Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  “It’s true, Bragi. I’ll swear any oath you want. Something in the east saved him from the Pracchia. He’s been out there all this time. That something saved him, made him an instrument of destruction and vessel of hatred, gave him immense power, then lost control. I saw him at Lioantung, Bragi. Physically he looks like you’d expect after all this time. But inside he’s not Ethrian anymore. He’s more like the embodiment of a natural force gone mad.”

  Inger croaked something. Bragi groaned. “I believe her. Look at her. She’s scared silly. Now we know why Varthlokkur was so damned cranky whenever Ethrian’s name came up. He knew.”

  Mist admitted her fear. “You’re right. I’m so frightened I can’t think. I just want to run… I keep wishing I’d left it in Lord Kuo’s lap. I didn’t bargain for this. You know what history will do to me if I can’t stop Ethrian? If there is any history?”

  Bragi mused, “I really do understand Varthlokkur now.”

  “What?”

  “He knew. He’s known for a long time. He’s mentioned Ethrian several times since he’s been here. Hinting that he might still be alive. Acting like a man wrestling his conscience. Now I know what he meant when he said he couldn’t tell Nepanthe because it would destroy her.” He levered himself out of his chair. “He even threatened me when I suggested she ought to know there was a chance Ethrian was alive.”

  Mist looked up at him. He was pale as death. As frightened as she. He believed. Somehow, that took a huge load off her shoulders. Shared fear is softened fear, she thought, recalling one of the lessons taught young soldiers.

  “Let’s go talk to him,” Bragi suggested.

  “I will need his help too,” she admitted. “And almost certainly Nepanthe’s.”

  The King winced. “Don’t expect him to cooperate. He’s determined to keep it from her.”

  “I’ll sell him. I have to.”

  “Be careful what you say. I’ve never seen him so touchy. He said he’d pull out on me if I even dropped a hint to Nepanthe.”

  Inger glanced up sharply, startled. A strange look entered her eyes. What the devil? Mist wondered. “Uhm,” she grunted. At another time she would have incorporated that bit of intelligence into her plans. Not now, though. All she wanted now was a way out of her dilemma.

  The Queen’s servant brought the meal Mist had requested. She snatched the main platter and ate with her fingers as the King led her out into the castle’s drafty halls. A few queries about Varthlokkur led them to the small castle library.

  The wizard glanced up as they entered. He half stood, dismayed, when he saw her face. He made a sign against the evil eye.

  She launched into her tale before he could speak. His dismay became despair. She could imagine the emotional storm inside him. Usually he was a man of stone.

  His face hardened. “Enough, woman. The answer is no. I won’t touch it. Find another way.”

  “But…”

  “I’m not going to let Nepanthe see what he’s become. She’s too delicately balanced. She thinks he’s dead. Leave him in his grave.”

  “What are you going to tell her when his dead men get to these parts?” the King demanded.

  “Mist is exaggerating. His armies will fall apart.”

  “You are sticking your head in the sand,” Mist snapped. “They’ve held up against the finest we could put in their way. He made mistakes in the early going. He’s still a child. But he’s learned. He’s bottomed out. From now on he’ll only get stronger. Unless the three or four people who mean most to him emotionally shatter the chains of hatred binding him.”

  Anger reddened the wizard’s cheeks. “You speak with conviction and passion, but you don’t know what you’re asking. The answer has to be no.”

  Bragi suggested, “Then don’t go yourself. Send the Unborn. Make the lie truth.”

  “Lie? Truth?”

  “Have Radeachar kill him.”

  “No. Listen. You don’t understand. I can’t help. It’s your problem, Mist. You deal with it. Bragi, I told you before, if you tell Nepanthe about this….”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I know. I won’t. Even though I think you’re wrong. Totally, insanely wrong. I won’t.”

  “You’re behaving irrationally, Varthlokkur,” Mist said.

  “Try to understand. I want to protect my wife.”

  “You don’t give her enough credit,” Mist said. “She looks neurotic, but she’s a lot tougher than she pretends. She’s had to be.”

