by Glen Cook
Shih-ka’i went rigid. His commanders stirred angrily. He admonished them with a gesture. “The Ragnarson of Baxendala and Palmisano?”
“The same.”
One of the Tervola stepped forward…
“Meng Chiao! Comport yourself. Mistress, because of this man he lost three brothers, four sons, and his legion.” Shih-ka’i planted himself before Ragnarson. The westerner towered over him. He removed his mask, stared into the man’s eyes. He saw no fear in those pools of blue. The man said something.
Mist translated. “He says you look like an honest soldier. The first he’s seen among Tervola.”
Shih-ka’i smiled, replied, “You’d find me more stubborn than Lord Ko.” He awaited Mist’s translation, asked, “Mistress, what is this?”
“These people were close to the Deliverer once. His grandfather. His mother. His godfather.”
The commanders stirred again.
“Mistress?”
“And he’s my nephew by marriage. Lord Chin kidnapped him during the Pracchia thing. We thought he’d died. Somehow, he survived, made an alliance with your godling, and came after us, assuming we were behind his misfortunes.”
Shih-ka’i paced. Finally, “What do you propose, Mistress?”
“That we go talk to him. That we shatter his illusions. That we steal away his cause for destroying the empire.”
Shih-ka’i surveyed the visitors. “These people have no reason to help.”
“They will. For their own reasons.”
“Then let’s try it. Pan ku. Bodyguards.”
“Lord!” Pan ku saluted snappily, departed. He returned in minutes. “Ready, Lord.”
Shih-ka’i explained, “The Deliverer has made it impossible to walk the streets unguarded.”
The city was a ruin gutted by fire, shattered by blows from the skull-faced things. Every street boasted its heap of charred bones.
Mist said something. Ragnarson grunted, conceding awe at the devastation. The wizard betrayed no reaction at all. He had a big anger on. His wife seemed included in the flame of his ire. Shih-ka’i dropped back, doffed his mask, examined the baby. He expressed his approval with a smile. The woman responded in kind.
“Why is it so quiet?” Mist asked.
“The calm before the storm. He’s resting.”
“Could you have stopped him again?”
“I doubt it. This’s our last cast of the dice.”
They reached the gate. Soldiers swung it wide. Pan ku handed his master a stick with a white cloth attached. Shih-ka’i stepped out of the city. “Hold the guards here, Pan ku.”
“Lord?”
“If the Princess, the wizard Varthlokkur, and I can’t hold our own out there, there’s no hope anyway.”
“As you command, Lord.” Pan ku wheeled, rushed inside, hurried to the ramparts, found a light ballista. He laid it with all the care his master gave preparation of a spell. The Deliverer would hear from Pan ku if he attempted any treachery.
Shih-ka’i walked toward the hummock where the woman was waking the Deliverer. He kept his stride purposeful. He would not betray his fear to these westerners.
The Deliverer rose, brushed his hair back, stared, went down. The woman knelt over him. He rose again, exuding arrogance. He gestured. A panther came round the hummock and curled at his feet. A bear appeared, seated itself at his right hand. A huge forest buffalo, its eyes wild, stationed itself to the woman’s left.
Shih-ka’i told Mist, “Keep your eye on the woman.” Then, “What’s wrong with him?”
“He knows these people. He’s imagining what they think of him.”
“I see.” He halted five steps from the Deliverer. A short leap for the panther, he reflected. He glared. This whining child had destroyed two armies?
Mist stopped when he did. Ragnarson and Varthlokkur followed suit. The woman with the infant did not. “Ethrian?” she said in her own tongue. “Ethrian? Look. This’s your sister. Her name is Smyrena.”
Torment filled the boy’s eyes. He started blubbering. “Mama. I thought they killed you. I thought they killed you. They told me….”
Nepanthe shifted Smyrena to her left arm. Her right she slipped round the boy, pulling him against her shoulder. “It’s all right. It’s all right, Ethrian. It’s over now. It’s all right.”
The air was still. The world was silent but for the boy’s weeping. And yet, the hair and clothing of the woman in white stirred as if blown by a rising wind. Shih-ka’i glanced at Mist. “Mistress?”
“Not to worry. She’s happy for him.” Silent communication passed between the women. Mist nodded.
