by Glen Cook
Those had begun to surface the night he looked into the eyes of that girl Haida.
The Queen shrugged. “Is that important?”
“Only in the sense that someone may have wanted the butcher to suffer.”
“It’s an odd thing to be distressed about. But I’ll take your word.”
“Most gracious of you. Majesty, we will continue to look at that, hoping the villains give themselves away. Meantime, I must deliver some unhappy news. Mr. Wolf and I have identified the spy.”
“And?”
“The spy is the doctor. He uses Toby as his runner.”
“That can’t be. That old man has never been anything but the castle doctor. He was the castle doctor even while Shinsan occupied Kavelin.”
“I share your disappointment. I didn’t want to believe it myself. I like Wachtel. But there is no doubt. Something must have changed.”
“What could that be?”
“I don’t know. I suggest we ignore it. We gain nothing by arresting him. Let’s keep treating him as a national treasure but don’t let him near anything interesting.”
“Make sure of that and I’ll go along.”
“With Toby, too. The boy may actually be the lead conspirator.”
Inger shook her head, mumbled. Babeltausque suspected that she was hurt by Wachtel’s treason. He wondered, too, why she never had the boy king close by. Fulk was little, sure, and sickly, but he should be suckling the ways of kingship along with mother’s milk. Though he never got near his true mommy’s teat.
Inger asked, “What about the money?”
“Still missing. Mr. Wolf and I have exhausted every idea we could generate. We’re reduced to doing what everyone else has. Trying to re-create the itinerary of the thieves and search everywhere along the way.”
“Others are looking?”
“It’s supposed to be a lot of money.” Careful to sound neutral, he added, “We may have to accept the possibility that the money has been taken already. Perhaps by General Liakopulos. Or maybe Michael Trebilcock has had it all along.”
Inger snapped, “Keep looking! Never stop looking. That money is our only hope of hanging on here.”
A servant brought word that Nathan Wolf wanted to see his Queen right away.
Inger looked at the sorcerer. He shrugged. “Send him in.”
Babeltausque was irked. Wolf’s timing was awful. He had been about to nibble around the edges of his need.
Wolf wasted no time. “Kristen has moved into Sedlmayr. The Mundwillers have been taken her in. Sedlmayr’s elders have declared for Bragi. Again.”
“When can we expect trouble?” Inger glanced at Babeltausque. Her look said find that treasure fast.
Wolf said, “We won’t have to, apparently.”
“Nathan?”
“Their strategy, that they mean to preach everywhere, will be to ignore us.”
Babeltausque observed, “That’s an odd way of doing business.”
“I report what was reported to me. They intend to take a business approach. They will consolidate the kingdom from Sedlmayr, avoiding any fighting. Looks to me like they’ll end up in control of the economy. The Estates will accommodate themselves to the reality.”
Inger said, “There is something you don’t want to tell me, Nathan. What would that be?”
“I don’t want to upset you more than you already are.”
The sorcerer forced a bland face.
“Spit it out.”
“Majesty, the people backing Kristen are making no military preparations. They don’t consider them necessary. They expect us to collapse under the weight of our own incompetence.”
Nathan tried to soften the sting. Likely the people he mentioned themselves named no name but Inger’s.
The Queen said, “We shall disappoint them.” Her look told Babeltausque he was the man to make or break the future.
He left with Wolf, disappointed. He had not managed to lay any groundwork.
Wolf stayed with Babeltausque all the way to the latter’s apartment. “Do not despair, Mr. Wolf. We aren’t yet out of options.”
“Did you get anything from that corpse?”
“No. That was a head game with our enemies. Cunning will have to make up for what we lack in money and numbers.”
Wolf was not reassured.
Babeltausque wondered how long Nathan would endure. The rest of the Itaskians would follow if he deserted .
...
Babeltausque slipped a silver groat to the warder. The man wandered off, probably to the Twisted Wrench. He forgot his keys.
For a month, now, there had been only one prisoner. The man whimpered when he heard keys jingle.
Babeltausque peered in at Dane of Greyfells. The Duke’s situation was no longer so grim. He had been moved to a better cell. He had lamps. He ate the same as the garrison. He had his own chamber pot, cycled daily. He had a small table, a chair, pen, ink, and inexpensive paper, though he was permitted no communication with anyone outside. There was fresh straw for the floor each five days.
He had a cot, a pillow, and a soldier’s rough blanket.
“Doing good for an unpopular prisoner,” the sorcerer observed.
Greyfells cowered in a corner. He made a mewling sound when Babeltausque rattled the keys.
The sorcerer stared for half a minute, then grumbled, “Evidently the balance has been rectified. This doesn’t interest me anymore. Be at peace, My Lord.” He returned the way he had come, leaving the keys where he had found them. Soon afterward he left the castle. He did not care who noticed his departure.
...
Chames Marks, known also as Chames Felt, Ghaiman Felt, Marcus Michaels, and a half-dozen others, had returned to his apothecary shop after a brief hiatus. The castle folk were not interested in him by any name despite his known connection to Haida Heltkler.
