by Glen Cook
Shih-ka’i could not discover what had caused the desert, nor who had built the cities lying in ruins in the forests facing it. A search of the oldest legend-histories had produced only a passing reference to a great stone god of the east, a guardian facing an endless sea. Cautious, daring reconnaissance had confirmed that the continent ended not far east of the solitary mountain. Beyond lay nothing but an island and ocean.
The description of that island piqued Shih-ka’i’s curiosity. In Ko Feng’s reports on the Pracchia conspiracy he had referred to an island in the east. It had sheltered the laboratories of the conspiracy and the headquarters of its mastermind. This island fit Ko Feng’s description. He wondered if these armies of the undead were another Pracchia gambit… How could that be? All the High Nine but Ko Feng had been killed at the Battle of Palmisano, or earlier. Both the west and Shinsan had made every effort to eradicate subsidiary nines following the war.
Lord Ssu-ma thought he would very much like to land a force on that island and see what had been left behind. The Pracchia conspirators had controlled some interesting sorceries. Lord Ko had been unable to salvage any. Most had been under the aegis of one Magden Norath, a renegade Escalonian who had guarded his secrets well.
Shih-ka’i made a quick inspection circuit of the fortress. Preparations were proceeding perfectly, if too slowly to soothe his nerves. He took a deep breath. “Pan ku, let’s see what’s happening in the mountains.”
SEVEN: YEAR 1016 AFE
CONSPIRACIES
Mist was about to retire when a nervous servant announced that the King wanted to see her. “He’s here?” she asked, startled.
“We had him wait in the library, My Lady.” The woman’s tone conveyed a plea for understanding. The monarch could not be told to come back when his visit would be more convenient. Astounding enough that he should just drop in off the street, though this King was uniquely plebeian in his habits.
“What does he want?”
“He wouldn’t say, My Lady.”
Moths gamboled about in Mist’s stomach. This had a bad smell. “Tell him I’ll be right down. See if he’ll take some brandy.”
“Certainly, My Lady. Shall I waken Marta?”
“I’ll dress myself.” She took her time, composing herself by chanting verses from the Soldier’s Ritual used by the warriors of her homeland. She did not leave her bedchamber till she was convinced that she was in complete self-control.
“You’re out late,” she observed as she entered the library. A tic of irritation pulled at one eye. Her warmth sounded false in her own ears.
The King scanned her quickly, his gaze impersonal. He was unimpressed by her beauty. She always felt inadequate in his presence: felt like she had a great hairy mole on the end of her nose or a livid scar across her cheek. He and Michael Trebilcock and Varthlokkur were all immune to her carefully crafted looks. Weird and frightening that so many such men should surround her, making treacherous the ground on which she was accustomed to operate, leaving her uncertain and inclined to become flustered….
“I was over at my house. I wanted to see you. Thought I’d save a trip and do it now.”
“You look exhausted.”
“I had a rough day. Excuse my manners. They may not be what they should.”
Her preparations were inadequate. Already she was growing flustered. She gobbled, “What’s on your mind?” and was immediately dismayed. She hadn’t wanted to be so direct.
“Just call me curious about what you and Aral are up to.”
Damn, she thought. She managed to mask her surprise. “Up to? What do you mean?”
“Let’s say I’ve noticed the coming together of what appear to be the elements of a ‘situation.’ I always try to be reasonable. Thought I’d give you a chance to explain before I got excited.”
“So?” The moths were back. Brandishing tusks dripping venom. Suddenly, she understood why Varthlokkur was in town. If Bragi thought he needed his back covered, he was sure….
“These are the ingredients: One exiled Princess of Shinsan, minus the tempering influence of a good man who fell at Palmisano. One young merchant of considerable wealth and influence, perhaps bedazzled. From the staff of Lord Hsung’s Western Army, Tervola who remain secret supporters of the Princess in exile.”
