by Glen Cook
Ragnarson enjoyed an intuitive moment.
Mist wanted to pul the relevant secrets into a single pot so she could cook up something unique. Though chaotic at this moment, this was no spur of the moment gathering.
She asked, “Are any of you opposed to what I’m proposing? On any grounds but degree of difficulty?”
...
The Old Man turned, peered at Mist directly, entirely present and ful y engaged. A remarkable change, if real.
He did not speak.
“No one? It’s a good thing I mean to do? It could risk this entire empire.”
Wen-chin said, “It may be too altruistic for most, Il ustrious.” Was there a caution buried there? A subtle admonition that this was not a path her ancestors would have chosen to walk without first having seen a major chance to aggrandize themselves?
She shrugged. Whatever she did, some Tervola would suspect a darker intent. That was the nature of the beast.
Such men viewed the world through the lenses of their own characters.
“I see no objections. Gentlemen, I do mean this.” Despite the terrible fright Lords Yuan and Ssu-ma had just delivered. “I wil take the Empire to war against that wicked entity. There’l be no getting out after this.” She proposed an adventure that had begun a thousand times before.
She looked round. She had, indirectly, pol ed each one earlier. Lords Yuan and Shih-ka’i would be reluctant. They had no skin in the game— though Lord Yuan could be captivated by the technical chal enge of implications that had emerged during the contest with the Deliverer.
He had remained invisible throughout that struggle, behind the scenes, fixated on maximizing the carrying capacity of the transfer portals. The success of the eastern legions had depended entirely on transfer logistics. Tactical and operational stresses had been extreme, too. Lord Yuan had not had time to examine al of the temporal anomalies and philosophical conundrums that had arisen. But he was getting excited now.
The pig farmer’s son, then. She needed his stabilizing support. But how to make him a believer?
That would be a chal enge. She was no fanatic herself.
She wanted to do this. She saw it as worthy work that could change the world. But she did not want to become a martyr to her cause.
“Stil no one?” She looked at Shih-ka’i directly. He did not respond. “Very wel . Some questions, then.” She meant that not as a cal for questions but as a prelude to presenting several topics. But Michael Trebilcock spoke quickly. “Here’s one. Why am I here?”
“The question intrigues me as wel . Consult the wizard. I didn’t invite you. Of this gathering you’re the man I know the least and trust the least, but it’s too late to evict you. I won’t rail against what I can’t change, though I suppose I could always kil you. I would caution you but I do know you wel enough to understand that that would be pointless. You thrive on danger. You seek it the way the Disciple seeks opium.”
Varthlokkur volunteered, “I brought Michael because he has unique intel igence resources and can provide priceless support if you do return the King to Kavelin. I thought it would be useful if Michael understood what is going on and why.”
Mist nodded. That exposed a problem sure to rear up again. Some of these men were used to thinking for themselves. They would do what they thought needed doing without asking.
This would be the hardest thing she had done yet. She might be doomed to fail simply for having made the choice to try.
Old Meddler had survived forever. No doubt he smel ed this taking shape. Given his oft-demonstrated talent for suborning even those with everything to lose by assisting him, she would not be amazed to discover that someone here was his agent already.
The Old Man? He and the Old Meddler had worked together for ages. Their fal ing out might be more apparent than real.
Or it could be Michael Trebilcock, just for the thril ? Michael loved complex conspiracies.
Someone said, “Il ustrious?”
Varthlokkur said, “Gentlemen, our leader just underwent a severe paranoia spasm.”
Mist glared as he continued, “That’s his most insidious strength. He makes you waste time looking over your shoulder. Your own class relies heavily on the same power.” She forced a smile. “Wel . You haven’t declared yourselves out. So. Al right. Are any of you prepared to declare yourselves in?”
Lords Ssu-ma and Yuan did not lift their hands. Lord Yuan she understood. This was political. He was not a political person. He would do as he was told once the political choices had been made. He would go baying after the research possibilities.
