by Glen Cook
Drums boomed. Pipes tootled. The castle gate swung open. Outside, trumpets sounded. Bragi glanced up at the window of Inger’s bedroom. He saw a face barely visible in the pre-dawn light. It jerked out of sight. He looked through the gate and tried to put her out of his mind.
For most of an hour the Vorgrebergers and King’s Own passed in review. Those of Ragnarson’s intimates who were to stay in the city fretted. Some wanted to be about their own business. Others, like Credence Abaca, chafed at being left behind. Finally, the last troop filed past.
Ragnarson turned. “Credence, Michael, Cham, I’m counting on you to keep things quiet. Derel, rap them on the knuckles if they don’t.” He chuckled. It was difficult to picture Prataxis physically chastising anyone.
Prataxis scowled and grumbled. Then he scowled some more. He was thoroughly disgruntled. Never before had he been denied the chance to accompany Ragnarson when something important was going on. But he understood. His pretense to be an historian had evaporated. He would be of more value here, overseeing the palace and mediating between Cham, Credence, and Michael.
“Be good, people.” Ragnarson nudged his mount into a walk. His staff and bodyguards formed around him. At last, he thought. After three years, back in the field. Away from the endless bickering and backbiting. Away from all the insoluble problems. Back to doing what he knew best. Soldiering. It felt good.
One battalion each of Vorgrebergers and King’s Own swung out of the parade and returned to barracks. Ragnarson didn’t expect trouble during his absence, but Vorgreberg could be volatile. He couldn’t deny Credence the tools needed to control it.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the palace till he returned. He was tempted to stretch the maneuvers just as an excuse to stay away.
Sherilee drifted across his mind. One good reason for hurrying back. Maybe he could bring her home by then. “Miss you, little girl,” he whispered.
Inger jerked back from the window. He had seen her. And he hadn’t made a sign. He hadn’t come all week, and now he hadn’t bothered to say good-bye. She could no longer doubt the estrangement.
For a while she’d hoped he would come see her and they could talk it out. The mess wasn’t insoluble. With Josiah gone she felt less constrained to stay with the program. But he hadn’t come. He hadn’t even inquired about the poisoning attempt.
She was sure he’d had no part in it. It wasn’t his style. If he had wanted her out of the way, he would have done something very direct. No, someone else was responsible. He probably didn’t know.
She could think of only two candidates. Michael Trebilcock and Bragi’s daughter-in-law. She was inclined to suspect the girl. The grasping little witch was determined to have her son installed as crown prince.
She looked out the window again. She saw pennons dip and sway as troops passed in review outside the wall.
He was leaving, they said. Going up to Baxendala with the troops. He would be gone for a month.
For a month there would be no one between her and the person who wanted her dead. Fear clawed at her guts. Again she told herself, “I was a fool to let Dane get me into this.” She was living like she was besieged, making friends taste everything before she touched it herself, sweating whenever there was a knock. The fact that none of Bragi’s people knocked didn’t soothe her nerves. She had this paranoid certainty that they were biding their time, drawing the noose tighter, before they kicked her feet from beneath her.
She was getting cabin fever. And there was no end in sight. Unless they were starved out. Just like a regular siege.
Maybe they hadn’t thought of that yet. “Sally. Janey. I need men for a bodyguard. We’re going out to market.”
“My Lady? Do you think that’s wise?”
“No. I don’t, really. But with the King gone we’re going to be in worse danger. We won’t dare go out. But if we don’t, we’ll starve. So before it occurs to our enemies to watch for it, we’re going to stock up on provisions.”
The response to her coming forth was baffling. No one seemed to notice, care, or react. The palace people, all devoted to Bragi, ignored her, but did nothing to hamper her. The guards at the gate let her go without comment. “Hunsicker.”
“My Lady?”
“I thought they wanted us to stay locked up.”
The soldier shrugged. “Maybe they changed their minds.”
It was a bright, warm, windy day. Birds sang in the park. Some of the trees bent their shoulders under the weight of early-ripening fruit. It was not a day belonging to Inger’s troubled world. She wanted clouds and gloom and drizzling, chilly rain.
