Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  Not his mother’s approach at all. Nepanthe was determined to swamp him with love.

  “To smother him,” she murmured. Then, too softly to be understood by the children, she wondered, “What is he remembering?”

  At that moment Smyrena announced the end of her nap, with considerable gusto, adding that, surely, it must be feeding time.

  A glance showed Haroun crossing more desert.

  There was plenty of that. It never did get very interesting.

  TWENTY-TWO: WINTER, YEAR 1017 AFE

  THROYES

  The portal technicians requested the presence of their Empress at their headquarters. Mist put aside nonsense that was a consequence of having too much time, made her way to the home space of the Imperial Interstitial Communications and Transport Corps. If they had completed their assignment she would use their self-aggrandizing designation cheerfully.

  Lord Yuan Tin Yuan welcomed her personally. Lord Yuan seemed even more elderly. And, true, he had been a boy at the same time as her departed grandfather. Like Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i, Lord Yuan survived shifting political winds by remaining indifferent to the source of his orders. Lord Yuan was interested only in his own narrow realm. Existence itself was all about communication. He provided the best, most efficient tools.

  Mist supposed the end of the several wars had left Lord Yuan’s corps with a lot of free time. Mischief time, Lord Ssu-ma would call it. Mischief prevention was one reason that the trainees of the Demonstration Legion were given so much make-work.

  The legions themselves were, already, beginning to transition to a public works orientation. They would begin by building border fortifications to defend new borders.

  “Lord Yuan, your presence graces us,” Mist said.

  “I have no other diversions right now, Illustrious, so I choose to steal the glory of the clever young men who do the real work.”

  “May I assume that my western adjustments have been completed?”

  “You may, Illustrious. And in the most laudable fashion, I must say.”

  Lord Yuan could be a talker. She ought not to offend him by hurrying him. Time was not pressing, nowadays.

  “I know you have a thousand tasks, Illustrious, so, difficult as it may be for an old man with a wandering mind, I will try to be concise.”

  Mist’s lifeguards stirred but did not allow their amusement any more obvious demonstration.

  “Thank you, Lord Yuan.”

  “The functioning portals remain in place, there to be sacrificed. To those venues we added dead portals to be discovered, too. We also positioned reconditioned damaged portals that will function without benefit of cosmetic upgrades. Those remain inert. We hope the westerners will ignore them because they look dead. We can activate them at will later.

  “At the cemetery we installed portals in another two mausoleums, then a third portal, better disguised, in the rear of the tomb of the dead Queen. There are new units concealed in the ruins of your former home, too. And, finally, there is a new unit in a ruined temple in the forest southwest…”

  Repetitious mention of ruins penetrated. “What do you mean, ruins? My house was damaged when I saw it but it wasn’t a ruin.”

  “I speak figuratively. The natives tore it up while looking for treasure and portals. Then a girl who was living in the basement set a fire. No one knows what that was about. The place is empty, now, though.”

  “They didn’t find any treasure.”

  Lord Yuan added, “Nor did they find the new portals. They’ve only just begun searching the cemetery.”

  “I can use the portals if I want, then?”

  “Exercising utmost caution, Illustrious. Those are unpredictable people out there.”

  “Yes. And the Empire Destroyer is still there with them.”

  “We believe so, Illustrious. He has become invisible himself but his familiar haunts the nighttime sky.”

  “Let me think about this. Oh. Good work, everyone. Thank you.”

  Lord Yuan said, “I will see that you get the designator, alert, and activation codes as soon as we finalize them, Illustrious.”

  Mist joined Wen-chin and the Old Man without warning. There were playing shogi and drinking tea. The Old Man’s color had improved. He had gained weight. There were black speckles at the roots of his hair and a twinkle in his eye when he considered her.

  The man within had come back a long way if he could now appreciate what he was seeing.

  She asked, “Have we been making progress?”

  Wen-chin said, “I’m losing games, now. At this rate the advantage will be all his soon.”

  “Any recollections?”

