Wrath of Kings

by Glen Cook

  One eastern soldier smiled thinly. Bragi assumed that meant that arrangements were in place already.

  Tang Shan and the lifeguards wore what, at a hundred yards, might pass for local clothing. Any nearer, though, and one would have to be afflicted with terrible eyesight not to see that they were no local peasants. Even Tang was big for Kavelin.

  Shan said, “You are correct. We should. Lord Yuan has work waiting for me. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “I’m not so sure I still love you, either.” Ragnarson groaned as he got his legs underneath him.

  Trebilcock remarked, “You’d better not need carrying. You do, you’ll be having supper with the wolves.”

  “I’ll manage. It’s all downhill from here.”

  And up. And sideways. With no road. With no path. Without even a decent game trail trending the proper direction through the autumn-painted tangle of palisade for the ruins. After two hours Ragnarson gasped, “Shan, how will you ever find your way back?”

  The Tervola grinned. “We’re clever. We have secret skills.”

  Trebilcock said, “They’ve been dropping bread crumbs.”

  Tang agreed. “After a fashion. Worry not. We saw to our needs before we gave any attention to yours.”

  “That fills me with confidence.”

  “I am pleased by your praise.”

  Ragnarson realized, to his surprise, that he was in better spirits than he had been for an age, though fighting the undergrowth up and down gully banks was murderously exhausting.

  In time, Michael said, “Shan, we’ve been at this for three hours. You said two. Are you leading us around in circles?”

  Tang Shan, worn out himself, gasped, “I am currently providing the rearguard. If we meander please blame the man out front.”

  The man breaking trail was best known as Michael Trebilcock. He did not stop grumbling. But, just minutes later, he flung up a hand for a halt, then used it to cup an ear.

  Faint road traffic noise leaked into the woods. The five oozed toward it.

  Twenty feet further on the tangle became the usual vaguely groomed Kaveliner woodland where the deadwood stayed harvested and the brush did not get much chance to flourish. It looked exactly the same as far as the eye could see in every direction.

  Ragnarson muttered, “There’s some witchcraft stuff going on here.”

  “Can’t get anything past you,” Trebilcock countered.

  “I’d forgotten what a wiseass you can be.”

  “Look there.” Something moved from right to left up ahead. “Are those camels?”

  The shapes were vague through the trees but, yes, those big lumps of ugly were camels. Ragnarson turned to ask the Tervola if he was sure they had come through the right portal.

  There were no easterners to be seen.

  While Ragnarson gawked at their absence Trebilcock drifted forward, sniffing. “No doubt about it. Those are camels. And I know where we are.”

  “They’re gone. Those three. Vanished.”

  “They stepped back inside the illusion. Ask Varthlokkur to look for the place next time you see him. We’re just south of the southern road west. Sedlmayr is off that way maybe forty miles. Two or three miles that way is your old house. Two more miles and we’ll be knocking on the castle gate.”

  Ragnarson snorted. “I can imagine the party my wife will throw if she finds out I’m back.”

  “She might surprise you. So. Let’s stroll on over there and take a gander at a world that has camels in it.”

  Bragi was reluctant. He no longer had the inclination to play politics. He was a blunted sword, possibly bent, maybe even broken.

  Michael misread him. “Who would recognize us? I look fifteen years older. You’ve lost weight, you got no beard, you’re turning grey, and you’re dragging…”

  “I get your point, thank you very much. Young girls won’t throw themselves at me anymore.” Sherilee was back in his head, like a nagging toothache.

  “And you’re crabby. Not to mention, you’re dressed weird.” Trebilcock flashed a huge grin.

  “Lead on, boy wonder.”

  Now Michael flashed a grimace. “Would it be smart for me to leave you out of sight behind me?”

  “Why don’t we find out?” Then, muttering, “Camels? How come there are camels on the Sedlmayr road?” He did not like camels. In his youth, while with Hawkwind in the desert, he had had camels close by constantly. He associated their stench with that of misfortune, still.

  Dahl Haas finished hitching the donkey to the cart. He helped Kristen board, hoisted Bragi up. He would lead. They looked like prosperous peasants. Haas hoped no one wondered why there was nothing in the cart but a child and an apparently pregnant woman.

