by Glen Cook
Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i owed Kuo. Wen-chin had plucked him from obscurity, as commander of a training legion, and had loosed him on the revenant god of the east. From that triumph he had gone on to glory in the west.
There was no sign of Kuo. The fortress round the old laboratories was deserted. It was morning but little sunlight reached Shih-ka’i. There was no artificial lighting. Dust lay heavy. It fil ed the air when he moved. He removed his boar mask so he could sneeze.
He did not cal out. Even an apolitical Tervola dared not go round shouting the name of a condemned man he had saved. Who knew who might hear you impeach yourself?
Had Kuo escaped?
Not likely, though the man was a genius. And there was a precedent. The Deliverer had escaped by swimming to the mainland. Then he
had walked on west, al ied with forces ancient and terrible. That route was closed, now. No one would survive it again. Portals were the only way out.
The dust in the staging chamber made it clear that Lord Kuo had not gotten out that way.
The kitchen was the place to start. Kuo had to eat.
Miniature portals delivered foodstuffs there, from sources calculated to raise no questions.
Shih-ka’i strained to remember his way. He had visited only briefly a few times, most recently to stash Kuo. It took a while.
The kitchen did show signs of regular use by someone with few skil s and no dedication to order.
A remote clatter caught Ssu-ma’s attention.
He found his man down where past tenants had housed their prisoners and monsters. Wen-chin was spoon-feeding a drooling old man.
Shih-ka’i’s advent startled Wen-chin, who, nevertheless, continued feeding the invalid. Kuo said, “I didn’t expect you so soon. Are you here to end the threat?”
“No. I wanted to make sure of your welfare. Who is this?”
“I don’t know. Presumably someone important to the previous regime. I can’t imagine how he survived. He hasn’t much mind left. He is a project fil ed with chal enges, the biggest being to overcome his fears so I can draw him back to the world.”
“Oh?”
“I would’ve gone mad without him.”
“Then him being here was piece of good fortune.” And a grim harbinger, perhaps.
“So. You’re not here to kil me. Then tel me what’s happened out there.”
Shih-ka’i brought him up to date.
Kuo sighed. “The Empire has fared wel .”
“Better than we had any right to expect, given the foibles of our class.”
“I hoped, of course. I’m sad that there’s no place for me. But I was resigned to that when I came to you.” Lord Ssu-ma nodded. “It hasn’t been a long time but it has been busy. A lot changed. Most importantly, the wars are over. Successful y, thanks to your foresight. But the exhaustion of the state and the legions are such that the surviving Tervola have put aside personal ambitions.”
“On the surface, perhaps.”
“No doubt temptation wil sway some who can’t see past the Empress’s sex, however sound her leadership and thorough her discipline.”
“What do you want from me, Lord Ssu-ma?”
“Right now, truly, only to see that you’re wel . Later, maybe something more. Assuming your own ambitions are now manageable.”
“They were never unmanageable. I did what I did for the Empire.”
“A good thing to know.” Every fal en Tervola would claim the same. Most would believe themselves. “I’l be back.
Probably sooner than this time. Time is less pressing.” Kuo said, “Lord, I wil make any adjustment necessary to get out of here.” Happily, he was not yet desperate enough to do something stupid.
The attempt would have been fatal.
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i held a low and cynical opinion of his fel ow Tervola. He viewed al they did through the lens of that cynicism and his own low birth. But he could and did grant kudos to those who rose above their nature. Kuo was one such man.
...
The routine in the prison tower remained unchanged.
Only the faces of those who brought the meals were different. They talked no more than had their predecessors.
Ragnarson was tempted to attack somebody to force an interaction.
He did not. The beast inside was cunning enough to understand that he would regret that sort of defiance quickly, deeply.
Mist’s remarks during her visit had begun to shape his thinking. He now spent too much time trying to figure himself out. It was embarrassing. He was glad that his beloved dead could not see him so enfeebled. Haaken, Reskird, Elana, and so many others would never have understood.
He came to fear that his ghosts would understand more and better than he did.
His own philosophy of life had shrunk to a smash-and-grab level.
Once the introspection vice set in nothing was safe from repeated review. Trivial incidents stuck in his head like musical refrains, cycling over and over.
Time flew, then. In sane moments he wondered if this was not just a way to escape the monotony of imprisonment.
Then he would recol ect an incident or decision that constituted another early brick in his edifice of despair.
Mostly he dwelt on mind-warps that had led him to rush through the Mountains of M’Hand and attack an invincible enemy already determined to exterminate him.
He could not identify the moment when confidence in his own talent and luck had become an irrational conviction that he could never be deprived of good fortune and victory.
He knew the seeds lay in the head butting with Varthlokkur over whether or not to tel Nepanthe what Ethrian was doing in the east.
He concluded, after numerous rehashes, that Varthlokkur was more culpable than he. That old man’s stubbornness, in the face of al evidence, had caused Kavelin’s downfal .
Insofar as Ragnarson knew there had been no softening of the wizard’s attitude. He would not admit that he was wrong.