Something drifted down from the sky. It hovered behind the hummock. Shih-ka’i looked only once. “The Unborn,” he murmured. He had heard of the thing. Its presence was more offensive than he had believed possible.
The woods buffalo snorted, loped away. The bear followed, breaking into a wild shamble. The panther rose elegantly, licked a paw, strolled toward the wilds. Nepanthe started walking her son toward the city.
Shih-ka’i glanced at Mist again. “It’s over, Lord Ssu-ma. It’s really over. Go ahead.”
Mother and son passed him. He turned. The wizard and King kept pace as he followed. He glanced back, saw Mist and the woman trailing. The woman floated more than walked.
His tension drained away. He felt limp. Almost disappointed. He hadn’t realized how tense he was….
It began suddenly. He did not know anything was wrong till his mother was hurled away, and he went rigid. A dark nimbus surrounded him.
The air crackled. Shih-ka’i had felt the same thing just before the disaster on the Tusghus. “Mistress! Princess!”
Varthlokkur flung himself forward, caught his woman before she fell. Ragnarson had sword in hand with almost magical quickness. He crouched, growling in his harsh western tongue.
Mist shrieked, “Ethrian! Stop!” Shih-ka’i heard echoes of the other woman in her voice.
He tackled the youth. The boy remained rigid. Shih-ka’i clamped his fingers round a stiff throat.
Something moved on Lioantung’s wall. Bodyguards scrambled. The western King bellowed. His sword hammered the air above Shih-ka’i’s head.
The youth bucked violently. Shih-ka’i bounced to his feet as the King plucked a broken spear from the earth, a ballista shaft diverted from its deadly arc. “I owe you, westerner.” He faced the Deliverer.
Madness filled the boy’s eyes. His mother wept against the wizard’s chest. The boy’s mouth slowly opened.
The woman in white stepped past Shih-ka’i. A faraway voice said, “Ethrian?… Oh, no! It’s Him. The stone god has taken him.”
“Impossible,” Shih-ka’i snapped. “We destroyed him.” He and Hsu Shen, Pan ku and Lord Kuo… Hadn’t they?
Gently, Varthlokkur passed his wife to Ragnarson. There was some trust left there. He made a small gesture. The Unborn drifted closer.
“No. Don’t,” said the woman in white. “I summoned him. It’s only just that I banish him.”
The fury of an immense inner struggle distorted the boy’s face. His mouth opened wide. He began filling his lungs. He tried forcing his hands to his lips. They hovered, palsied, a few inches away.
The air crackled as it had before the disaster on the Tusghus. Shih-ka’i snatched up a handful of earth, flung himself forward, forced the soil into the Deliverer’s mouth. His off hand he drove viciously into the boy’s chest. He felt bone crack under his fingers.
Sahmanan’s voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, like the wailing of the mothers of the thousands when they learned what had become of their sons in Lord Kuo’s ill-fated western campaign. The youth faced her, pale, clutching his chest. He croaked, “Sahmanan! No! I beg you… I’ll give you anything. All the power I gave him. I’ll give you the Word. You could be queen of the world.”
The keening grew louder. Shih-ka’i ground his palms against the earholes of his mask, could not shut it out.
The Deliverer
’s mouth opened wide. Vomit gouted. Again he drew breath for a shout.
Sahmanan’s voice cracked. The youth went rigid. He seemed to flicker, to fade, to spin, to become two distinct Ethrians, one of which was a shadow of the other so bleak and dark light shied away. A scintillant mist gathered, spiraling inward. Then only the black Ethrian could be seen, rocking slowly, trying to widen its mouth.
Cracks of fire ran over the boy of darkness. Smouldering flakes fell away. Smoke drifted on a rising breeze. Suddenly—whoosh!—the rest of him flung skyward in one roaring, expanding black cloud.
Shih-ka’i felt that same despairing cry he had sensed after hurling the box into the portal on Hsu Shen’s island. The earth trembled and glowed where the boy had stood. A dome of air shimmered overhead.
“He’s gone,” said the woman in white. “And when he goes, I must follow. We’ll trouble you no more.” Though the breeze persisted, her clothing no longer stirred. She faced the woman weeping against Ragnarson’s chest. “I’m sorry. Tell her I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I just never found the will to….”