Mist held her breath. How could he know that? That damned Trebilcock! He really did have somebody inside Lord Hsung’s headquarters. She’d hoped she was wrong about that.
“Interestingly enough, these ingredients have come together just when my spies tell me Shinsan has been caught with what looks like an explosive crisis on its Matayangan frontier.”
Gods! Did he know everything? Did Trebilcock have an agent here in the house?
“A handy distraction,” the King continued. “Now, if you were me, wouldn’t all those things make you wonder?”
He spoke with an odd formality. Rather like a magistrate, she thought. His voice was tight. His gaze wandered nervously, but she was too distracted to seize and use his discomfort. She drifted away inside herself, trying to select a response which would not compromise her ambitions. Finally, “You’re right. I was approached by people inside Shinsan. By a traditionalist faction opposed to Lord Kuo’s penchant for change, and disturbed by the empire’s increasing instability. I’m the last living descendant of the founder, Tuan Hua. I was shaped during the Dual Principiate of the Princes Thaumaturge. They think I could reimpose old-fashioned stability and values, given a chance. So far it’s just been talk. I don’t think anything will come of it.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve been approached before. These groups never have enough power or influence. And what they really want, instead of what they say they want, is a figurehead. A legitimate pretender who can assume their sins after they’re in power. A scapegoat, really.” Was he listening? Accepting? His face remained as impassive as a gambler’s.
“And you wouldn’t settle for that.”
“No. You know me that well.”
The King steepled his fingers under his nose. For a moment he seemed to be praying. “Where does Aral fit?”
“He’s a merchant. The trading climate would improve if a friend of Kavelin ruled Shinsan. He’s been trying to assemble financial backing for a coup. I haven’t had the heart to shatter his hopes.”
The King examined the spines of her books. She hoped she sounded plausible. She had rehearsed for this interview countless times, knowing it to be inevitable, but it had come early. All her planning had toppled around her. She could not recall her lines. She could but tell most of the truth and hope that it would be enough.
He took a deep breath, decided not to say whatever was in his mind. She was sure he had been about to bring up his secretary’s embassy to Lord Hsung. Were it as successful as it sounded likely to be, it would rob her of all hope of enlisting the support of Kavelin’s mercantile community. Her only real option was to sabotage Prataxis’s efforts. She hadn’t yet crossed that bridge. And now she knew she didn’t dare. Surely he’d just caught a glimmer of the possibilities. If anything happened now, the blame would be laid at her feet.
He was playing his old, old game of giving the villain all the rope he wanted.
“Sounds good,” he said at last. “Kavelin would benefit. Assuming Shinsan’s historical inertia could be altered. Otherwise what damned difference does it make who’s in power?”
What? He wasn’t going to raise hell? He was going to agree with her? Despite Prataxis? She let him sit through an extended silence while she marshalled her composure. He didn’t seem to notice. She asked, “What are you saying?”
“That I wouldn’t be averse to a scheme. But I’m not too excited about you involving my people without you and me having an understanding up front. Also, right now you are one of my people. You’re Chatelaine of Maisak. My first line of defense against Shinsan. We have here what Derel would call a potential conflict of interest. I wouldn’t want to find myself worried about my hold on the Sav
ernake Gap.”
Mist’s heart fluttered. How could he know so much? Did he? Was he shooting in the dark? Was he giving her more rope? Using his well-known obsession with the eastern peril as a tool? “I see. You want guarantees. What did you have in mind?”
The King smiled thinly.
She had made a tactical error. He had been fishing this time. And he’d caught her. Damn! Why did he have to be so astute?
“Not now. Not here,” he said. “We both need time to think it over. And I’ll want witnesses. Varthlokkur and the Unborn should do.”
She pretended amusement. “You don’t trust anybody, do you?”
“Not now. Not anymore. Why should I? Your scheme is only one of my problems. I mean to walk light and careful till it’s all under control.”