Ragnarson could do that. Privately. To himself. He did not know if he could confess the failing publicly.
Days fled. Mist did not return. Ragnarson received no news. He could only imagine what was happening at home.
Imaging, he could only picture the worst. The worst he pictured was too optimistic.
He lost track of time. Days became weeks. Weeks became seasons.
It seemed like summer out there.
...
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i was nervous. He had been cal ed to the Imperial presence. The summons had been there waiting, like an unhappy promise, when he returned from the island in the east.
Reason said it would be Imperial business. Emotion feared that the woman knew what he had done.
And she was scarcely a hundred yards away, now, here in his own army headquarters.
He sent word that he was available and awaiting her convenience.
His messenger brought word that he was to attend her immediately.
Shih-ka’i got no sense of danger but remained uncomfortable.
The guilty flee where none doth pursue.
Shih-ka’i knew the aphorism had a similar form in most al older cultures. It had figured grandly in events leading to the destruction of Ilkazar. The Empire Destroyer had employed that exact formula to frighten the lords men of the old Empire.
The Empress was exhausted and gaunt despite the improvement in Shinsan’s fortunes. She beckoned him.
She seemed distracted, not angry.
This might not be about Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i after al .
She said, “I know you’re no expert but I trust your wisdom.”
“To what conundrum shal I bend my wise lack of expertise?”
“I have a secret.”
“As do we al . I would like to discuss mine with you someday when you’re feeling particularly generous.”
“I have two things troubling me,” the Empress said. “First, how do I guarantee the safety of my children?” She met his gaze straight on.
Di
d she imagine him to be a threat? “I may have missed an intermediate step in your thinking. I was only vaguely aware that you have children. Now that you mention them, where are they?”
“That would be the meat of my problem.”
Shih-ka’i tried to seem interested. He was seriously off balance. “I don’t understand.”
“When I returned from exile, during the events that displaced Lord Kuo…” She paused, suddenly remote.
Shih-ka’i took the opportunity to remark, “A good man, at least to me. He al owed me to prove myself against the Deliverer. He was a considerable resource to the Empire.” The Empress looked puzzled. “Everyone tel s me you have no interest in politics.”
“That would be true most of the time. The politics of the moment have to be acknowledged sometimes because they shape everything else. Kuo Wen-chin was my mentor, friend, and the man who let me grow into what I became.
The politics around him meant nothing to me except when they interfered with me trying to do my job. But you want to talk about your children.”
She gave him another odd look. “Yes. I do. I have two.
Ekaterina and her brother Scalza. Their father gave them those names. No doubt they’re comfortable with them and would rather not assume those secretly preferred by their mother. The girl is the oldest.”
Lord Ssu-ma smiled. “And you intend to stay vague because you’re afraid politics might overtake them.”
“I am. I left them behind because I knew they would be safer where they were. They were with people I trusted.” Shih-ka’i enjoyed an intuitive moment. “They weren’t people who trusted you.”
“So the results would suggest.”
“So they’re real y hostages to fortune. And you have been too busy to do anything about it. But now you have enough free time to feel guilty.”
The Empress gave him yet another look. “Pretty much, yes.”
“And the pig man fits how?”
“He tel s me what he thinks after I admit that I can’t figure out where they are.”
“The people you trusted?”
“Kavelin has col apsed. People have scattered. Some are dead. The kingdom was stable when I left. But Bragi did what he did and everything came apart.”
Lord Ssu-ma held his tongue. He waited.
“The children disappeared early.”
Shih-ka’i wondered how near the wind of fact she was sailing. Certainly she was not being one hundred percent forthright—though she herself might head up the file of those she was deceiving.
“Actual y, I do have an idea where they are, but I don’t know.
I’m not even sure that they’re stil alive. If they’re where I fear, there’l be no way to reach them.” Shih-ka’i needed no more clues. “You’re afraid the Empire Destroyer has them.”
“Yes.” She said no more. He knew that Varthlokkur’s wife was the sister of the man she had been unable to deny.
“Would he try to use them to make you to do something against the interests of the Empire?”
“The fear lurks behind my concern for their welfare. He slipped into a bizarre mental state just before Kavelin began to fal apart.”
Frankly puzzled, Shih-ka’i again asked, “And I fit how?”
“You are a marvelous sounding board.”
“Real y?” Startled.
“Absolutely. Thanks to you, I now know exactly what I’l do.” Shih-ka’i was too lost to say anything, good, bad, indifferent, or wisecrack. “Pleased to be of service. There was something else?”
She frowned, then admitted, “Yes. About the prisoner, Ragnarson. We need to get some use out of him.” That or kil him, in Shih-ka’i’s estimation. But he did face the problem of owing Ragnarson a life.
“Be aware that my peasant background marked me with a tendency to rigid views of right, wrong, and the nature of one’s honorable obligations.”
The Empress looked him directly in the eye. “I know he saved your life at Lioantung. You repaid him after you defeated him.”