Shih-ka’i could no longer hear her. Light passed through her now. He shouted, “You’re forgiven.” He turned to Mist. “Princess, are you all right?”
“Yes. Just a little shaken. I thought you’d disposed of it.”
“I thought I had. We dumped the thing into a transfer with no exit side. How could it have escaped?”
The wizard Varthlokkur spoke for the first time. He sounded contemptuous. “Use your reason, Lord Ssu-ma. Time doesn’t obtain in the transfer stream. Neither does death. Now, finally, we know the nature of the horror that’s lurked there since Tuan Hua opened the first pair of portals. It was that thing.
“He found himself alive after you thought you were rid of him. He cruised back and forth across the centuries preying on unlucky travelers. He searched out the one time Ethrian made a transfer, penetrated him, and hibernated till his own absence from the present wakened him. Why do you think the boy assumed the thing’s madness so willingly? He wasn’t that sort of child. Had he not had his father’s strength and stubbornness he would have succumbed far more swiftly and completely.”
Varthlokkur turned away, took his wife from Ragnarson. “I’m sorry, dear. I tried to protect you from this.”
“You were wrong, Varth. You shouldn’t have shielded me. I’m not a child. We might have saved him if we’d come earlier.”
Pain filled the wizard’s eyes.
Shih-ka’i considered the dark pillar of cloud, the coruscation doming the fallen Deliverer. He searched himself for some sign of elation. There was nothing there. His war was over and won, and he felt like a loser. He started trudging toward the city. The others followed, except the foreign woman. She remained near her fallen son.
Tasi-feng hurried to meet Shih-ka’i. “Lord… It’s your man Pan ku.”
“What?” Shih-ka’i ran, his stubby legs wobbly.
Pan ku lay across the engine that had discharged the shaft that Ragnarson had turned. His throat had been cut. At his feet lay the remains of another man, a man almost wholly putrefied. Tasi-feng said, “He died trying to protect you, Lord.”
Moisture stained the inner faces of the jewels in Shih-ka’i’s mask. He did not correct Tasi-feng. The stone thing had had its revenge. It had slain his man and used him to launch a missile against his master. “He was like a son to me, Lord Lun-yu. Like a son and a brother. We’ll see him off with a hero’s honors.”
Shoulders slumped, Shih-ka’i faced the rising sun. Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i, pig farmer’s son, Commander of Armies and Victor Over the East. He snorted derisively.
Nepanthe approached the darkness and scintillation as nearly as she dared. She looked within herself for some deep feeling about what the morning meant. She could locate nothing but a hollowness. She couldn’t feel more than mildly bitter about Varthlokkur having kept the truth from her. Her knowing or not knowing had been irrelevant. Ethrian had been lost the moment those devils of the Pracchia had forced him through a transfer.
Could she blame anyone but herself? She had gotten them into that situation….
The sun pushed through the pillar of darkness. She glanced up. It was beginning to dissipate. The woman in white was now no more than a twitch in the air, like heat rising off bare stone. The coruscation where Ethrian had fallen was losing its color, turning milky, threatening to go watery.
She glanced toward the city. The chunky little Tervola had outdistanced everyone. He was at the gate already. Bragi and Mist were ambling along, apparently talking. Bragi’s gestures looked dispirited.
Varthlokkur had stopped. He faced her from two hundred yards, waiting. The Unborn floated above his head. She stared back at him. There lay the new life. The last vestige of an old life lay dead at her feet. The end of an era was written….
The coruscation died. And there lay the body of her son. “But…” she murmured. “I saw him explode. I did.” Frantically, she beckoned Varthlokkur.
The wizard approached reluctantly. Too many sharp words had been exchanged. Their relationship was severely wounded.
Ethrian groaned.
“Oh! Damnit, hurry up!” Nepanthe shrieked. “Varth, please!”
The wizard sensed the quickening in the boy. He ran.
Ethrian’s eyes opened a crack. “Momma?” he croaked.
Nepanthe flung herself on him and wept.
The orders from the Princess were terse but explicit. Shih-ka’i reported as directed. Like his brethren, he had remained in quarters while Ragnarson and Varthlokkur remained in Lioantung. The two meant less to him than they did to most Tervola, but he had gone along in the interest of morale and solidarity. He had a good team here. He had to stand with them as they had stood with him against the Deliverer.
