A Path to Coldness of Heart tlcotde-3

by Glen Cook

  Since Megelin’s defeat the older imams had grown loud demanding observation of fundamental rules. People listened because they saw no more need to be flexible.

  If peace persisted those old men would keep isolating her til she lost contact with the world.

  She asked herself, “What would Haroun do?” Haroun would bury them. There were not many of them, they were just loud.

  Habibul ah joined her. He did not speak. He stil limped because of a wound taken in the battle with Megelin.

  She let that be. “Do you have anything to report?”

  “You have something in mind?”

  “What progress is my father making?”

  “There is progress. You’d see it if you’d visit. But it isn’t as dramatic as Elwas hoped.”

  “His time is flying away.”

  “I’d say that he’s shown true progress.”

  “Real y?”

  “Truly. But I’m not sure that the swami can finish up. Your father would have to do his part.”

  “He isn’t trying?”

  “Not much.”

  Yasmid sighed. “We’l give them more time. Merim. Come here. You’re dancing like a child with a desperate need to pee. What is it?”

  “Elwas al-Souki is in the kitchen. He begs the chance to bring you news. There is a man with him who needs a bath badly.”

  “Leave the smel y man there. Bring Elwas. Habibul ah, stand as my witness.” She could not become comfortable with al-Souki. It was not a sexual tension thing, either. It was a creepiness thing. There was something wrong about that man, though no one else could see it.

  Elwas al-Souki presented himself with his usual rectitude.

  His pursuit of form and manners only made Yasmid more uncomfortable.

  Her mood shone through when she said, “If you’re here to describe the Disciple’s progress Habibul ah beat you to it.” The ghost of a puzzled frown, then an even fainter, more fleeting touch of hurt, crossed al-Souki’s face. “That is something else, Blessed One. There has been a dramatic development amongst the Royalists. The news just came.

  The man nearly kil ed himself getting it here fast.” Blessed One? “Yes?”

  “The sorcerer Magden Norath is dead. He was kil ed in a town cal ed al-Habor, in an attack so sudden that he had no chance to defend himself.”

  “I know al-Habor. But, Magden Norath? Dead?”

  “Yes, Sacred Voice. Our spy was an eyewitness.” Not possible. Could not be. Magden Norath had attained near demigod status during the Great Eastern Wars.

  “Dead,” she said again, dumbfounded. “But… That’s not…

  There’s more. Isn’t there?”

  “Much more. The rest is not so joyful.”

  “No. After that I suppose there would have to be something awful to balance the scale. What is it?”

  “The witness believes the assassin was a ghost. Or some revenant, undead thing. He swears the kil er was Haroun bin Yousif.”

  Her body turned to water. For an instant she got caught up in the ridiculous question of whether or not Elwas knew about her and Haroun. Of course he did. That had been no secret for a long time.

  “Impossible!”

  Equal y stunned, Habibul ah said, “We never real y knew that, did we? I never heard tel of anyone actual y seeing a body. He just stopped being seen alive.”

  “But…”

  “Chances are a mil ion to one against it. This spy just wants to see ghosts.”

  Al-Souki said, “He doesn’t want to believe it, either. He desperately wants the assassin to be something supernatural instead.”

  Yasmid buried her head in her hands. “This wil get exaggerated into total insanity.”

  Al-Souki said, “I may have overstepped, Lamp of God, but I did move to make sure the mul ahs don’t whip up the fanatics.”

  Yasmid stared, astonished.

  “Have I overstepped?”

  “No. This news could spark a new round of wars. Tribal warlords won’t be scared of a Megelin without Magden Norath behind him.”

  Elwas coughed, looked reluctant, but went on after a pause.

  “Megelin may have acquired a more powerful protector.” This would be the real y bad news, saved for last.

  “Light of the Ages, the Faithful have numerous friends in al-Habor. The water remains sweet and reliable. The crossroads needs to be watched. Royalists on secret missions often pass through.”