Should she run for it now? Ride right through the city to the estate of one of her friends? She liked the notion….
“We have company, My Lady,” Hunsicker said. Inger glanced over her shoulder. Three riders were following them. “Shall we try to lose them?” Hunsicker asked.
“No. We don’t want any more trouble than we have.” Her heart sank. So much for running away.
All day long she sensed the presence of watchers. She recognized only one man. In the market she once found Michael Trebilcock staring at her through the crowd. The cold pallor of him sent tremors up her spine.
She was glad when it was over and she could retreat to her apartment.
“I’ve been studying it for three days,” Michael told Prataxis. “There’s no way in except by force. And her people are loyal enough to fight.”
“Why?” Derel asked. “She wasn’t that important before she came here. She shouldn’t command that much devotion.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe Haas will find the answer.”
Dahl Haas had driven himself to exhaustion. His quarry was older than he, and more easily wearied, but he had ridden hard too. It had taken Dahl a long time to overtake Gales. They were in northern Ruderin at the time. Dahl was satisfied that Gales was headed home. To reach Itaskia the man would have to cross the Great Bridge over the River Silverbind at the city. He decided to race ahead, rest, and be fresh when Gales hit town.
Baxendala was refreshingly friendly after Vorgreberg. The townspeople came out cheering when the troops marched in. They lined the road up to Karak Strabger, the castle overlooking the town, and cheered their King as he passed.
Sir Gjerdrum said, “They figure we’ll spend a lot of money.”
“Cynic.”
“I can’t argue that. This damned country makes you cynical. I should have listened to my father. He never wanted me to come back.” Sir Gjerdrum’s father, Eanred Tarlson, had been Marshall when Ragnarson had arrived in Kavelin. He had died during the civil war. Ragnarson had replaced him.
Bragi stopped the column. “Gjerdrum, look out there.” He pointed west. It was a fine, clear day. They could see all the way down the Gap to the more level lands. The view was tremendous. Snowcapped peaks framed it.
Gjerdrum looked for more than a minute. Finally, he said, “All right. I can’t say it isn’t worth it. If you can go on after all you’ve lost, so can I.”
An hour later, looking at the same view from the higher vantage of Karak Strabger’s watchtower, Sir Gjerdrum said, “Sire… Bragi… I need a big favor.”
“Anything within reason.”
“It’s Julie.”
“Julie? What happened to Gwendolyn?”
“She’s ancient history. Anyway, Julie’s whole family died during the wars. She’s all alone.”
“So I’ve heard. Wasn’t her father with the Damhorsters?”
“She had brothers and uncles and cousins in the South Bows, the Sedlmayr Light, and the Damhorsters. But yes, her father was with the Damhorsters. He’s buried over there.” Gjerdrum indicated a sprawling memorial cemetery filled with the dead of the battles fought here. “She wants me to lay a wreath.”
For a moment Ragnarson stared up the quiet, bright pass and recalled the sound and fury and gloom and fear of days gone by. He pictured the air aswarm with dragons, the slopes dark with the eastern horde
s, the earth trembling under the thundering contest of rival sorceries. This soil was rich with the blood of good men. Of too many good men, on both sides, driven by the ambitions of their captains. “We’ll lay wreaths for them all, Gjerdrum. For them all. What was it you wanted?”
“For you to stand up for Julie. She doesn’t have anyone to do it.”
They’re all dead, and they died for me, Bragi thought. “All right. Getting married, eh?”
Shyly, Gjerdrum said, “Once winter sets in and the pressure is off us for this year.” During winter Kavelin was safe from her enemies. The little kingdom’s people dared get domestic then.
“Yeah,” Ragnarson said. “All right.”
“What’s the matter? You sound a little strange.”
“Nothing.” Bragi smiled. “Just never thought of you as the marrying kind.”
“I’m getting older. And I found the right woman.”
“Can’t argue with that. They ought to be about ready downstairs. What say we go get this thing rolling? Those people from Maisak here yet?”
