A Path to Coldness of Heart tlcotde-3

by Glen Cook

  She was convinced that she had suffered a hal ucination brought on by the swami’s talk about her father having seen the ghost of Haroun’s father.

  It was al power of suggestion, rooted in what she thought she had heard from the pilgrim camp.

  ...

  Being King of Hammad al Nakir meant suffering frustrations and indignities and things always going wrong.

  Megelin suspected that a diabolical force was thwarting him. It made his life uglier even when he did nothing.

  The disaster on the salt lake should not have happened.

  He had failed through no fault of his own. The antiques who commanded his battalions did not carry out their orders.

  Those saboteurs. They undermined him al the time. He would be rid of them if he could.

  Sadly, he dared do nothing obvious. Some had been around since his father was a pup. They were fixtures. The soldiers—the few who remained—considered them tutelary spirits.

  Patience was his only tool. They must surrender to the inevitable soon enough.

  But patience was not in Megelin’s nature.

  And these rumors, prevalent since Magden Norath had been so stupid as to get himself kil ed, about his father’s return…? What to do? How to respond? True or false, they impacted everything, every day. The possibility that Haroun bin Yousif was out there touched every decision anyone made.

  Megelin was not sure what he would do if his father did reappear. He understood that the Royalist faithful would let the man to do as he pleased and would support him.

  Haroun bin Yousif, despite his faults and failures, was now a demigod.

  The question nagging Megelin, and anyone else who cared, was, where was the revenant king? Why did he not show himself?

  As ever, Megelin obsessed about Norath’s death. He had witnessed nothing. He had been too thoroughly protected.

  But that creature he and Norath had been there to meet…

  The Star Rider. The oldest vil ain of al . Possibly the Evil One incarnate. What had become of that wicked old troublemaker? Was he the one making everything go wrong? Was he stil feeding the insanity of the Disciple?

  Why, then, meet Norath and himself? And why stay away now?

  Megelin had expected to see the man again after the excitement of the murder subsided. Nothing ever happened.

  Impotent in his own capital, amongst his own subjects, Megelin did nothing but brood. Alone. Always alone.

  People were rigidly proper in his presence and accepted his every directive. But once they left his presence something happened. Even simple orders would not be executed properly. Because he would not go see for himself it was impossible to tel if insubordination was responsible.

  The nearer people were to him the more pathetic Megelin seemed.

  Thousands hoped the murder of Magden Norath was a good omen.

  ...

  Haroun answered the chal enge, “Mowfaq al-Tiriki. Tel Snake I’m back from Al Rhemish.”

  The guard unshuttered a smal lantern. He thought on his feet, too. “I’m new. Does Barking Snake know you?” Haroun put suspicion into his voice. “Everyone knows al-Tiriki. Who are you? What’s going on?” He drew a knife, making sure the sound could be heard.

  The guard responded by drawing a sword. “You are under arrest. In the name of the Disciple, drop the knife.”

  “I don’t think so, pup.” Haroun backed away. A suitable clot of darkness presented itself. He stepped inside, released two smal , prepared spel s. One interfered with the guard’s eyesight. The other made it hard for any eye to fix on Haroun bin Yousif.

  The guard became frustrated. He muttered. What should he do? Stick to his post? Run to his superiors?

  Either choice could be wrong. He would be the goat whatever might go badly.

  Haroun flitted from shadow to shadow, circling. He would not go to ground here, now, but might find something he could use. Not so, however. Just minutes proved that the Invincibles had cleaned the place out.

  The sentry decided to report. Haroun retraced his approach. As midnight loomed he slipped back inside the Disciple’s tent. He went to his best hide and buried himself.

  He fel asleep tel ing himself it was time to hatch a real plan.

  A passive life was not his style.

  What a fool. He had endured so much to get here but had no fixed purpose now.

  ...

  Elwas brought the man in, though he was a man mostly by reason of having done a man’s job. He was about fifteen. “Tel the Lady Yasmid.” Sometimes mumbling, often stumbling, the boy told his story.