  “I’ve been there. Get to the point.”

  “Norath and Megelin went there to meet someone.”

  “Megelin, too?”

  “He was not harmed. His bodyguards kept him safe. They moved him into the local Sheyik’s stronghold.” Megelin and Norath had gone to al-Habor for a secret meeting? Were the Tervola eying the west again?

  Elwas said, “The Faithful in al-Habor say that Megelin came to meet the Star Rider.”

  Much worse than a visit with Tervola, then.

  Yasmid released a long sigh. Somewhere in scripture there was an appropriate verse that ran something like, “And the thing we dread befal s us.”

  “Stop. Habibul ah, clear everyone out. You and Elwas stay.” Habibul ah did as he was told, as ever, without understanding. He shut doors then came close so she need not speak loud and be overheard by eavesdroppers.

  She asked, “Elwas, how strong is your faith today?”

  “Shaken, Shining One. Badly shaken.”

  “Stop giving me titles. Habibul ah? How about you?”

  “I am no fanatic but I am a Believer. My faith today is the same as it was yesterday. Why should it change?”

  “Elwas. How widely known…”

  “Only a handful know now. In a month the world wil know.” Habibul ah said, “I’m confused. Why is the death of Magden Norath a tragedy for the Faith?”

  “It isn’t. Him and Megelin having a secret meeting with the Star Rider is.”

  Habibul ah looked no less confused.

  “Old Meddler, Habibul ah. Behind half the evils of history.

  He was the angel who saved and educated my father. He wasn’t an emissary of God. My father did God’s work but he was set on that path by a devil who wanted a world fil ed with warfare and chaos.”

  What Yasmid said was nothing new. El Murid’s enemies had made those claims for years. She watched Habibul ah perform the mental acrobatics needed to avoid angry denial. He converted to sublime acceptance quickly. “God, in His Wisdom, used His Enemy to instigate the Disciple’s Great Work.”

  “Exactly. And that wil be dogma from now on. Elwas?”

  “The logic is irrefutable. God has Written everything already.”

  “Good. I want the imams and mul ahs gathered for evening prayers with me. I’l also want the Invincibles available to deal with those old men if they give me any grief. We’l establish an official position before the rumors get crazy.

  Elwas, can I trot my father out?”

  “Go see him. Make that judgment yourself.”

  ...

  Yasmid was alone, except for Habibul ah, whose proximity she seldom shook. Habibul ah waited for her to face the most troubling aspect of the news.

  Final y, softly, she asked, “Is there a chance that Norath’s kil er real y was…?”

  She could not say the name.

  “It must have been. It would have to be. Who else?

  Dramatic unity.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That would be God having a chuckle at our expense. For even more drama He should’ve brought the assassin face to face with the King.”

  “Oh. My.” Yes. If that was Haroun he must have come within yards of their son, with neither knowing.

  “Habibul ah, I feel too old and too tired. Find me a place to leave the world behind.”

  “I feel that way myself, quite often. Then I remind myself that the only one who ever managed that is your father.” Yasmid wanted to bark and snarl. But what point?

  Whatever she said, Habibul ah would have an answer. And it wo
uld make much too much sense.

  Chapter Nine:

  Spring, Year 1017 AFE:

  The Lesser Kingdoms

  Inger stalked into the room where Babeltausque waited. Only a day had passed since his conversion.

  Already he insisted on seeing her. She hoped a quick response did not make her seem desperate. “You’re ready to go to work?”

  “Majesty, first, I want to say that last night I enjoyed my best night of sleep since I came to this wretched kingdom.

  This morning I enjoyed my finest breakfast since we left Itaskia. I’m in an excel ent mood. I’m eager to start work. So let’s review what you want me to do.”

  “I want you to root through shadows. To turn out hidden secrets. To find things. To find people. Can you do al that?”

  “Maybe. Tel me what you’re looking for.”

  “Al right. First and most critical: find Colonel Gales. Dead or alive. See Nathan Wolf. He’s done al the looking so far.”

