful. So peaceful that, after a few months, it began to grate. There was nothing to do but wait for rumors from Kavelin, which were unreliable by the time they filtered through to Tineo.

  Rolf began wandering, sometimes accompanied by Uthe, to Sacuescu and Dunno Scuttari. Elana didn’t weather his absences well. He was her last touchstone, almost her conscience. His absences grew more frequent and extended. She found herself thrown more and more into the company of Nepanthe, Turran, and Valther.

  Nepanthe, after Rolf, had been her best friend for years, but her constant company was wearing. Nepanthe was a worrier.

  Turran remained a perfect gentleman, ever attentive and willing to entertain. She began to fear what might happen. She tried to stay near Gerda, whose basilisk eye could still the passion of a cat in heat.

  Then Rolf and Uthe disappeared. She thought it another of their jaunts till she discovered their weapons missing.

  “Gerda, where’ve they gone?” she demanded. Like certain gods, the woman saw the sparrows fall.

  “Where do you think? Kavelin, of course. With help for himself. Who’ll be coming home someday, I’ll remind you, and be expecting everything as he left it.”

  Why couldn’t Rolf stay put? Was he sublimating his love? Or just searching for the spear with his name?

  Autumn leaves were falling on the Littoral. Would it be getting on winter in Kavelin?

  The night Rolf left she sat up late with the Tear of Mimizan. Troubled, she used the thing more as a focus for her attention than as a means of checking Bragi’s well-being.

  The jewel suddenly seized her attention. The light within was strong and growing stronger. Bragi was in trouble.

  The light flashed suddenly, so brightly she was momentarily blinded. At the same instant there was a scream from another room.

  “The children!” she gasped. She rushed toward the sound. It went on and on. Behind her, the ruby painted her bedroom shades of blood.

  The screamer was Valther.

  “She’s here!” the man kept saying. “She’s here. She’s loosed her magic…”

  “Who
?” Nepanthe asked repeatedly.

  “Must be Mist,” Turran guessed. “Nothing else could’ve done this.”

  “But why?”

  “Who knows the ways of Shinsan?”

  “The jewel,” Elana interjected. “Before he screamed, it flashed so bright it almost blinded me.”

  Nepanthe’s eyes met hers. Neither woman voiced her fear.

  “She’s in Kavelin, then,” said Turran. He remained thoughtful while Nepanthe and Elana calmed Valther, who began asking, “What happened?” and “Where am I?”

  “It grows too complex,” Turran mused aloud. “A three-sided war… Nepanthe, get a couple of horses ready. And weapons. I’ll look after Valther.”

  “But…”

  “Looks like we’re getting a second chance. Elana, the Tear is the most valuable thing in the west right now. Guard it well. If Kavelin goes, get it to Varthlokkur.”

  Things went so fast Elana had no time to protest. Before she exploded in frustration, the brothers had gone. Valther remained puzzled, but seemed determined to rectify his treason.

  She and Nepanthe stood on a balcony and watched them ride toward the coast road. Turran hoped to overtake Rolf and Uthe.

  A stir in the gardens caught her eye. She said nothing to Nepanthe, merely peered intently till she could make out a small old man nodding to himself. He had spoken to Bragi at the landgrant. Quick as a bolting rabbit, he scooted out a small side gate.

  A moment later she gasped. The old man, astride a winged horse, rose toward the moon and sped eastward.

  T

  EN:

  Y

  EAR 1002 AFE

  T

  HE

  C

  LOSING

  C

  IRCLES

  i) From the jaws of despair

  Ragnarson collapsed onto a rock. He could scarcely remain awake. The Nordmen gave up their weapons meekly, though puzzledly. They couldn’t believe that they had been beaten by lesser men.

  For Bragi, too, it seemed a dream. It had taken two man-breaking weeks, but he had slipped out of the destroying vise.

  He had fled Maisak certain he would never escape the Gap. Enemies had lain before and behind him, and there had been no way to turn aside.