The only way Old Meddler could suborn Lord Yuan would be to promise him al the secrets of the transfer streams, which was beyond his power to do. Every historical indicator suggested that those streams were divine artifacts not only alien to the Star Rider but possibly even actively inimical.
Her researches had been limited but she had found no reference to any interaction between the Star Rider and the transfer streams, yet that digging had her thinking that the Windmjirnerhorn had to operate on a related principal. The riches that thing spil ed had to come from somewhere.
She said, “During our wars with the west the entity we wil not name once thwarted everyone by using the Poles of Power to kil al sorcery for a brief time. Do any of you know anything about them?”
No one volunteered anything. She peered at Varthlokkur, sure he must know more than she did. He said nothing.
“Al right. The thinking used to be that the Windmjirnerhorn was one of the Poles. That’s probably not true. I can find no reason to believe it. It is certain though, that one is something cal ed the Tear of Mimizan.” She surveyed both attentive and marginal y bored faces.
“My late husband and his brothers served the Monitor of Escalon during Escalon’s war with Shinsan. Once it became obvious that defeat was inevitable the Monitor slipped the Tear to my brother-in-law Turran. There is nothing on record to explain how or why the Tear came into the possession of the Monitor. My suspicion is, he got it from a certain old vil ain who thereby created false hope that extended the struggle and guaranteed a good deal more destruction. Turran had the Tear smuggled west to Bragi Ragnarson’s first wife, Elana.” It would not be politick to mention that Turran had had a considerable affection for Elana. Bragi would not be pleased by any public reminder that she had been murdered while in bed with Mist’s brother-in-law “She didn’t know what she had. Others suspected, though not how important the trinket might actual y be. But never mind al that. I want to know what became of the Tear.”
Lord Yuan lifted a hand tentatively.
“Lord Yuan?”
“You proffer an essential y traditional view of the Poles. It may not be correct.”
“Lord?”
“A strong case can be made for the transfer streams being one of the Poles. Possibly the more important Pole.
Leakage may be what al sorcerers feed on. Leakage could be the Power itself.”
Mist was not about to debate Lord Yuan. He knew this subject better than the rest of the room combined. “Wil you explain that in words fit for a simpleton? I don’t fol ow.” Near as she could tel , neither did anyone else, excepting possibly the Old Man. And his nod might be due to sleepiness.
“As you wish, Il ustrious. I believe the Power we use in our sorcery is actual y leakage from transfer streams that have become old and inefficient through lack of care, just as irrigation or navigation canals wil become porous and leaky if not adequately maintained. Mathematical y, we shouldn’t be able to access the Power at al , nor even the transfer streams. Those are, I am convinced, far more complicated than commonly assumed. We see them only in the workaday dimensions, like a network of creeks and canals we use to row our boats from place to place. They may, in fact, be the bones of the universe. Or something beyond anything the human mind can imagine. The Tear of Mimizan and, possibly, the Windmjirnerhorn, may be keys or control devices.”
The ancient may have suffered an epiph
any. Or a stroke.
He did go stil and silent. It was plain that he did not plan to say anything more right now.
Mist said, “Excuse Lord Yuan. He does this. Anyone else care to contribute? Lord Ssu-ma? You’ve been particularly subdued. Would you like to explain?”
“I have no thoughts of consequence, Il ustrious. I am a pig farmer’s son. It is beyond my capacity to encompass how this proposition can benefit the Empire if we pursue it with a vigor actual y necessary to bring us to confrontation with him so terrible we dare not name his name.” He had a point. “I see. You so fear the potential cost to the Empire that you concede defeat beforehand.”
“Considering the historical evidence, that temptation is there.”
“Would you have felt the same about the Deliverer had you not been ordered to take charge of a campaign already begun?”
She waited while he gave the unfair question honest consideration.
“I might have had I known the ful story of the monster behind the Deliverer while not knowing that we had no choice but to fight.”
Mist said nothing. She wanted more. She thought he could not help but fil a vacuum now. And so he did.