“No. But they should be in before sundown.” Two flights downward, Gjerdrum asked, “You think Hsung really is pulling the garrison out of Gog-Ahlan?”
Bragi shrugged. “It’ll be interesting to find out. That’s all I can say. Interesting to find out.”
Aral Dantice eased up out of a sleep haunted by dreams of a woman he would never again see. “Damn,” he said. “Why won’t she go away? How is she different from any other woman?”
A sleepy voice muttered, “Hunh? What’s that, Honey?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he whispered. He eased out of bed, went to a window. Heart of the night. He couldn’t have slept more than an hour. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all.
“Damn,” he said again. “Got to get back before they steal me blind.” He dressed quickly and hurried downstairs.
The place was three-quarters empty, and this was usually its busiest hour. He ambled over, took hold of the Fat Man’s elbow. “Still bad?”
“It’s terrible.” Their upper-class customers were staying away in retribution for their suspected part in the Captures match fleecing.
“It’ll pick up. Here or one of the other places. People need their vices.”
“No doubt. No doubt. You get those boxes shipped for your friend yet?”
“Seventy percent. Takes a lot of men to move that much stuff.”
“You ever find out what it was?”
“Sure. Weapons. The gamut. But mostly swords.”
“Weapons? That many? Your friend equipping an army?”
“Must be.” Aral had made Michael explain before asking his smuggler friends to do the job. He didn’t like it. Supplying weapons to El Murid’s Chosen. Seemed suicidal. But what did he know about foreign policy? He hoped the Fat Man didn’t find out. The Fat Man had a big hatred for anything that smelled of the Disciple. He’d lost a brother in the El Murid Wars.
“Going to go out and prowl,” Aral told the Fat Man. “See what’s happening around the neighborhood.”
The whole district was as quiet as their home place. Aral hoped he was right about business improving with time.
Time to go back, get some sleep. He was supposed to ride with Michael in the morning.
Mist had an appointment with Lord Ch’ien Kao E, the man most responsible for her restoration. She faced it nervously. Lord Ch’ien had spent the day representing her before the Council of Tervola. He would bear good tidings or bad.
He came in with a nod. They had decided to back her! She was Princess in fact as well as name. The empire was hers again, and this time without dispute. There was no O Shing in the outlands gathering armies to challenge her claim. She bounced off the throne and threw her arms around Lord Ch’ien. “We did it. We did it, Kao E. All the way home.”
Kao E actually hugged her back, lightly, tentatively, in the first affectionate gesture she’d ever seen from him. Behind his rigorously proper demeanor, he was excited too.
She backed away. “What did it? What convinced them?” She had expected them to temporize because of her long association with enemies of the empire.
“Your swift stabilization of the southern front coupled with your success in the east. Lord Ssu-ma spoke for you, and spoke well. He was a great admirer of Lord Kuo Wen-chin. He tipped the balance. I think we can look forward to a long and tranquil reign. There isn’t a hint of a plot to come back at you. The Tervola are tired of coup and counter-coup. They’ve seen the cost of disunity. In all the realm there is just one potential troublemaker.”
“Lord Hsung?”
“Exactly. I haven’t had time to watch him. What’s he done lately?”
“Nothing new. He just hasn’t cancelled his plan to attack Hammad al Nakir.”
“I think it’s time you replaced him, Princess.”
“He has a lot of friends. And many of the Tervola share his ideas about the western problem.” She smiled gently. She had decided what to do about Lord Hsung long ago. “We can’t move him out till he does something incontestably insubordinate.”
“At which point we’ll be at war with El Murid. He’s not a heavyweight anymore, but we don’t need more enemies of any sort.”
“Did you make the arrangements in Lord Hsung’s headquarters?”
“Exactly as you directed.”
“Good.”
“I don’t like doing that to a brother, Mistress. If I may say so.”
“I don’t either. But there are limits. He’ll damn himself out of his own mouth-and become an example.”
“As you say, Mistress.”
“As I say. One more thing. Ask Lord Ssu-ma to see me tomorrow. I want to thank him personally.”