“I’m not comfortably sure of that. There are no definitive rules of obligation. Was mine discharged when I salvaged him and had the healers put him back together? He saved me by brushing a bal ista shaft aside—the consequences of which stretch out into time unknown. So must I be his protector forever? How deep is my obligation to others who have done me kindnesses?”
The Empress did not respond right away. Her upbringing had encouraged more flexible attitudes. Then she had spent years amongst westerners whose ideals about honor far surpassed what even Shih-ka’i considered rational.
“Are you suffering some crisis of conscience? It seems you’re thinking about more than our guest in the Karkha Tower.”
“I cannot hide from your matchless eye, Empress. A crisis of conscience indeed, not concerning the erstwhile king of Kavelin. If you insist that I have discharged my obligation to Ragnarson I’l defer to your judgment. My present moral conundrum is more perilous. For me.”
Silent seconds stretched. The Empress stared but showed no abiding interest in his prattle.
Ice crept up Shih-ka’i’s spine. Enough! “Pardon me, Empress. My peasant side waxed a little strong for a moment.”
“That’s worth considering sometime when we’re not distracted.”
“What?”
“You’ve been around a long time. You were among the last students taken from outside the senior castes. But in my grandfather’s time only talent and merit counted.”
“Dedication helped, as did a capacity to remain placid in the face of provocation. But you are correct. The ideals that boosted the early empire have been subverted. The get of Tervola grow up with a sense of entitlement.”
“I mean to give that some thought once I’m no longer obsessing about my children.”
“Make a big sign.”
“What?”
“A joke. The underlying assumption being that Varthlokkur keeps an eye on you. To let him know you’re thinking about him and your children. I meant it as sil iness but a sign might actual y be a way to let him know you’d like to have a conversation.”
“That’s insanity on the hoof—and might work. It would for sure let me know if the old bastard is looking over my shoulder.”
“Yes.” Lord Ssu-ma thought this might be a good time to go away. He could niggle around Wen-chin again later.
The Empress said, “Go back to work. I’l do some thinking when there aren’t any distractions.”
Shih-ka’i bowed himself out, thoughts chaotic. No lifeguards had been present just now. Did that speak to Mist’s confidence or to her paranoia?
He stutter-stepped. He had no bodyguards of his own these days. He had not had a friend or close companion since Pan ku died at Lioantung. He had acquaintances. People with whom he worked.
His one shadow of a friend was hiding on an island outside the Empire, his very existence a death sentence for Ssuma Shih-ka’i.
...
Varthlokkur spent too much time being Haroun’s guardian angel, real y. Bin Yousif seldom needed help.
When the wizard was not a ghost behind that man’s shoulder he tried to keep watch on key players in the Lesser Kingdoms. Sometimes he checked on Bragi Ragnarson or went sneaking around some major personality in today’s Dread Empire.
Too often he wasted time trying to scry the future.
Once he had been a master of divination. The future was able to elude him only through ambiguity. He could look ahead for generations. Now he had trouble with days.
Weeks were impossible.
He was sure he knew why.
He devoted an hour a day considering how to gain an advantage on the Star Rider.
That had been accomplished a few times but never for long and never with a net positive result.
He let Nepanthe help with some of his less dangerous applications, especial y through the Winterstorm. That was simplicity itself. She needed only manipulate a few symbols.
“Varth. You need to see this.”
/>
Her tone brought the wizard quickly. “Wel . Damn! Isn’t that interesting?”
“And clever.”
They looked at a blackboard centered inside a transparent globe. Chalked on that board in big block characters, in Kaveliner Wesson, was: Varthlokkur, where are my babies?
Board and globe were in Mist’s private office. She passed by once while they watched. “Passive message,” the wizard mused. “She assumes that I watch her.”
“Clever.”
“What?”
“She’s right.”
Varthlokkur grunted, then began to brood on the nature of the magic Mist was using. “Must be a bubble outside the local reality so visitors don’t notice. Maybe an offset in time.”
“She might just not let people in.”
“There’s that. But it’s so prosaic. That bubble…”
“Foo on the bubble. What are we going to do?”
“About what?”
“About letting Mist know that her children are al right.” He did not get it. Honestly.
“Her children,” Nepanthe said, slowly and loudly. “She’s concerned about Ekaterina and Scalza.”
“Oh. Yes. I don’t know if I actual y believe that, but…” “Varth!
Stop!”
He stopped. She used that tone frugal y, when focused on a single matter. When she was determined to make the universe conform to simple arithmetic terms.
“What do you want to do, darling?”
“Just let her know they’re fine. How hard is that to figure?”
“There’s a high degree of difficulty. It isn’t the sort of thing I do.”
“You’re the ace sorcerer of al time. Make the answer appear on her blackboard.”
He chuckled. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because she wouldn’t let me. If I could get in there and do that, that simply, then any Tervola old enough to walk could sneak in and do bad things.”
“Al right. I understand. But you’l find a way. Hel , invite her to come see them.”
That suggestion so flabbergasted Varthlokkur that he was left speechless. But thoughtful.
Chapter Eight:
Year 1017 AFE:
The Desert Kingdom