  “Some, but it’s like the dementia of old folks. He has crystalline memories of things that happened so long ago that they don’t even echo in our mythologies today. He seems especially focused on something called the Nawami Crusades. Heard of that?”

  “Obliquely, during the skirmish with the Deliverer.” She considered the Old Man, who did not seem to mind being discussed. “How is his attitude toward the Star Rider?” She enunciated carefully, testing the Old Man’s hearing.

  He heard her just fine. He started. Then his shoulders slumped. He shrank into himself.

  “I see.” Then, “Could his dawn-time memories be more useful than anything recent? What say you?”

  “An argument could be made, I’m sure.”

  “Only a few of us know he’s alive. I’m sure the Star Rider isn’t one. Starting tomorrow you’ll be dogged by scribes. They will record everything, especially recovered memories. Copies will be made, distributed, and scattered as fast as possible. More copies will be made elsewhere, with some being hidden. If we suffer the fate of all of Old Meddler’s previous enemies we will, at least, leave a legacy too vast and in too many forms to eradicate. One that might be used by a future generation.”

  Wen-chin rose, stretched, bowed. “So shall it be.” Then, “Make sure your scribes know how to keep out of the way.”

  “They will.”

  Scribes were always unobtrusive when they served those at high levels. That was a skill as critical as excellent penmanship.

  Wen-chin seated himself. He made a move that pleased the Old Man. He grumbled, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

  Ragnarson was in a good temper. He thought he had his inner conflicts worked out. He had been exercising, too. He supposed he could walk a mile without collapsing now. He asked Mist, “Has something happened?”

  “Mostly not, really. It’s more like we’re winding down everywhere.”

  “Calm before the storm?”

  “Possibly, in my head. And maybe in Varthlokkur’s. Probably hoping that it is, the Star Rider. The rest of the world is sitting back and putting its feet up.”

  “Sounds like a good thing.”

  “I wouldn’t disagree. But I do know that Old Meddler is out there and he hasn’t given up his wicked ways.”

  Ragnarson grunted. That was not meant to communicate anything.

  Mist asked, “You have any thoughts on that subject?”

  Ragnarson grunted again. “None charitable toward him. But I don’t have any toward the wind or rain, either. Weather is a fact of life. So is Old Meddler.” Then, “I saw him once, you know.”

  Mist frowned. “And? A lot of people have.”

  “They hadn’t, back then. Some of Nepanthe’s brothers and El Murid were about all. It was during one of the fights in the Savernake Gap. The time the Power went away. He was way up high overhead. I only picked him out for a second, I’m pretty sure because he screwed up. Nobody was supposed to know he was interfering.”

  He guessed his confession meant nothing here. Mist had gone away inside her head while he was talking.

  She came back a new woman, full of energy and excitement. “I’ve had an epiphany. And I’ve made up my mind. You’re going back to Kavelin even if you are still crazy. I’ll put a leash on you so I can calm you down if you need it. We have to end the chaos. We need stability and str
ength. Some things can’t be allowed to relax. Some things have to be kept together.”

  Ragnarson confessed, “You’ve lost me completely.”

  She was not listening.

  The Empress ran her lifeguards ragged. She was manic. She darted round the empire till she found Lord Ssu-ma. She spent an intense hour with the pig farmer’s son, then scampered back to the Karkha Tower for a slightly less intense sit-down with Kuo Wen-chin. It would have been more efficient to do that before she looked for Lord Ssu-ma but she had been excited and just had to see Shih-ka’i first. He was now the man she most trusted in this world—despite his deceit in the matter of Kuo Wen-chin. And that had begun to look like an inspired bit of insubordination.

  From the Karkha Tower she raced off to see Lord Yuan Tin Yuan, rousing that ancient from the bed that was the one luxury he allowed himself. Following a long chat she plunged into the night in a Kaveliner graveyard.

  Nothing had changed there. Nothing had been done to keep Shinsan from walking the transfer streams into Kavelin.