He did not trust that indifference despite assurances that Nathan Wolf and the sorcerer had given him only the briefest look. They seemed confident that he had no interests outside his apothecary business.
Chames thought those people might be smart enough to see that his business made a good cover for traffic generated by espionage. Maybe they based their thinking on the fact that he had a broad, solid business, not just a storefront. Maybe his best character witness, Dr. Wachtel, had been found out and was being played. He decided to go about his business as though every breath was scrutinized.
He replaced Haida Heltkler with Seline Shalot, a younger, more flamboyant girl the castle folks ought to be able to suborn. She could deliver regular reports on how boring he was.
He grinned. The game was getting dangerous. He savored the heady risk.
...
Summer was on the wane. Early crops were being harvested. Across Kavelin anyone not committed otherwise became involved in the harvest; reaping, winnowing, slaughtering, preserving, storing. A thousand tasks had to be managed. Crops were good everywhere. Piglets grown into hogs and lambs grown into sheep were spared the killing knife because their sacrifice would not be needed. There was forage enough to bring them through the winter so they could be bred to expand the herds and flocks.
Prosperity threatened not just Kavelin but all of the Lesser Kingdoms.
There was but one evil omen.
That monster harbinger, that angel of evil, the Unborn, had become a fixture of the nighttime sky, haunting Kavelin, its presence blatant. Wicked old Varthlokkur wanted it known that he was watching.
That hideous lich caused a hundred schemes to miscarry.
Even those who thought Varthlokkur ought to see them favorably tried to avoid being noticed by the Unborn.
...
Dahl Haas said, “I don’t understand why you feel so negative, love. It’s all going good. Even the Estates are coming around.”
“But they don’t mean it in their hearts. Bragi looks like the coming thing so they’re covering their asses.”
“Yeah. But you’re thinking too much. Most peopl
e don’t look past the end of next week. Have faith in the stupidity of your friends and of your enemies.”
“Dahl, I’d rather not think at all.”
They were alone. The soldier leaned in and planted an ardent kiss on the king’s mother. The king’s mother responded enthusiastically.
Haas pulled back. “Ozora is brilliant. It’s going exactly how she predicted. Time is our champion now. Inger won’t last much longer.”
“Aral says she’s trying hard to find the missing treasury money. If she does…”
“She’ll be disappointed. Assuming Aral told the truth.”
“Uhm?”
“He claimed Michael said there wasn’t much treasury left.”
“It grows in the telling?”
“Because of wishful thinking.”
“Does Varthlokkur know? There have been so many Unborn sightings. That makes me nervous.”
“Which would be the point. Varthlokkur and Bragi had a falling out but that didn’t end the wizard’s interest in Kavelin.”
Kristen was sure Kavelin would hear directly from the wizard soon.
...
Babeltausque slipped into the abandoned house, quivering with anticipation. He paused in the darkness, looked back into the moonlight. Eager though he was, he did not move for minutes. He dared not be tracked by Inger’s enemies.
He sensed watchers every time he left the castle. He did nothing to confound them by day but for these nocturnal ventures he used every trick available.
Satisfied that he had arrived unnoticed, he drifted into the interior. Ghost fire revealed the damage done by treasure hunters.
For a long time every hunter started with the house, but no longer. A hundred visitations had produced only a few random copper coins from beneath furniture or, in one case, wedged between floorboards.
There was an intimidation factor, too. The owner had left numerous booby traps. Men had died. No trap had yet been found actually guarding anything. They were not based on western magic so they antedated the night the treasury disappeared.
Once he became the Queen’s own sorcerer Babeltausque spawned rumors that bigger and more deadly traps had yet to be sprung. He then installed a few of those himself.
At first he wanted the house shunned because he suspected the treasury might actually be there, despite repeated failures to find it. Then he had come to appreciate the place for its more arcane possibilities.
He had yet to explore it all. There were areas where the residual sorcery was so brawny it frightened him, left him feeling like he was sliding through a canebrake of spells. He never stopped turning up new facets of the most magically active site in Kavelin. Still, he had yet to make an effort to chart its defenses or uncover what it was hiding.
Because it was shunned it was now the place he went when he wanted to be alone, to relax, to enjoy.
He had been conquered by his need. He had begun to indulge it. Here.
He could wait no longer. He must run to his beloved.
†
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
YEAR 1017 AFE:
THE EAST
Mist took every precaution testing the portals into Kavelin. Tang Shan’s skills had been sufficient to establish connections with each, but there was no way to know what lay beyond without going to look.
She chose to go herself, despite the protests of her lifeguards.
She did indulge in one old-time, non-magical safety technique. She tied a rope around her waist before she stepped through. Her bodyguards could drag her back.
They could have overruled her. They had that right. But to do so could mean loss of place or even exile should the Empress be sufficiently irked.
Her first crossing took her into the caverns behind Maisak. She stepped into utter darkness. The air was still, dry, and carried a taint of old death. She withdrew immediately. “I need a lantern.”
The lantern helped only a little.
She was in a large, empty space once used to receive transferring troops. Dead portals stretched away to either hand.
Lifting her lantern overhead, Mist could just make out a sprawled skeleton.