  Nearby, Bight Mundwiller and the Blodgett girl played at clumsy courtship rituals, Bight by far the more maladroit, mainly to irritate Ozora. The matriarch was suitably irked but refused to be baited by children.

  Dahl murmured, “At some point Ozora will make that boy sorry he withdrew his affections from you.”

  “Not funny, Dahl! And is there suddenly something wrong with the girl?”

  “Like what? She’s a girl being a girl figuring out that she has the power to fog men’s minds. She’ll only get more wicked as she hones her skills.”

  “Somebody is going to get honed if he don’t watch his attitude.”

  “My thesis proven. What’s his problem?”

  Bight was staring in the direction the camels had gone. Nothing unusual there. A couple of shabby old travelers were approaching lazily. They might be brothers. They were tall and graying but both still had their own hair.

  Haas approached the youngsters. “Is there a problem? You know those men? Are they trouble?”

  The girl said, “No, Mr. Haas. The one on the right reminded me of my Uncle Bridewell. That startled me because he died last year. Then Bight said that they were too far away to recognize, anyway, even if we did know them.”

  Bight said, “I got upset because I thought she was upset.”

  She said, “Anyway, I can’t see through him so he can’t be a ghost. And, now that they’re closer, I can see that he’s taller than Uncle Bridewell was. But I wish they would look up so I could see their faces.”

  Haas caught an odd note there but could not imagine why. He drifted back to his cart, watching the travelers as he went.

  Aral Dantice came out of the woods, where he had gone to consult the famous horse trader. He grumbled, “I don’t remember eating anything that would do that to me. The flies are going to be in heaven. Well. Speaking of some remarkable shit. Look at this.” He ogled the tall old men with far more surprise than Bight or the girl had.

  They were just twenty paces away and focused on the dust in front of their feet, shoulders hunched against the attention they had attracted.

  Ozora barked, “What are you people doing? If you don’t move we’ll have to spend another night camped out with the bugs and mosquitoes.”

  Something clicked. Dahl recognized the man on the left. The one on his own right. Not the one who had Aral’s attention, that the girl had mistaken for her uncle.

  He did not shout. He said nothing to anyone. He just oozed over to the road to intercept the pair. “Excuse me, sirs. A moment, I beg.”

  Both men kept searching the road immediately in front of their feet, shuffling dispiritedly, which willful focus made managing full awareness of their surroundings problematic. It was an ostrich approach to personal camouflage.

  The nearer man responded with a dramatic start. He looked up.

  Dahl lurched back. “Gods damn me!” He retreated several steps before good sense took over.

  Both travelers shifted hands to the hilts of daggers and considered their surroundings.

  Haas moved to Kristen, placed himself between her and the road, hoping to control her reaction.

  At which point the Blodgett girl blurted, “Uncle Chames?”

  Chames? What happened to Bridewell?

&nbs
p; The girl galloped to the roadside. She was not at all shy about throwing herself onto one of the men.

  Dahl heard him murmur, “Haida, we’re really trying to avoid attracting attention.”

  “Oh. Hell! I’m sorry. I got excited.”

  Haas moved back toward the travelers, as did Bight Mundwiller, the latter uncertainly. The other Sedlmayrese stopped to gawk.

  “Too late, now. The cat has dumped the cream.”

  Though she was not interested Michael introduced Ragnarson to the girl as his cousin Leopard Marks. “I forget why we call him that. His real name is Flynn.”

  “Because I changed my spots.”

  Trebilcock offered no name for the girl, Dahl supposed because he did not know what name she was using. He had not missed him calling her Haida.

  The girl retreated into resounding silence.

  Haas glared at both men, willing them to do nothing to turn the moment more treacherous than it was. He looked back at Kristen. “Flynn” did the same, having recognized her. And she had recognized him, now. She lacked all color.

  They had talked about what this would mean, for her, for them, for the younger Bragi. Though the King’s return was only a theoretical possibility it never seemed vaguely likely outside popular fantasy. Unless…

  Dahl looked back up the road. No. They were alone. But…

  Shinsan would not arrive in full kit with bands playing if the King was back as their man.