  “What else?”

  “The treasury money. I’l give you ten percent.”

  “Most every minute I bless anew the fate that brought me to you.”

  “Let’s hope you feel that way a year from now. Others I want found: General Liakopulos, Michael Trebilcock, and that bitch Kristen Gjerdrumsdottir.”

  “The Duke had her kil ed.”

  “He tried. He might think he was successful. But she’s stil alive and scheming to make her brat king.” Babeltausque did not argue. Dane of Greyfel s had become the tenant of a dungeon cel because of his ineffable ability to believe anything he wanted to be true.

  Inger said, “The money is the most important thing. Then Josiah Gales and any looming threats. Especial y threats to you. You’l become a target for folks who don’t like me. The rest you can deal with when you find time.” Babeltausque said, “As you want it, so shal it be.”

  “Sweet talk, sorcerer. But these are desperate times.

  Talk won’t help make us the people doing the grinning at the other end.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “I have. You won’t find this Inger nearly as nice as the one you remember. This Inger can be quite bloodthirsty. What do you need to make what I want happen?” The sorcerer opened and closed his mouth several times.

  Nothing came out.

  “Tel me, Babeltausque.” Her tone suggested pain on the way if he did not buckle down now.

  ...

  Dane, Duke of Greyfel s, had a concussion. Its effects were exacerbated by his inability to accept his situation. He was Greyfel s, the Duke, senior member of a noble family that, by God, deserved, by God, to rule Itaskia and several neighboring states. Only continuous, relentless evil conspiracy by lesser men kept the Greyfel s line from claiming its rights.

  He was not one to note what had been done to ease his confinement. He had a cot, topped by a mattress. Fresh straw covered the muck on the floor. He was not chained.

  He had a stool with a bucket underneath to manage his eliminations. But al he saw was an iron wal with welded straps and rivets that made escape hopeless.

  Meals came regularly, through a slot three inches high and sixteen wide. The slops bucket left via its own little door, too smal to pass a man.

  Reality took days to dawn. He was completely at Inger’s mercy, and her mercy would be slight at its most generous.

  Those who brought food and removed his wastes would not talk. Maybe they did not understand Itaskian. Maybe they were deaf. It was beyond his capacity to understand that most people hated him. Inger’s people thought she was being too soft.

  He did see that if he was not heard, if no one listened, if no one understood, he would go nowhere ever again, but while he remained alive the Greyfel s fortunes would remain out in the wind.

  More than ever he cursed the idiot he had been when he decided that he could steal a crown for his family.

  ...

  Josiah Gales strove ferociously to pul himself together.

  He could not begin to guess how long he had been like this.

  He wanted to assess his situation but his head would not clear.

  Clever bastards. They did not feed him wel . Teetering at the edge of starvation, he attacked whatever food they brought. Which was drugged. Always.

  No one interrogated him. No one cared what he knew.

  No one explained why he was a captive.

  He had been removed from the equation by a means less harsh than murder. He no longer signified. He might be turned loose later, or maybe retained as a bargaining chip.

  Gales saw few of his captors. They did not talk. They did not acknowledge his existence, except that they fed him.

  Drugged, it took Gales a while to fathom the rules of his new life.

  If he said nothing and did nothing life proceeded with no inconvenience beyond being imprisoned and drugged. It went smoothest when he just quietly contemplated the stupidity that had brought him to this.

  His captors evidently bore him no malice. They just wanted him out of the way.

  ...

  An old man entered the apothecary shop in Old Registry Lane. He seemed almost too frail to manage the door.

  A girl of fourteen was minding the shop. She was surprised to see him. He smiled a smile ful of fine white teeth, shuffled forward. His body, like his teeth, was in excel ent shape. Apparent infirmity was part of his disguise.

  “You’re looking especial y nice this morning, Haida. You make me wish I was ten years younger.”