“I spent my life teaching the Empire’s most promising youngsters, knowing that nine of ten would die badly. I did not think that it had to be that way. The Empire did not need to be at war every day, al the time. Our unreasoning passion for conquest drove us to where we are today, exhausted and on the brink of col apse.” Mist nodded. Shih-ka’i exaggerated but she did not disagree with his sentiments. The Empire had paid an awful price for its recent successes. But it was true that now there were no longer any enemies who could do the Empire serious harm, other than the Star Rider.
Old Meddler always acted through proxies. The col apse of the Pracchia conspiracy had left him with few of those.
Magden Norath had been the last of any significance.
Today’s most terrible danger might stil be ambition in the Tervola class. The respected old men said they were reining the madness in, because it had cost Shinsan so dearly, but the treachery disease would continue in a certain kind of heart. And Old Meddler might pluck those strings to compose some nocturne where the empire once again turned upon itself.
Mist grimaced. She would have to be as harsh as her father and grandfather had been. Nothing less would serve.
Some people just asked to be kil ed.
She said, “You took up the struggle against the Deliverer because you were directed to do so. I understand. I’l rely on a similar formula in the matter of him who toys with the world.”
She paused. She had begun to improvise. And that had hatched an interesting notion. “Lord Kuo. You wil assume responsibility for the staff side. Plan. Coordinate. Find resources. You know the staff role. Lord Ssu-ma wil be responsible for execution.”
None of the Tervola missed the significance of her cal ing Wen-chin “Lord.” Good.
Lord Ssu-ma bowed, resigned. “As you command, so shal it be, Il ustrious. That settled, may I ask about the others gathered here?”
“I hope to employ their skil s, genius, and knowledge. I am counting on Lord Yuan to improve our arsenal substantial y.” Did that sound too rehearsed?
She had had little to do with Lord Yuan til recently. Lately, though, he had begged frequently to be freed from workaday responsibilities so he could concentrate on ferreting out secrets of the transfer streams. Which inevitably preceded an appeal for more funds.
In that he was not unusual.
Mist said, “I wil step aside and let you brainstorm now. Or complain, or argue, according to your nature.” She paid little attention. There was not much to hear. No one wanted to say anything. Mist began to contemplate Lein She and her lifeguards.
Michael Trebilcock told her, “Don’t give in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Ignore that temptation. They’re good men.” Had he been reading her mind?
“You don’t need to trust them. Watch them. If they fail you they may lead you somewhere interesting.” Or not. They had been selected randomly, excepting Lein She, and the tower raid would have weaned him from any service to an outside agency—assuming Old Meddler was the ultimate cause of al that blood.
It would cost little to fol ow Michael’s advice.
...
Varthlokkur told Mist, “I should take the Old Man to Fangdred and put him together with Ethrian.” Ragnarson glanced from the wizard to the Empress.
Was something going on in the shadows, there? Both seemed guarded.
Mist responded, “No. Because I think he’l be safer here.” Though the wizard looked inclined to argue, he said only,
“You may be right. The only way in here is by transfer. He never… Oh! Stupid.”
Ragnarson swal owed a temptation to mention winged horses and flying evil familiars. He needed to stay smal , his ears not taken into account.
Anyway, Varthlokkur had remembered without having to be prompted.
Mist said, “I can keep him from coming in from above. The horse is immortal but not invulnerable. Bring the boy here.” Varthlokkur sighed. “I don’t see Nepanthe letting us do that.
She did a stint as a guest in these parts.”
“That wasn’t me or mine. Remind her that we have the world’s best healers, including those who heal damaged minds. I wil put together a team to work with the Old Man.” Ragnarson thought Mist’s project insane and doomed. The al ies would have to make sudden decisions and act quickly to keep up with an enthusiastic Star Rider. They did not trust one another enough not to waste time looking for hidden agendas any time anyone made a suggestion.
Another edge Old Meddler had.