“Of course.”
Thank him? Mist thought. He’s been thanked already. But only he and I know, Lord Ch’ien. I’m sorry, old friend, but I’m going to disappoint your secret ambition. Lord Ssu-ma is a better man for the job. But your turn will come. I promise you that. You’ve served me long and well. Be patient. I never forget my friends.
She reflected on old friends in the west, friends who would be ill-served if Lord Hsung had his way. She hoped Bragi would interpret her gesture positively.
TWENTY: YEAR 1016 AFE
AS THE SPARKS FLY UPWARD
Credence Abaca folded his hands, closed his eyes. “Read the last part again.” His aide went back to the report delivered by Michael Trebilcock’s messenger. “Tonight, eh? Here’s what you do. Have the carpenters rig a sixteen-man gibbet. Send Blakely’s company down there in civilian clothes. Tell him to grab the shit disturbers the minute they start sounding off. Give them to Trebilcock.” Michael’s report predicted rioting in the Arsen Street area.
“You know what this is, don’t you?” Abaca asked. “A diversion set up by the Estates. The main show will take place somewhere else. They want to test me. Send that back to Trebilcock. Have Adam pass the word to stay alert. Oh. Ask Trebilcock where else we might expect trouble.”
The riots began exactly as Michael predicted. Abaca was quick and merciless. His gibbet collapsed under an overload. Bodies were left lying in the streets. People were appalled and intimidated when they had time to reflect.
Abaca’s prophecy proved correct. The rioting was a diversion for a band of men who tried to raid Castle Krief. They were supposed to free the Queen and spirit her into hiding in western Kavelin. They perished in the attempt.
“Perfect end to an ill-conceived plot,” Abaca observed next morning. “We win the first test of strength. Next time they won’t underestimate me. What’s holding up breakfast?”
Dahl picked up Gales coming off the Great Bridge into the Wharf Street South district of Itaskia. Gales was a day later than Haas expected. He had had time to contact his king’s friends in the Itaskian government.
He had been surprised to find them eager to help. The man assigned to aid him was a Colonel from the War Ministry staff. He brought a team of thirty men with him. He took
one look at Gales and told Dahl, “That’s no infantry sergeant, Captain.”
“Sir?”
“The name is right. Josiah Gales. But he’s a colonel in the Greyfells family forces. One of the Duke’s top men. We thought he’d been eliminated. He’s been missing for several years. Let’s get back to the Ministry and review what you remember about his friends.”
“He’s a Greyfells agent, then?”
“Yes. A good man, too. He’s wasted on them. The rumor is, he sticks with them because he’s in love with Inger, and because he thinks he owes them for a lapse of his while guarding her when she was young.”
Dahl said, “I think you’ve answered most of the King’s questions already.”
“You sound happy.”
“I was afraid I’d have to hang around for months. I left a lady friend….” Dahl blushed.
“I see. Before you run back to her, give us a few days. With your help maybe we can scuttle this thing from this end. Chop off the dragon’s head, as it were. We knew the Greyfells lot were up to something, but we couldn’t pin it down. We expected it to be something here. Can you stay?”
“Of course. I want to ride up north while I’m here. King Bragi has some property up the river. I have relatives there.”
“I know the place. We used to have troops garrisoned there. It’s abandoned now, except for a few farmers. Your relatives farmer types?”
Dahl nodded. “My father gave them his share of the property. You sure your men will keep track of Gales?”
“Better than you could. Let’s go over what you know today. Go see your relatives tomorrow. I’ll give you a full report when you get back. We can go over any new questions, then you can head home.”
“Sounds good to me.” Dahl was eager to see the old place. He’d been happy there. He hoped he could recapture the feel of the past.
The news Bragi was awaiting finally came from Maisak. The Dread Empire legion stationed at Gog-Ahlan, a ruined city at the eastern mouth of the Savernake Gap, was pulling out. “We move in the morning,” he announced. “Up to Maisak.”
Sir Gjerdrum looked at him askance. Baron Hardle asked, “Why the hurry?”