  “Mowfaq al-Tiriki?” Yasmid asked Elwas.

  “A senior lieutenant of Farukh al-Fadl. One of the criminals we haven’t yet caught.”

  “You wanted me to know about it because?”

  “Because al-Tiriki vanished as thoroughly as the pilgrim did.”

  “The same man?”

  “Probably not. Boy. You did say he was clean-shaven?”

  “Almost. He had been shaved recently. I couldn’t tel much else in the dark.”

  Yasmid thought the lad confident beyond his years. He had faced up to danger in the night. He was standing steadfast here. She would commend him to Elwas later.

  “Anything else? About the man?”

  “He smel ed bad, Lady. He had not bathed in a long time.” That was not unusual. She raised an eyebrow.

  The boy said, “I prefer to keep myself clean. In accordance with the early teachings.”

  Yasmid looked to Elwas. He shrugged. “Some young men are extremely fastidious. Al-Tiriki would have sweat a lot during a journey from Al Rhemish.”

  “I won’t turn the world upside down again but I do want the Invincibles to keep a sharp watch. Al-Tiriki could give us some insight on what’s happening in Al Rhemish.” She made a smal gesture indicating that the interview was over. Then, “Elwas, when next you run into Ibn Adim tel him I want to see him when he has a moment free.” Yasmid bint Micah was no despot in the time-honored mode but Elwas executed her wishes as though she was.

  Ibn Adim was on his knees in front of her within the hour.

  “Up. I hear you’re starting the audit today.”

  “I was assigning tasks when al-Souki came.”

  “As you inventory I want you watchful for signs of squatters.”

  “You think…?”

  “Nothing. See if those thieves didn’t move their families in where my father never goes.”

  “I see. Of course. I’l keep my eyes open.”

  “My father says his tent is haunted. Ask about ghosts.”

  “As you wil , so shal it be.”

  ...

  Haroun found it more difficult to steal food. Outsiders roamed the empty reaches of the tent. They did not find him. They did discover the vixens and kits. The latter were nearly grown. They caused a great deal of excitement.

  Haroun hid elsewhere and waited out the scramble.

  They found no evidence of his presence.

  He learned that he could slip out nights with little risk. ...

  Yasmid was exhausted. Trivia that would never have come near her during wartime inundated her now. Nobody wanted to be remembered for having made a decision should blame ever be assessed.

  “Elwas, in six months these people wil expect me to change their babies. Let’s start a war.” Elwas started to say something serious.

  Yasmid burst out laughing.

  “Lady?”

  “I’m sorry. Your expression. When I was eight I saw that look on my father’s face when Nassef asked if he couldn’t start a war so he wouldn’t have to waste time listening to people with the brains of chickpeas whine about trivia.”

  “Makes you wonder.”

  “Elwas?”

  “How many wars happen because somebody with the power to start them was bored or sick of listening to nitwits?”

  “So pass on the bit of tedium you’ve brought me now.”

  “There has been an increase in petty theft and
vandalism.”

  “Oh?”

  “I think bored kids are stealing things and destroying property. There is no pattern. There are no witnesses.

  Nothing taken has much value.”

  “Then let parents and sons know that the parties responsible wil be exposed to public humiliation when we catch them.”

  “Excel ent. That’s al I had.”

  “Then I’m cal ing it a day. You do the same.”

  “Thank you, Lady. Perhaps we should consider mandating shorter days and longer nights.”

  Elwas was a good man, she reflected as she withdrew into her private quarters. He left her wearing a smile when he could.

  It never occurred to her that Elwas bin Farout al-Souki, Jirbash al’Azariyah, or any of several others young enough to be her sons, might be infatuated.

  It did not occur to those young men that they were besotted by the daughter of the Disciple because it was not the mad fascination brought on by the proximity of a beautiful young woman.

  Habibul ah saw it. Habibul ah understood. He remembered the young Yasmid and never missed a chance to see today’s Yasmid. He had been besotted for generations.

  Despite the stresses and irritations of her day Yasmid went to her rest happy and almost content.