She laughed a genuine laugh. Her confidence began to return. He responded with a smile. She said, “You should have been born an easterner. You would’ve made a great Tervola.”
“Maybe. My mother was a witch.”
She had heard it before, of course, but still she was startled. Was that it? Was he doing a little magical snooping? Perhaps with Varthlokkur showing the way? She started to ask, was interrupted by a servant who said, “My Lady, there’s a gentleman here looking for His Majesty.”
Mist looked at Bragi. He shrugged. “Send him in,” she said.
The King’s adjutant bustled in. “Sire, I’ve been looking all over. We need you back at the palace.” The man looked grim.
“What is it, Dahl?”
“An emergency, sire. Please?” The young officer gave Mist a glance so melodramatic she was tempted to laugh.
“We’ll talk later,” the King told her. His look said as much as all of his conversation.
She would have to walk very carefully for a while. Matters had reached a stage too delicate for risk-taking. All her fault, of course. She had gotten too eager, had begun looking too far ahead, to deal properly with all the little things cropping up now. “Overconfidence, get thee behind me,” she murmured.
The hour was late. The King and Varthlokkur were seated on steps in a dark and otherwise deserted courtyard. Neither man was wholly awake or alert. Ostensibly, they had come out to watch a spectacular meteor shower. “There goes a big one,” the wizard said. “All the way down past the wall.”
“I saw one one time that broke up in about twenty pieces. Really something. There’s another one.” After a few seconds, “I saw Mist. She was too evasive. Made me more suspicious.”
“So?”
“So she’s into some scheme to get her throne back. In a lot deeper than she’ll admit.”
“And?”
“Damnit, you’re not contributing a whole lot here.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Give me a guess. Am I wrong? Is she really involved in something?”
“Hell, you know the answer to that. Why ask? Of course she is. Once you attain a throne, you don’t give it up without a fight. Consider her viewpoint. There isn’t much here for her since Valther was killed. Her children, of course, but she isn’t the maternal sort. She once had something big in Shinsan. Now she wants it back.”
“She’s vulnerable, though. Through the children.”
“Aren’t we all.” The wizard turned bitter. “They’re hostages to fortune.”
“Can she make the comeback?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know what’s happening in Shinsan’s politics. And I don’t want to know. I just want to ignore them, and have them ignore me.”
“But they won’t.”
“No. They won’t. Not forever.”
They watched shooting stars for a while. Then Varthlokkur said, “It won’t matter if she does win, you know. Shinsan is Shinsan.”
“You don’t think she’d change anything?”
“She couldn’t if she wanted. She wouldn’t be allowed. You and I and Kavelin have earned their special attention. Someday they’ll come again.”
“Look at that one! Almost like a comet for a second.”
“Uhm.” Musingly, the wizard continued, “It should be a while coming. They’ve had some bad years, and they’re staring trouble in the eye in Matayanga. They haven’t fully pacified the territories they occupied during the war. Right now they’re hopping like the one-legged whore the day the fleet came in.”
Bragi chuckled and looked the wizard askance. That was not a Varthlokkur figure of speech. “If they’ll give me a decade, or even another year, I’ll be grateful. I’ll take it and be happy because I don’t think we can turn them back again. I think having Mist in charge might set the day of reckoning back a little, and soften the blow when it falls.”
“It’s your choice. Just don’t forget O Shing.”
“O Shing?” O Shing was the prince who had overthrown Mist and driven her out of the empire, only to be overthrown himself.
“He didn’t want to come west. He fought it all the way. And that’s why he’s no longer with us.”
“I know. But the people who pushed him out are gone now too. Holy…! Did you see the size of that one? All right. I’ll take a few days to poke around and to think about it. Then I’ll get Gjerdrum and you and a couple others together and we’ll decide whether we should help her. And if we do, how visible our help should be.”
“It’s your choice, as I say, but you’re just asking for grief if you do it. You have problems enough at home. Problems more deserving of your attention. Also, watch who you include in your ‘we.’ I have no intention of getting involved with the Dread Empire again. Unless they come after me first.”