  And the King: “I don’t think you’re protecting her at all. I think you’re protecting yourself. From your own insecurities. You’re just scared of change. Change might alter your relationship…”

  “Be still!” the wizard snapped. And, “Just remember what the Thing did to you the other day, with the succession. Recall how the vote went? You understand what it means?” He smiled evilly. “You can’t afford to lose me now.”

  “Wizard, I get nasty when people try to twist my arm.”

  “Better get used to it.”

  “We’ve been on opposite sides before. I can live without you.”

  “You’ve been warned. Stay away from my wife.” Varthlokkur shifted his gaze to Mist. She rocked under the impact of his glare. “The Deliverer is your problem, woman. Ethrian is dead.”

  She sagged, defeated. The King took her arm. “We’re wasting our time here. He’s gone goofy. Maybe the Brotherhood will help. You have friends there.”

  “It’s not sorcery I need,” Mist replied. “We have that aplenty in Shinsan. I need people who can reach Ethrian emotionally.”

  “We’ll think of something.” Over his shoulder, Bragi said, “I’ll remember this, wizard.”

  Varthlokkur was startled by the man’s intensity, but only for an instant. He slammed a book to the floor. Mist jumped. Her nerves were raw. Outside, she asked, “What now?”

  She didn’t like this feeling of helplessness, this having to come west to petition aid. It made her feel impotent and incompetent….

  “You and me, I guess. Maybe an aunt and a godfather can do the job. Come on. I have to tell Gjerdrum and Derel where I’m going. Old Crankwort back there was right about one thing. I’ve got trouble, judging by the tricks the Thing pulled while we were setting you up. I have to make sure my ass is covered while I’m gone. Otherwise I’m liable to come home and find myself out of a job.”

  “There’s not much point to just you and me going. We represent everything Ethrian hates. I don’t think anyone but his mother could reach him now.”

  “We’ll have to try, won’t we? If he’s as dangerous as you say?”

  “I suppose.”

  “How long can you wait? Maybe Varthlokkur will come around.”

  “Not long. Lord Ssu-ma is a stubborn man, but he can’t hold out forever.”

  “If you have a favorite god, send up a prayer. Maybe if Varthlokkur calms down, he’ll take a closer look. If things are as bad as you say. He’s basically a decent sort. He has a conscience.”

  “Maybe. And maybe he’s just a blind old fool.”

  Varthlokkur eased into his apartment an hour after his confrontation with Mist and the King. His hands still shook. He was scared. It had been centuries since he had flown into so towering a rage. He’d had to use old fear-fighting tricks from apprenticeship days to calm himself this much.

  There was something wrong with him. Some madness smoked through his mind, twisting and knotting. It wasn’t like him to lose control. Was Bragi right? Was his real problem a childish insecurity?

  Could Nepanthe handle this? Was she more resilient than he believed?

  Had he sold himself a false hope when he’d decided Ethrian would be defeated by sheer entropy?

  He lighted a candle, sat, tried to read an old, handprinted text which claimed to be a true history of the origins of Man upon his world. The calligraphy kept sliding out of focus.

  Damn! His world was falling apart. It had taken him ages to put a decent life together, and now, suddenly, the whole thin
g hung by a thread. Hell yes, he was insecure. And when you had fought as long as he had, you damned well deserved something good out of the rest of your life….

  A shadow fell across his lap. He jumped, startled. “Nepanthe! What’re you doing out of bed? You had your exercise. You should be resting….” His heart sank as he saw the look on her face. Fear hit like a hammer’s blow.

  She was dressed for heavy weather. She had the baby bundled and wrapped. “I need my son, Varth.”

  “Oh, no,” he said softly. “Oh, no. Why?”

  “Ethrian is alive, isn’t he? You’ve known it all along. You’ve been lying to me.”

  “No, dear. I told you…”

  “You told me lies. Lies and lies and lies. He’s at a place in Shinsan called Lioantung. And you didn’t want me to know.”

  The rage welled up again. “I told him…”

  Nepanthe herself was powered by a cold anger. She weathered his outburst without flinching. “You warned who? What are you doing to me? Varth, I want to see my son. Do you hear me? Mist is here somewhere. She came to see you. I’m going back with her.”