  ...

  A chil took Yasmid in her sleep. Fright clamped talons round her heart. She was a maiden again, wakening to terror in the night. The feeble mutton tal ow lamp did not help. It set wicked shadows fluttering al round.

  Something terrible was near by, watching, slavering in its hunger to defile her.

  Seconds passed before she recal ed that she was a grown woman, old enough to be a grandmother but cursed with a son who would not give her grandchildren.

  Reflection tamed her fright. Amused, she began to slide back down into the sink of sleep, wondering why Megelin did not wed. It was not that he preferred men. His worst enemies had found no evidence to suggest that.

  The boy just did not relate.

  Something pricked her senses again. She jerked involuntarily. She squeaked. She was wide awake, shaking, chil ed to the core. She rol ed and sat up, seized an unconsecrated Harish kil dagger that had been a gift from the last master of that cult. It needed only to enforce the slightest cut to cause an excruciating death.

  The lamplight did not reassure her. There was a man-shaped shadow fading in and out. Someone was there.

  How had he gotten in? Only Habibul ah had access at night.

  He would never dare.

  Yasmid rose slowly, ready to fight. She fixed the intruder with a hard stare. He remained a pattern of shadow inside a dancing shadow. It was hard to stay focused.

  How long would it take for help to arrive once she yel ed?

  “Show yourself.”

  The shadows coalesced.

  “It was you!”

  Haroun stepped out of the shaghûn cloak of darkness. “It was me. And after waiting so long I decided to take a chance.” He advanced another step. He was almost close enough to cut. Almost.

  He would come no nearer. Not even when his own wife held the knife. No tel ing where her heart lay after so long.

  Yasmid put the kil dagger aside, careful y. It could bite her as easily as him. “Come talk to me. It’s been a long time.

  You must have a grand tale.” Tomorrow was soon enough to decide what to do.

  “Not so much. I spent most of it in prison.”

  “Sit.”

  That boy Invincible was right. Haroun smel ed perfectly awful. The smel might lead to difficult questions tomorrow.

  Chapter Eighteen:

  Year 1017 AFE:

  Distracting Darkness

  Inger told Nathan Wolf, “This is ugly beyond anything I can grasp.” She reread the brief report. Eleven years old.

  Tortured. Raped repeatedly. Discarded in an al eyway near the Western Gate, probably stil breathing at the time. She had not been found for days. No one had been looking.

  Wolf said, “I nearly puked, Majesty. I wil spare you the ful ugliness. I won’t spare you a demand that we do everything we can to find the monster who did that to her.”

  “Do you have a personal interest, Nathan?”

  “No, Majesty. What we know comes courtesy of the sorcerer’s lame efforts. Her name was Phyletia Plens. She was the adopted daughter of Herald and Janna Bors. They identified the body. They say that her real parents had a chance encounter during the excitement back when.

  Phyletia was not a happy child. She ran away sometimes.

  This time she didn’t come back.”

  Inger made a growling sound. This was more information than she wanted. “Nathan!”

  “Majesty, more than anything else… We could reap the whirlwind if we don’t protect the children.”

  “Yes.” Inger had a child of her own.

  What she did not understand was why Nathan Wolf, unmarried and childless, was emotional y engaged. She asked.

  “Majesty, I can’t explain. I don’t have the words. I just know that whoever did that to Phyletia Plens was a soul uglier than a savan dalage.” His intensity pleased Inger, though its foundation remained obscure.

  She asked again.

  “I doesn’t matter. Al we can do for her, now, is mourn her.

  But another girl is missing. Hanna Isodor. She disappeared just before Plens turned up. She’s the same age, similar background, same physical description.” Inger started to speak. Nathan gave her no room. “Also missing is a Carrie Depar, almost thirteen, different physical description. She’s been

  gone five days. She told friends she was going to run away with her boyfriend. They didn’t know who the boyfriend was.”

  “This could change everything even though it has no strategic significance.”