“Pardon me for jumping to conclusions. I thought it might be a way for you to make contacts who could check out your Ethrian questions for you.”
The wizard stiffened. He turned slowly, gazed at the King. After a moment, he nodded and said, “Maybe it would, at that.”
Three men had gathered in Mist’s library. Two leaned over her silver divining bowl. Her bowl did not contain the common water. She was wealthy. She could afford the far more expensive and reliable quicksilver coveted by every seer.
Aral Dantice shifted restlessly, nervous as a youth on the brink of losing his virginity. Mist watched him as closely as she did her bowl. She had made a mistake, telling him how much the King suspected. He had the Michael Trebilcock shakes. If this went the wrong way, he might crack… She did not want to think about that. Heroic measures might be required.
Cham Mundwiller filled the air with clouds from his pipe. The third man occupied a chair against one wall. His eyes were halfway closed. Neither his stance nor expression betrayed any emotion. He was as patient as a snake.
His coloring and mien matched Mist’s. His clothing was western. He seemed uncomfortable with it. Though duskier than Dantice or Mundwiller, his face had a pallid look. He was accustomed to wearing a mask.
Mist’s breath caught, sounding a little gasp. The easterner’s eyelids twitched. “Aral!” Mist said. “Come here.”
Dantice stared down into the bowl, at four minute human shapes seated round a table. For a long time now the four had been arguing, pounding the table, pushing bits of documentary evidence at one another. Nothing seemed changed. “What?” he asked.
“It’s going our way.” She grinned at herself. Her voice had picked up a high, musical squeak of excitement.
“How can you tell when we can’t hear what they’re saying?”
“Hush. Just hush and watch.”
They watched the figures argue. Suddenly, Mist leapt away from the table. She yelped happily and threw her arms around Dantice. “It’s official. The King got his way. We don’t have to hide and sneak anymore.” She kissed him.
He responded with a vigorous male salute. Mist stepped back. Head tilted, unable to control a lopsided smile, she said, “That might be nice too, Aral.”
He blushed. He stammered.
Mundwiller exhaled a blue cloud and smiled knowingly. Aral turned redder still.
The third man save
d him. He rose, stared into the bowl. His face remained arctically cool. He nodded once, returned to his chair. “It’s good.”
Dantice shuddered. Mist smiled, mildly amused. Lord Ch’ien Kao E always got that reaction when first he spoke. His throat had been injured long ago. He retained just a ghost of a voice, a dry husk that grated like salt in a raw wound.
Mist asked, “What troubles you, Lord Ch’ien?”
The man steepled thin fingers before his narrow chin. “The move suggests acceptance of the inevitable. It suggests that your King is well aware of what we’re doing. It suggests that our secrets aren’t nearly as secure as they should be.” His obsidian eyes met theirs in turn.
I’m losing control, Mist thought. If I don’t grab it back I’ll soon be a spectator in this game.
“There haven’t been any leaks at this end,” Aral declared. He met that snakelike gaze without wavering. He was not intimidated by Ch’ien Kao E the man, only by what the man symbolized. He had met Tervola during the Great Eastern Wars. Aral Dantice, the caravan outfitter’s son, was still alive.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. Wait. I do know one roundabout way for there to be a leak. Through my friend Michael Trebilcock. It’s more circumstantial than deliberate. We share a few couriers.”
“Smugglers.”
Aral bowed slightly. “Sometimes they tell me what they think Michael is doing. I imagine they tell him what they think I’m up to. Lately, they’ve hinted that he may have developed an agent inside Lord Hsung’s headquarters. It looks like he has. The King’s actions make me think that agent might be aware of us.”
Damn your eyes, Aral, Mist thought. Why did you have to tell him that?
“I see.” Kao E turned her way. His reptilian eyes narrowed. “Princess?”
“You have some idea whom such a man might be?”