  But!

  These two had been missing and presumed dead for a year. Now they were sneaking back. Together. That could have immense meaning, perhaps going all the way back to before the King’s dumb eastern adventure.

  Dahl turned to Aral Dantice. Aral was Michael’s best friend.

  Aral was helping the Sedlmayrese get ready to move out. His moment of surprise past, Aral was making like he had recognized no one.

  Had he been running point for the others when Kristen spotted him?

  Ozora commanded, “Blodgett girl! Come here! Now!”

  She did as directed. Bight followed. He would bark back if the old woman was excessively unreasonable.

  The old king said, “Chames, we need to move along. A pleasure to meet you, young man.” He inclined his head toward Kristen. “And your missus. Blessings be upon the babe to come.”

  He did not sound sincere.

  Dahl suppressed an impulse to explain that there was no need for anger. Only, the Queen Mother could have become pregnant. The displeasure directed her way was not entirely misplaced. They were not always as careful as they should be.

  The old king added, “Keep up the good work, son. Maybe we’ll meet again in more comfortable circumstances.” Meaning he saw no reason to trust anyone behind Haas. Longing shown when he looked at the younger Bragi.

  “I shall look forward. Good fortune dog your journey, sir.”

  “And yours as well.”

  The tall old men shuffled on, watched by the Sedlmayrese. Only Ozora said anything, though.

  The Blodgett girl answered every question with an elaborate and plausible lie about distant uncles, one of whom she had never met before. The ease with which she dissembled amazed Dahl. She convinced Ozora of nothing, but the old woman did pretend to believe her. She had recognized neither uncle herself.

  Dahl wondered what tall tales the girl had spun already and would continue to spin. Clearly, she was one of Michael Trebilcock’s gang.

  The Sedlmayrese clattered into the courtyard of their city’s commercial factor station as twilight assembled in Vorgreberg, whereupon the Blodgett girl vanished quicker than a puff of mist. One moment she was playing maiden games with Bight, the next she was not and no one had seen her fade into the gathering shadows.

  Definitely one of Michael Trebilcock’s phantoms.

  Babeltausque ambled into the Twisted Wrench. He visited frequently, evenings. His implied motive was concern over what had happened to Rhys Benedit. Benedit was not convinced. He believed that the wizard wanted an excuse to drink while fishing for the skinny on anything happening amongst the ticks infesting Vorgreberg’s underbelly.

  Both men were right.

  Benedit was doing better now that the garrison was back but he was not prospering. The soldiers had no money while some potential customers would not share space with the Queen’s men.

  “I’ll try the new dark tonight, Rhys. You were right. It is an acquired taste. And I’m acquiring it.”

  Benedit produced a pint. Babeltausque kept the man in front of him briefly, considering his eye and damaged face. “Any sight coming back?”

  “A little, sir. More than I expected. Better than being all the way blind.”

  “I’ll help if I can find a way. This is much better than the last batch.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “So what’s on your mind, Rhys?”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re shuffling like you’re trying to make up your mind if you should tell me something.” Babeltausque strained to produce a smile.

  “Uh… Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “And?”

  Benedit needed a few seconds more. Then he sucked in a deep breath, took the plunge. “That Haida Heltkler. I seen her maybe a hour ago, going past in a big hurry. I made like I never recognized her.”

  It took Babeltausque a moment to recall why he ought to know the name. Then, “That’s interesting. Very interesting. Thank you, Rhys.”

  “Don’t tell nobody I told you.”

  “Told me what? I hardly know you. Top me up.” He pushed an extra groat across the counter, then nursed his beer and eavesdropped. Bar talk focused on the Thingmeet, which would start doing whatever Thingmeets did soon after sunrise tomorrow. The sorcerer was amazed at the popular level of ignorance. The soldiers only cared because extra work would be expected of them.

  While Babeltausque lent an ear to that he bent the other to Rhys Benedit.

  The publican had gotten into the habit of muttering to himself after his injury. It made everyone uncomfortable. The tick became markedly worse when Babeltausque was around. But folks failed to listen, failed to see that communication was going on.