Varthlokkur said, “Nepanthe might listen if you argued convincingly. Expect her to insist on staying with him, though.”
Mist nodded, then beckoned. “Lord Yuan.” Varthlokkur gave Ragnarson a searching look, then Michael Trebilcock, who was eavesdropping, too.
Yuan arrived. “How may I be of service, Il ustrious?”
“I asked you to dig into the past of your shop to see if it played any part in the incident that claimed the lives of the Princes Thaumaturge.”
“I did that.”
Ragnarson and Varthlokkur were puzzled. What could that signify now?
Lord Yuan said, “As I told you before, Il ustrious, I played no part personal y. Neither your father nor his brother would have approached me about participating in such crimes.
That stipulated, there is no doubt that someone younger and political y more ambitious might have seen an opportunity. I searched the records exhaustively. It would appear that transfer portals were not used to put the Princes into Fangdred that night. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
Mist sighed. “I’m not. That’s what I suspected.” She glanced at Varthlokkur, who shrugged, and at the Old Man, who was focused on the shogi board. “Demons, I suppose.” Lord Yuan said, “Almost certainly, Il ustrious. Though I found notes indicating that the Windmjirnerhorn may have been active at the time.”
His remark was a big, “So what?” to Ragnarson but obviously meant something to Varthlokkur, who seemed almost excited.
Mist was having original thoughts of her own, though Ragnarson doubted that they matched the wizard’s. She said, “I see a solution to the problem…” Varthlokkur started to ask Lord Yuan something at the same moment. He stopped, deferring.
Mist said, “If we placed a portal in Fangdred, positioned so you could be comfortable about control ing it, Nepanthe and Ethrian could move back and forth to suit themselves.
Scalza and Eka, too, if they wanted. The Old Man could go there and stil be able to duck out if danger threatened.” She spoke tentatively, evidently intent on going easy on Varthlokkur’s paranoia. The wizard just nodded. “That might be useful. Lord Yuan, can you detect the Horn in use?” Not using its ful name for the same reason no one named the Star Rider.
“Not it, per se, but the power echo when it’s in use.” The wizard�
��s excitement dwindled.
Lord Yuan went on, “The device has a unique signature. It reverberates in the transfer stream rather like water dancing in a tumbler when a tuning fork is struck close by.” Even Varthlokkur frowned, not fol owing.
Mist interceded. “You two talk that out later. It sounds like something we can use.”
Lord Yuan shook his head. “I haven’t found a way. It’s not even directional. It’s on or it’s off, in use or not in use, the latter so infrequently that there is no point wasting man-hours watching for it.”
Varthlokkur said, “Even so…”
Ragnarson had begun to feel like the man whose job it would be to watch for the Windmjirnerhorn to announce itself. He could not focus. Michael listened intently, memorizing every word without understanding a one, in case it proved useful later, but his eyes had glazed over.
Mist observed with benevolent exasperation. Elsewhere, a raging game of shogi roared along with distressed commentary from Lord Kuo Wen-chin.
Ragnarson met Mist’s eyes. She said, “I have sown the seeds.” “They appear to have quickened, too. Where do we go now?”
“I have a master plan. If I say one word more than I have already, though, the Fates wil rip it apart like jackals devouring a week-old carcass.”
Chapter Twenty-Three:
Autumn, Year 1018 AFE:
Weather Developing
Josiah Gales and Queen Inger, with toddler-king Fulk between them, entered the converted warehouse where the Thing had indulged in rowdy deliberations since its inception. The Crown never had possessed wealth enough to raise a purpose-built structure. Josiah’s health had not improved. He limped. He carried a cane. He leaned on it heavily when no one was watching. The little king was doing better.
Inger said, “This place is a sty. Pray the weather has the grace to let us air it out.”
Preparations for the Thingmeet had raised obstacles entirely unforeseen, as, here, where enterprising livestock dealers had used a vacant building as an indoor feed lot, thinking it a sin that so much sheltered space should go unused—especial y when the inattentive administration at the castle never visited the property.