  Varthlokkur ignored her. He ambled into their bedroom, stared down into Smyrena’s empty cradle. After a time he went to the window. “Come, Radeachar. Come, my only friend.”

  “Why did you lie to me?” Nepanthe demanded. “Damnit, Varth, I’m talking to you. Answer me!”

  He whirled. “Did they tell you what your son is?”

  “What they? Who are you talking about? Tell me.”

  “Ragnarson and that Shinsaner bitch.”

  “I haven’t seen either of them. What have they got to do with it? Never mind. Tell me about Ethrian. Then find Mist and tell her I’m going with her.”

  Anger fed upon anger. Their shouting increased in pitch and intensity. The Unborn arrived at the window and hovered there, unremarked.

  “All right, damnit!” Varthlokkur suddenly shrieked. “We’re going. Be it on your head, woman.” He whirled, stamped out of the room muttering, “Bragi, you’ll pay. You cut your own throat this time. The wolves are circling you right now. I’m just going to sit back and laugh while they pull you down.”

  Nepanthe watched her husband go, baffled behind her anger. What was that all about? she wondered. All that noise about Bragi and Mist. And she hadn’t seen either in ages… They must have known too. They must have been keeping it from her. She never would have known had not the Queen come to see Smyrena and mentioned it in passing.

  Poor Inger. Now she would get yelled at too.

  The hell with them. All of them. She was going to see her son. What they liked didn’t matter.

  FIFTEEN: YEAR 1016 AFE

  LIOANTUNG

  Ethrian’s dead warriors brought a chair plundered from a manor near Lioantung. He settled into it. Sahmanan seated herself on the earth beside him, leaning against the chair. “Can you tell me your idea now?”

  “I suppose.” The fun had gone out of teasing her. “I’ll use their animals against them. And the bodies of those the animals kill.”

  “Won’t they destroy them?”

  “Probably. The dogs, cats, horses, and such, that they can catch. But how do you guard against rats that attack you when you’re sleeping?”

  “It might work. You’re planning a siege?”

  “We can afford it. They don’t expect help. This’s the battle that’ll make or break us.”

  “What about the army?” She nodded toward the nearest dead warriors. “They’re only good for a few days.”

  “They won’t go to waste. Let’s get started. Guard me.” He dropped the ties to his body, drifted into the city. Lioantung was a maze of twisty streets and alien architecture. Whole quarters were empty. He would recruit among abandoned animals….

  The enemy were busily preparing for his assault. They seemed unconcerned. The battle in the forest had restored their confidence. Only the Tervola themselves were uncertain.

  They were debating what to do about the animals….

  He flung himself into the darkness-haunted streets, found a stable. He seized a horse’s dim mind. It reared, broke down its stall, hammered a stableboy to the earth.

  Ethrian seized the body, found a hayhook, slipped into the night. He stole up behind a legionnaire….

  So it went, hour after hour. The enemy responded. By dawn no soldier went anywhere alone. Next day Lord Ssu-ma ordered all animals destroyed. Ethrian returned to his body.

  “You look exhausted,” Sahmanan told him.

  “A little. Did they try very hard?”

  She gestured at their surroundings. The earth was scorched. His chair had been reduced to toothpicks. “I thought they had us once. I barely hung on.”

  “They’re going to kill the animals. It’s time to send in the dead.”

  “Don’t you want to rest?”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “Ethrian…”

  “Be still.” He reached out, gathered the threads. Corpses shambled toward the city. Dragons took the air. Some carried multiple riders, some supported the storming of the walls. The legions left off slaughtering livestock and rushed to the battlements.

  Ethrian continued the attack till almost nothing remained of his army. He and Sahmanan were the only survivors outside the city. Inside, in the abandoned quarters, he squirreled away a thousand bodies.

  He roamed the city in his out-of-body state, occasionally slipping into an animal to listen. His enemies were as tired as he.

  Wearily, they resumed the slaughter. Some commenced a house-to-house search for the dead.