  However…

  The mausoleum portal had been sabotaged so that it could not be used to make a getaway. “Which might not demonstrate clarity of reasoning by whoever did the damage,” Mist told portal technician Tang Shan, who had accompanied her. “Snap this trap on the wrong prey, you could end up wishing you’d left them a half-dozen holes to get back out.”

  The technician was not smitten by her brilliance. He nodded vacantly and focused on finding the problem. Mist led her lifeguards out into the night.

  A pink dot appeared in the direction of Vorgreberg seconds later. She remarked, “That didn’t take long.”

  The dot headed their way.

  Closer, something stirred amongst the tombstones, hurried away. It was something sizable but left too fast to be identified. It might have been a deer. Deer did graze among the tombstones. The grasses were sweet and some flowers left by the living made tasty treats.

  An owl said something suitably mournful not far away. A bat swooshed within grabbing distance.

  A lifeguard drove a short infantry thrusting spear into the ground. Another tied a courier case to its butt using the cord the infantryman would keep tied to his wrist so his weapon would not get lost if his grip failed.

  “Good enough.” Mist led the way back into the mausoleum as the Unborn drew close enough to be seen as something less pleasant than a pink light.

  One added level of clever lay behind the sabotage. If she got away that indicated the existence of another portal.

  Unless…

  Genius Tang Shan reported, “Somebody drove a sliver the size of a toothpick in beside the access modal. The catch was jammed. We’re all set now.”

  “Great work, Tang Shan,” Mist said. “So, let’s get the hell gone. That thing turned up faster than I expected.”

  Varthlokkur approached Throyes cautiously. It was nighttime, of course, and there was no moon out. No need to let people down there get a good look at what the Unborn was hauling. Troubling enough that they would see the monster itself.

  Radeachar deposited him atop the Karkha Tower. He waited while the lookout went for the man in charge. The Candidate took his time. Varthlokkur did not recall his name. He arrived moving slowly and with considerable care. He had not yet recovered fully from wounds suffered earlier in the year. He talked slowly, too, enunciating carefully, apparently unaware that Varthlokkur had spent his youth in Shinsan and spoke the principal dialect quite well.

  The wizard did not set the Candidate straight. Little advantages must be hoarded.

  The Candidate said, “The Illustrious is not here right now. I am to make you comfortable in one of our apartments till she can grace us with her presence.”

  Was he out of touch with the language after all? “Are you being sarcastic, Candidate?”

  The very suggestion appalled the young man. “Sir? No! Why would you even consider that?”

  “I withdraw the question. I forgot the impact she can have. Indulge me, if you will. I have chosen to bring an associate. I would like to wait here till Radeachar brings him in.”

  “But… I wasn’t informed…”

  “It won’t take long. He’s just across the river. We leap-frogged getting here.” He spied Radeachar in the distance, approaching slowly, at a considerable altitude.

  Ragnarson was tired and not feeling particularly patient. It was past his customary bedtime. He had nothing to say, either, though he suspected he had no languages in common with his companions.

  Though not dressed it, the younger man was Tervola and had to be in disgrace to be locked up here. The other, who never spoke and did nothing but study a shogi board, seemed vaguely familiar.

  Neither introduced himself. Fine by him. He stood by a window, vainly hoping to see something of the city. He saw only the same nothing from a more acute angle.

  A strong pink light waxing and waning told him the Unborn was active out there.

  Why? What was going on?

  He would find out when that suited someone’s whim.

  The door opened. People entered. The first two were legionnaires armed and armored for the sorcerous battlefield. Behind came two tall men in western dress, then the Candidate who managed the tower, then three more armed men. The soldiers spread out. The Candidate said, “The Illustrious will be here shortly. Scribes. Your presence will not be required.”

  Two nearly invisible little men, not of the ruling race of Shinsan, gathered their writing materials and exited.