“Mistress?” he inquired, standing at attention in the wreckage of what had been his headquarters.
“They’ve departed. Cancel the games.”
“As you command, Mistress.”
“I wanted to commend you, Lord Ssu-ma. And reward you. I have a new task for you, if you’re willing to undertake it.”
“I’m a soldier, Mistress. I am the empire’s to command.” What new task? The Matayangan front? He wouldn’t relish being tossed into that bloody cauldron.
Mist smiled. “No. Not Southern Army. The command every Tervola wants: Western Army.”
Shih-ka’i’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. Western Army? A plum, certainly. The glamor command. He was blunt. “Why? What of Lord Hsung?”
“I want a western commander who’ll keep his mind on business. Not one who’ll be plotting against me or taking off on his own. Someone who isn’t foaming at the mouth for revenge.” Softly, with humor, she added, “Besides, I can’t stand Lord Hsung.”
Shih-ka’i had only a passing acquaintance with the man. Nevertheless, he nodded. The one favorable thing he knew of Lord Hsung was that he could be a very good commander—when forced to concentrate on his calling.
He asked, “When would you want me?”
“Moving him out will be ticklish. But before the end of the year. Take the intervening time off. My friend Lord Ch’ien will take over here.”
“I’ll use the time to familiarize myself with the western situation.” And, he thought, begin the fruitless search for someone able to replace Pan ku.
“Very well. I can’t force you to take a vacation, though I wish you would.”
“I’ve been in harness too long, Mistress. One more question. Did Ragnarson and the wizard patch it up? That will be important.”
Mist smiled, rose, stepped down, embraced him momentarily. “Thank you, Lord Ssu-ma. For everything you’ve done.” And, as she started away, “No. They didn’t. The woman tried to make peace. Varthlokkur has much too stiff a neck.”
And inside his beastmask Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i smiled himself.
After the challenge in the east anything else looked easy.
An Ill Fate Marshalling
Prologue: Year 1013 After the Founding of the Empire of Ilkazar; Castle Greyfells in Duchy Greyfells, in Northern Itaskia
One: Year 1016 AFE; Rulers
Two: Year 1016 AFE; Conversations
Three: Year 1016 AFE; Captures
Four: Year 1016 AFE; Family Life
Five: Year 1016 AFE; Mystery Attackers
Six: Year 1016 AFE; Victory Ball
Seven: Year 1016 AFE; Decisions
Eight: Year 1016 AFE; Michael’s Journey
Nine: Year 1016 AFE; Rising Tide
Ten: Year 1016 AFE; Homecomings and Birthdays
Eleven: Year 1016 AFE; Interlude
Twelve: Year 1016 AFE; On the Move
Thirteen: Year 1016 AFE; At the Ready
Fourteen: Year 1016 AFE; There and Back Again
Fifteen: Year 1016 AFE; Unpleasant Surprises
Sixteen: Year 1016 AFE; A Plea from the East
Seventeen: Year 1016 AFE; The Great Championship Match
Eighteen: Year 1016 AFE; Tightening Screws
Nineteen: Year 1016 v; Born to Trouble
Twenty: Year 1016 AFE; As the Sparks Fly Upward
Twenty-one: Year 1016 AFE
Twenty-two: Year 1016 AFE
Twenty-three: Year 1016 AFE
Twenty-four: Year 1016 AFE
Twenty-five: Year 1016 AFE
Twenty-six: Year 1016 AFE
PROLOGUE: YEAR 1013
AFTER THE FOUNDING OF THE EMPIRE OF ILKAZAR CASTLE GREYFELLS IN DUCHY GREYFELLS, IN NORTHERN ITASKIA
The Colonel stalked through the quiet corridors, each step charged with the nervous energy of a caged panther. Servants got out of his path, turned to watch after he passed. His tension surrounded him with an aura of danger.
He reached the door of the chamber to which he had been summoned. He stared at it, rose onto the balls of his feet, settled back. He was afraid of what might lie on the other side. This was more than the portal to a room. It was a doorway to tomorrow, and he didn’t like the smell of it.
Something was afoot. He had come to the castle last evening, and had found it infested with tension. The Duke was planning something. His people were scared. All the recent dukes had become involved in schemes that failed, and each failure had brought violence down on the family and its retainers.