Those bones were not human.
Something moved behind her. She gave up a startled squeak.
A lifeguard joined her, bringing another lantern. He said nothing. He followed when she moved toward the bones.
The Captal of Savernake, once master of Maisak, had enjoyed the friendship of many nonhuman creatures, mostly products of his own sorcery. Mist had met some in those dark old days. They had been gentle, timid creatures who loved their creator too well. They were all gone now. The world was poorer for it.
From her vantage over the bones Mist could see three more skeletons, all human.
Her bodyguard said, “We are not alone. Return to the portal.”
She felt it, too. Somehow. She neither saw, heard, nor smelled anything, but something was watching. This was a moment when she was not the paramount will of Shinsan. She moved.
The lifeguard’s sword sang as it cleared its scabbard.
From the darkness came a long, sad sigh that turned into a desperate moan.
Mist stepped across to safety. Her bodyguard followed. She asked, “What was it?”
He snapped, “Seal it! Shut it down!” at the operators.
Something as pale as a grub began to emerge from the portal.
The operators ended the session.
Three quarters of a man fell to the floor. He left behind parts of his right leg and right arm. He did not bleed. He did not speak. His eyes blazed with a desperate, hungry madness. He was a wild, nasty mass of filth, unkempt hair, and rags.
Mist said, “He’s wearing Imperial… He’s been trapped there since…”
Despite his injuries, the man crawled forward, toward humanity.
The enormity of what he must have suffered hit Mist like a fist in the gut. She threw up.
“I’m all right. Get me something to rinse my mouth with. Let me get cleaned up. Tang Shan. Send a task group to find out if more of our people are trapped in there.”
“Any who are will be quite insane.”
“Even so. They’re ours.”
“As you will, so shall it be.”
“Good. Where to next?”
Her bodyguards and the portal specialists alike looked at her askance.
“I’m fine. Just bring me some water. Let’s get on with it.”
Tang Shan said, “I would recommend the mausoleum of the Kaveliner queen. Lord Yuan is not yet entirely confident of the connection with the other portal. Nor am I.”
Mist frowned. Tang Shan remained cautiously neutral always but she suspected him of traditional convictions. The Imperial throne should not be occupied by a girl.
She said, “I’m ready.”
A lifeguard said, “This time I go first.”
“Of course.” Though what danger was likely to be lurking in a mausoleum?
Ghouls? Hungry ghosts?
All right. Danger might be sleeping with the dead.
She got squatters.
They were a Siluro family of six who had not emigrated. They belonged to the smallest and least loved ethnic group in Kavelin.
Mist did not ask for their sad story.
Any couple with four sprats under six, driven to take refuge with the revered dead, would tell a sad tale indeed.
Her charity went only so far as to flush them out rather than compel them to join the occupant of the mausoleum.
The lifeguard did not approve. They might carry tales.
“Ghost stories, perhaps.”
She paused to consider the dead queen. “The wizard did wonders with this one.”
Fiana looked like a girl asleep, awaiting the wakening kiss of her prince. She remained as colorful and fresh as she had in life.
Her glass-topped casket was filled with a gentle light that remained active after all these years. It made her look younger and more beautiful than she had at her passing. The long
agony of birthing Radeachar had been massaged out of face and body.
Bragi’s last gift to his love, begged from Varthlokkur.
“Extreme caution is necessary,” the lifeguard said. “This place hasn’t been plundered or vandalized.”
“The homeless lived here unharmed.”
The beauty in the box had been the best loved of Kavelin’s recent monarchs. That was why no evil had taken place.
“Let’s go outside.” It had been a long time since she had looked into Kavelin’s skies. She had fond memories of a less harried life here. Her children had been conceived and born here. The only man she ever loved was buried here.
It was nighttime. No clouds masked the shoals of stars. There was no moon. Only a few tiny lights marked the location of Vorgreberg.
The bodyguards said, “To the north. The woods.”
“I see it. Let’s go.”
A pinkish dot had risen. It quested briefly, then headed their way, fast.
Back in the staging room, Mist said, “The Unborn sensed us.”
Tang Shan suggested, “Or it sensed the portal’s use.”
“Whatever, I won’t test the other one yet. It’s only a few miles from that one.”
Tang Shan seemed relieved.
Mist asked, “Is that a good thing?”
“I said, Lord Yuan isn’t comfortable with the…”
“You told me all three were sound.”
“And so they are, Lady. In the sense that we trust them enough to send me through them. But the escape portal in your old house has a bitter flavor. We are less willing to risk you going through.”
Should she be flattered or frustrated? “I want it usable by this time tomorrow.” Flattered, because Tang Shan disdained female leaders.
“As you will.”
...
The door to the world creaked behind Ragnarson. He looked over his shoulder, saw Mist and her right hand, Lord Ssu-ma. But who else would it be? It was not mealtime
Mist looked puzzled. “What are you doing?”
It was unusual to find him reading or writing, though he could manage both without much skill.
“Derel Prataxis once suggested that I would find it useful to make tally sheets if I was contemplating actions that might impact a lot of lives. I didn’t listen then.”