  Ragnarson paid no attention. He stared—glared—at the westerners. First was Varthlokkur, looking distinctly uncomfortable. A step behind him came Michael Trebilcock, looking far older than his actual age. He had gained weight, gone grey, developed a limp, and acquired a sense of style suited to the common man.

  Both gravitated toward Ragnarson, though the wizard had fixed on the old man hunched over the shogi board.

  Trebilcock extended a hand. Varthlokkur did not. Ragnarson shook. Trebilcock said, “Reports said you might have survived but I never quite believed them. It didn’t make sense.” Which made it clear that the raid on the tower had not been initiated by Michael Trebilcock.

  “Not much that goes on here does.” Ragnarson and the wizard went on staring one another down.

  Trebilcock said, “The stupidest thing you can do is hang onto stupidity already committed. Particularly when even congenitally stupid folks see that you were stupid and you’re going right on being stupid.”

  Ragnarson broke eye contact. Neither he nor the wizard addressed their conflict nor responded to Trebilcock. They had, silently and tacitly, agreed to put all that in the past, for now.

  Ragnarson asked the wizard, “How is the boy?”

  “Coming back, but slowly. His mother is more optimistic than I am.” The wizard stared at the old man.

  Ragnarson asked, “You know him? He seems familiar, somehow.”

  “He should be. From Fangdred. You probably didn’t see much of him at the time, though.”

  “That was a long time ago. Michael, I heard you were dead, too, but your name always came up whenever anything happened that nobody could explain.”

  “The world is supposed to think I’m dead.” Trebilcock turned to look at the new arrivals.

  Ragnarson recognized Lord Ssu-ma but not his companion, a Tervola of extreme age. Varthlokkur, though, did. He headed for the man as though excited.

  Ragnarson glanced at Trebilcock. Michael shrugged. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”

  “Nary a clue, though this is where they keep me. How come you’re with him?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s been freeloading and getting underfoot since he walked into my shop looking for something else. He doesn’t explain himself. No clue at all?”

  “None. This is new. But there is one odd note. Other than Varthlokkur and the two who just walked out, everybody here is supposed to be dead.”

  Trebilcock frowned. “I don’t know anyone but you and him
. Most people do think you and I are dead. There was a hot rumor about you a while back but it blew over when you never turned up.”

  “How come you’re dead? Why aren’t you helping Inger?”

  “Truth? You may not like it.”

  “Try me.”

  “She didn’t deserve help. I tried. I cut her miles of slack. She couldn’t stop being a Greyfells. So now the only people she has left are ones who didn’t have the balls to run away.”

  Wistfully, Ragnarson said, “She was so fine when I met her.”

  Michael responded with a conspiratorial smile. “That would be back when she was just another woman amongst women you hadn’t yet had.”

  “Yeah. Before the world made her over. Before I opened the gate to hell.”

  He watched Lord Ssu-ma introduce the ancient Tervola to the Tervola in civilian dress. The former, plainly, was astonished to find the other in good health.

  Varthlokkur returned. “That old man was one of my teachers. He was a youngster then, though. We were as nearly friends as could be where one was a fast-rising technical genius and the other an emotional cripple with extreme potential. I’m amazed that he’s still with us. He claims they won’t let him die because he knows more about the transfer streams than any dozen of his staffers combined.”

  Ragnarson showed Trebilcock a set of raised eyebrows. This excited wizard was not the Varthlokkur either of them knew.

  Trebilcock asked, “He say anything about why we’re here?”

  The wizard shook his head.

  Trebilcock said, “As usual, he knows more than he’s telling.”

  Ragnarson said, “Whatever, they’re taking it to the highest level. The other Tervola is Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i. He’s Mist’s number one military guy.”

  “She’s up to something.”

  Varthlokkur said, “Her father was the Demon Prince. Imperial founder Tuan Hoa was her grandfather. She has made herself empress twice. She was born, ‘Up to something.’ She’ll die when something she’s up to bites her head off.”

  The legionnaires along the far wall, beside the entrance, snapped to attention. They had not done so before, even for Lord Ssu-ma.