  Ethrian returned to Sahmanan. “Rest, Ethrian,” she insisted. “You’re killing yourself.”

  “One more thing, just to keep them busy. Then I will.”

  He went back into Lioantung, seeking rats. And rats he found, of course, for Lioantung was an old city, well stocked with vermin.

  He began in Lord Ssu-ma’s citadel headquarters. In a hundred places rats suddenly streaked across rooms, overturning lamps. Most of the fires were extinguished immediately, yet a few started where there were no witnesses.

  Ethrian returned to his body. “That should keep them occupied. Wake me if anything important happens.”

  He slept fourteen hours and wakened still only partially refreshed. “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “Nothing. They’ve been too busy fighting fires.”

  He went into the city again. The last conflagrations were under control. Weary legionnaires were staggering to their barracks, cursing him, praying for rest. He gave them no respite.

  Here, there, he sent rats to the jugulars of the sleeping. The dead he raised against the living. He shuttled from barracks to barracks. The Tervola mounted sleepwatches. He shifted his attention to the headquarters itself, then to the wall, hurling animal after animal at the sentries. He used dead men to open a gate, brought in beasts of the field and forest. Confuse and frighten, confuse and frighten, he chanted to himself.

  When doing nothing else, he moved his hidden soldiers inward from the empty quarters. Slowly, slowly, they closed on Lord Ssu-ma’s headquarters….

  There were no more large city animals. He had no time to recruit in the forest. The Tervola turned their art to the destruction of mice, rats, and squirrels. “It’s a race now,” he told Sahmanan. “I have them diverted, though. With luck, my next attack will kill so many Tervola you can overpower the rest.”

  His attack lasted three hours. Afterward, he returned to Sahmanan. “That should do it. We’ll finish after I’ve rested.”

  “Ethrian, something’s happened to the Great One.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t feel him there anymore. It worries me.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Maybe. We might need him again.”

  “Is he up to something?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll go see when this is done.”

  “We can’t. The flyers are gone.”
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  Ethrian gave her a sharp look. He did not like her tone. “You trying to say something?”

  “No… Yes. Ethrian, you’re Nahaman all over again. Just as filled with bitterness and hate and unreason.”

  “Be quiet. I have to sleep. We finish them when I wake up.”

  A morning sun hung low and red when Ethrian sloughed his haunted dreams. Sahmanan was shaking him. “What?” he grumbled.

  “Wake up. They’re up to something. Look.” She pointed toward the city. Soldiers had come forth. A squat, chunky Tervola bore a white flag. His bodyguard spread out near the gate. Strangers moved up on the Tervola’s sides. Next to him, on either hand, a woman walked. A man walked outside each woman.

  “Oh, Lord,” Ethrian said, stricken. “Oh, Lord, no.”

  “What is it? What is it, Ethrian?”

  His breathing became ragged. Deep inside him, something stirred. A shadow uncoiled. He shrieked. The darkness welled up. The world disappeared.

  “Ethrian!” Sahmanan chafed his wrists, slapped his cheeks. “Wake up! Please?” She glanced toward the city. “They’re almost here. I need somebody to tell me what to do.”

  Shih-ka’i stood at a stiff parade rest, ignoring the pain of his wounds. The Princess and her party entered the command center. He snapped to attention. His surviving commanders saluted. Mist eyed them, appalled. “What happened, Lord Ssu-ma?”

  “We held, Mistress.” Shih-ka’i studied her companions. Two men and a woman, of western stamp. The woman carried an infant. The younger man had the warrior look. His gaze did not rest. His lips were taut and pale. The older, thinner man looked angry. Shih-ka’i faced his Princess, his question implied.

  “The wizard Varthlokkur,” she said, indicating the older man. A chill scrambled down Shih-ka’i’s spine. “His wife, Nepanthe, and their daughter.”

  Shih-ka’i bowed to the woman. “My Lady.”

  Mist said, “I’ll have to translate.”

  Shih-ka’i nodded, considered the third man. The wizard’s bodyguard?

  “King Bragi of Kavelin,” Mist said.