  * * *

  Nathan Wolf joined Babeltausque as soon as he could escape from Inger and Thingmeet preparation. “You have news?”

  “The Heltkler girl is back. She was seen outside the Twisted Wrench three hours ago. I want to see her.”

  “Carrie won’t like that.” Wolf dreaded the wizard’s lover. The child could deploy a sharper tongue than the Queen herself and was more skilled at using it to get what she wanted.

  “Carrie isn’t involved. Heltkler has information we want. Round her up.”

  “Any suggestions as to where?”

  “Start with that butcher shop. Then try the apothecary. Do whatever you need to do.”

  Toby eased away from where he had been eavesdropping, careful to make no noise. Then he raced to his grandfather.

  A tired-looking Wesson soldier in drooping, frayed livery pounded on the door of the apothecary shop. He was amazed when a man actually responded. He had been here several times lately, to purchase medicines for the doctor, and had never gotten an answer.

  “What is it, Fletcher?”

  The soldier handed over a letter, made it clear by his stance that he wanted an answer. The apothecary nodded, broke the seal, read.

  The soldier thought the man seemed disheartened. After a moment, he said, “I’ll get started right away. It will take time. Have him send you back tomorrow evening for what I can get ready. Blue asparagus seed will be a problem. He should still have some of that, though. It will be cash on delivery from now on. No more credit for the castle.”

  “I understand, sir.” The castle owed everybody, including him. “I will relay your message exactly.”

  Ragnarson raised an eyebrow when Michael Trebilcock returned.

  Trebilcock said, “They’re onto us already. Well, onto Haida.”

  The girl lay with face on her arms on the
table. The three had been sharing a rough meal.

  “She passed out after you left. Must of was tireder than me.”

  “Playing a role can be exhausting. The stuff she dug up will be useful but I don’t see why she thought she had to get it.”

  “She wanted to please you.”

  Trebilcock stared at Ragnarson.

  “It’s pretty obvious, Michael.”

  “Yes. Well. As may be.” He gripped the girl’s right shoulder, shook gently. “Haida. Girl. Wake up. We have to go. Castle soldiers are on their way.”

  She got up, groggy, eyes half open, crossed. “Uh?”

  “Did you visit somebody on your way here? Or see somebody that you knew?”

  “Huh? Nobody. I came straight. Why?”

  “Somebody saw you. They knew the Queen’s sorcerer wants to get to know you better. Wolf is coming to get you.”

  She was wide awake now. “We need to get out of here!”

  “Yes. We do. But don’t panic. Where should we go? After we watch the raid?”

  Nobody had an answer. Ragnarson said, “I’ve been gone longer than either of you. I don’t have anywhere left.” The only place that came to mind, Fiana’s crypt, would work only till Inger looked there.

  Thinking about Fiana was unproductive. If he started he would not be able to stop. Fiana had been an obsession in her time, as Sherilee had become more recently. He could not shake either woman out of his head. He saw no reason to try.

  “Well?” Babeltausque asked. The key fact was obvious. Nathan had no cute young cunny in hand.

  “There was nobody at the butcher shop. Somebody was in the apothecary shop earlier but not when we got there. Candle smoke was in the air. The doors were unlocked. I think we were expected and they left us no excuses to break stuff. They weren’t generous with clues this time.”

  “They got the warning fast. Real fast. Let’s do some checking.”

  “It’s late, wizard.”

  “As they say, we can sleep all we want after we’re dead.”

  There were fewer than forty people resident in, or even part of the commuting staff of, Castle Krief. It took only minutes to determine that neither Toby nor Dr. Wachtel had left. Only three people had gone since Babeltausque’s initial discussion with Nathan Wolf. Colonel Gales, under orders from Her Majesty, had gone for yet another visit to the Thing hall. Inger’s attendant Garyline had gone home to her mother for the night. The mother was dying. Garyline helped two married sisters care for the woman. Finally, there was Freider Fletcher, a Wesson soldier so dim he had trouble remembering how to tie his bootlaces, had gone off duty and had, presumably, pursued his habit of visiting the Twisted Wrench. He was there now, soaking up ale he could afford because small arrears payments had been given the men out of early tax returns coming in because of the Thingmeet.