  Nobody in the provinces gave a rat’s ass whether the Queen protected Vorgreberg’s children but Vorgrebergers certainly did. Protection was the reason kings and nobles existed. The protected worked hard to produce surpluses in kind and coin to support a warrior class meant to defend them from predators external and internal.

  In most kingdoms, much of the time, that mutual obligation was under stress, humans being the despicable beasts they became given any opportunity. But what was happening here was the nightmare that lurked in every parent’s heart.

  There was no denying it. The Boogerman walked among them.

  Angered, Inger summoned Josiah Gales, Babeltausque, and Doctor Wachtel to join her and Wolf.

  She seated them and Wolf at a table her husband had used when he wanted his henchmen to brainstorm. “We have to handle this fast. I don’t know how but we have got to find the man who tortured the Plens girl. If we don’t we’l lose Vorgreberg, too.

  I’ve had an inventory run. It revealed two things. First, the servants have been stealing from us. Second, we should begin eating the horses to save their grain for a possible siege. Which we might withstand for as much as six days.” Colonel Gales coughed, meant as a signal. It was heavy, liquid, and disturbing. He remained far from recovered.

  The Queen stopped jabbering. “Josiah?”

  “Cleave to the problem at hand. Don’t look into the gloom just yet.” “Of course. Gentlemen. We have a monster among us. How do we find him? Babeltausque?” The sorcerer shifted uneasily. Gales and Wolf looked at him like they dared him to open his mouth. Both had been in Greyfel s service a long time.

  Inger had heard rumors, too. “Wel ? Wouldn’t you understand this kind of mind better than anybody?” Babeltausque asked, “Is there the remotest chance that your cousin has been getting out at night?” That was wel -played. Inger would relive her experiences as a comely lass in a household where wickedness was routine and Dane of Greyfel s was one of the more wicked players.

  Gales and Wolf kept on eyeing him darkly.

  He tapped into his courage. “Torture isn’t what moves me. I never harmed anyone. I only love them til they break my heart.” Gales and Wolf donned contemptuous smiles.

  Inger se
emed appal ed.

  What a screw up. He had used the present tense.

  What mad, self-destructive force compel ed him to indict himself that way? Was he so conflicted that he would set himself up to be convicted of another’s monstrous behavior?

  Wachtel looked eager to get that word out. He might betray himself in his haste.

  “Al of you, listen. I did not harm Phyletia Plens. I didn’t know her.

  She is nothing to me. Was nothing, in that way. Look for someone else.

  As Her Majesty noted, there may be no hunter better than I.

  Doctor, sit.

  Relax. We’l be here a while. Tel us, has this happened before?” The old man took his time. Final y, he nodded.

  “Sadly, you are correct. There have been similar incidents, the most recent before your arrival. Things were more confused back then. No one had attention to spare for an anonymous child who probably brought it on herself.”

  “Anonymous?” Babeltausque asked.

  “She turned out to be El ie Wood, a runaway, in flight from an abusive father. There was another one, seven or eight years ago, named Tefe Black, thirteen and pregnant by her father or one of her brothers. It would have been a marvelous scandal if there hadn’t been a war on.” Babeltausque nodded. “Their deaths touched you.”

  “They were children. Nobody loved them. They were tormented by their own kin first, then a monster consumed them. No one cared. No one but me. And I was powerless.

  Not even Michael would take it on.” Tears fil ed the old man’s eyes. The others were amazed. Babeltausque said,

  “Black isn’t a common surname, is it? It sounds Itaskian.

  Right? Mr. Wolf, didn’t we run into that surname somewhere recently?”

  Wolf looked blank. “I don’t think so.”

  “The butcher. In the shop where the Heltkler girl left the beer.”

  “His name was Black? I don’t recal that.”

  “Maybe I didn’t mention it. Neighborhood gossip says Haida Heltkler was an abuse victim.”

  “The butcher?”

  “Maybe too obvious. He wouldn’t destroy the girl physical y.

  He would be feeding a different need. He would be the unwanted lover.

  Someone else would be the punisher. Someone close to the butcher.