  Haida flushed, flattered, flustered, but not offended. “I’l see if Chames is in back.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Not always. He comes and goes without tel ing me. I’m just the help.”

  The girl was more than that, though not the plaything some suspected. She was the little sister of someone who had been kil ed, a friend of the man cal ed Chames Marks today.

  The old man watched her swish through the hangings in a doorless doorway. He thought Haida would be more than just help if Chames would let her. There was a sparkle in her eye when she said his name.

  The old man smiled, turned the sign on the street door to say the chemist was out, then latched the latch.

  The wait stretched, five minutes, ten, fifteen. The old man amused himself by studying the pots and jars on the scores of shelves covering al four wal s. Large glass jars contained questionable items in liquids of unusual hue.

  Stage dressing, those, mostly. He was interested in the smal phials of imported rarities. Sometimes he paused, nodded. Once he murmured, “Wel !”

  The hangings in the back doorway stirred. Haida returned.

  Her gaze flicked round, checking for spaces where something had gone missing. “Turn the sign back. People wil wonder. We’re always open during the day. Then come with me.”

  The old man complied. Compliance had been his first layer of camouflage for decades.

  The room beyond the doorway was larger than the one out front. It was dry and dusty. It smel ed of spices and mystery.

  The real work of the chemist took place here.

  “Wait here. Touch nothing.” Haida returned to the front. The bel on the door had announced an arrival. A male voice asked a question the old man could not make out.

  Minutes passed. A man came through a narrow door that was disguised as a rack of dusty shelves. The old man held fingers to his lips, pointed behind him. The newcomer nodded, whispered pointless questions about the old man being sure he had not been fol owed. That did not matter, unlikely though it was. “What brings you out, then?”

  “The Queen has recruited the sorcerer Babeltausque. She means to take immediate advantage.”

  “Real y? The Duke never bothered.”

  “And he’s in a cel .”

  “True enough.”

  “She has assigned the sorcerer five immediate tasks. Find the missing treasury money. Find Josiah Gales. Find Michael Trebilcock. Find General Liakopulos. Find Kristen and her children.”

  “Can h
e accomplish any of that?”

  “The Queen thinks so. I trust her judgment. She’s known him a long time.”

  The younger man sighed. “Complications. But it’s never easy, is it? We wil cope. You’d better get back. Haida wil have your order ready when you go out.” He gestured toward the front of the shop.

  The old man nodded. He began to move. “The sorcerer’s most important mission wil be to find the money.”

  “Maybe we should let him succeed.”

  “You haven’t found it, either?”

  “No. Those two did a hel of a job of leaving no clues.” The doorbel rang as Haida’s customer left.

  The old man said, “I’m going now.” He had to get back to the castle. He tarried only moments acquiring a package from Haida.

  The younger man began to consider how best to respond to the news.

  Respond he must, before the sorcerer became a threat.

  The matter of the treasury, though. Working that made sense.

  Why had those two hidden the money somewhere other than where they were supposed to have?

  ...

  No one chal enged Wachtel when he shuffled into Castle Krief. He went straight to the Queen’s quarters. He told the maid, “Inform Her Majesty that I’ve final y gotten the medicine for Prince Fulk.”

  “That’s good news. She’l be thril ed.”

  Inger appeared while Wachtel was preparing his philter.

  “You found blue asparagus seed?”

  “I did. Everyone watch how this is done. You’l have to do it yourself in an emergency.”

  “Including the grinding?”

  “Including that. The seed needs to remain whole til you have to use it. The oils evaporate.”

  “How did you find the seed?”

  “I went to the chemist myself.” His tone was harsh. “I’m getting a little frail for that.”

  Inger was flustered. “I’m sorry. There just isn’t money…”

  “Never mind. The deed is done. I got enough to keep you going for three months. And so my fortune grows as feeble as my flesh.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor. Truly I am. You’l be the first one rewarded when our fortunes shift.”

  Wachtel’s skeptical expression told Inger al she needed to know about his faith in her promises.