An Ill Fate Marshalling

by Glen Cook

  Derel’s eyebrows rose. “You’re sure?”

  “Didn’t I just say so?”

  “Easy,” Ragnarson said. “Damn, you’re getting touchy. So I’ll live another five years. That’s good to know.”

  “That don’t mean they’ll be happy years. Just that you’ll survive them.”

  “Will they be bad, then?”

  “I don’t know. The divination just showed you with a sword in your hand on a summer day five years from now. There were dead men around you. Your sword was bloody. You were wearing that wolf grin you get during a fight. Your helmet was banged up. A lot of grey hair hung out from under it.”

  “And I know who’s going to give it to me. That satisfy your reservations, Derel?”

  Prataxis tugged at his chin. “I want an artist to paint that scene. If we’ll be at war....”

  Ragnarson muttered, “Gods, deliver me from....”

  “There might be details that would help us prepare....”

  “Derel. Answer me yes or no. Will you go along with me on Mist, knowing I’ll be around for a while?”

  Prataxis sputtered. He hemmed and hawed. He mumbled, “Yes, Sire.”

  “All right. That didn’t hurt, did it? No. I’m going to ask Gjerdrum now. Wait your turn. Gjerdrum?”

  “I’m minded that divinations are treacherous, sire. During the war everybody was looking for that Spear of Odessa Khomer that kept showing up in the divinations. And the damned thing turned out to be a guide on some kid from Iwa Skolovda used because he didn’t have anything else.”

  Ragnarson’s fist hammered the table. Varthlokkur’s inkwell flipped. Ink poured across oak. King and wizard became entangled as they tried to right the well. The spill spread. Ragnarson growled, “Goddamnit, why can’t anybody give me a straight answer? I know all the goddamn arguments. It’s worrying about that crap that keeps us from getting anything done. We’ve got to say the hell with it, decide to do something, then do it. Gjerdrum, I want a yes or no. Understand? Do we work on Shinsan? Can I count on you and the army?”

  Gjerdrum sighed. “All right. But....”

  “But me no buts. Not now. That’s what I wanted to know. I’m going to find Dahl. Play with the ifs, ands, and buts while I’m gone. We’ll hash out a program when I get back.” He rose. Scowling, he said, “I’ll send for ink and paper.” Prataxis had salvaged his notes, but his blank paper had been ruined. “I want this nailed down quick.”

  Bragi stepped into the hallway. “Dahl? Where the hell are you? What happened to Haas?” he asked the guard.

  “He was here a minute ago, Sire. He couldn’t have gone far. There he is.”

  “Sire? You wanted me?”

  “Yes.” He told Haas what he wanted done. While he spoke, Josiah Gales left a doorway down the hall and strode purposefully away.

  Bragi turned to the guard. “What’s Gales doing up here? Does he have the watch?”

  “I don’t know, Sire. No. Sergeant Wortel has it. Gales has the six to midnight this week.”

  “Curious. Dahl, get going.” He sent the guard for ink and paper, then checked the room Gales had departed. He found nothing unusual.

  Kristen’s legs ached from crouching behind the hedge. How long would this take? Sherilee had been over there for an hour. It wasn’t fun anymore.

  The blonde’s face popped through the hedge surrounding Mist’s estate. She looked up and down Lieneke Lane, burst into motion. She joined Kristen an instant later. “They had a Tervola in there!” she gasped. “Kris, he had a voice like a devil. Kind of like a nasty wind blowing through old dry leaves. Like he was dead, or something.”

  “What did they talk about?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t make sense. About how the King was going to help them.... Ouch!”

  Kristen yanked her down hard. “Somebody is coming out.”

  A coach came around the house and waited for an older, well-dressed, heavy man. He puffed a pipe and surveyed his surroundings lazily before entering the vehicle.

  “Who was that?” Sherilee asked.

  “Cham Mundwiller.”

  “The one from Sedlmayr? That helped the King during the civil war?”

  “Yes.”

  “How could he change like that?”

  Kristen laughed softly. “People do. I used to know a girl who was so in love with a guy named Hanso. Then she developed a crush on a married man.”

  “Kristen! I did not.”

  “Whatever you say, love. Let’s run to the house. Gundar can write down what you remember. One of the servants will take it to the palace.”

  Ten steps away, Sherilee suggested, “I could take the letter. I have to go to the city anyway.”

  Kristen put an arm around her friend. “Somehow, I thought you did.”

  Gales rambled through the palace halls, mumbling to himself. “Gales. Going to be rich someday. Yeah. Rich. Going to get out of this fool’s business. Yeah, rich. Gales, you ain’t nothing but a fool.” His gaze seemed fixed on the floor three steps ahead, but his eyes moved in quick little glances. He rounded a turn and tramped toward the soldier outside the door to the Queen’s apartments.

  “Got a letter for Her Majesty, Toby,” he said. “Just came in from the north.” He produced a large leather wallet closed with straps and buckles and heavy wax seals.

  “Right. Hang on a minute, Sarge.” Toby tapped on the door. A woman answered immediately. They exchanged a few words. The soldier pulled the door shut. He wore a slightly bewildered expression.

  “What’s up?” Gales asked.

  “I don’t know. She wants to tell the Queen before she takes it.”

  Gales made a gesture of defeat. “Women. You ever seen anything like a woman, Toby? A man’s got to be a pure fool to put up with them. Yeah. A pure fool. And you know what, Toby? I like it. Yeah. Ain’t that a bitch? A man wants to be a fool. Yeah.”

  Toby grinned. “There ain’t no better way to go, Sarge, that’s what I always say.”

  Gales grinned back. “You gotta do like me, Toby. Yeah. Be a fool, be a fool all the way. Yeah. I got six women right now. That’s no lie. Six women.”

  The door opened. Toby turned too quickly to catch the changes in Gales’ eyes. He whispered with a woman, became more perplexed. He told the sergeant, “The Queen wants you to hand it over personal.”

  Gales sighed dramatically. “Do a good deed,” he muttered, just loud enough for Toby’s ears. “And me with the night-watch. All right.”

  Toby opened the door. Gales stepped through, followed the woman to the chamber where the Queen awaited him. She sat behind a small writing table, clad in a dressing gown of deep green. Gales thought the color became her.

  “Your Majesty.” He bowed.

  The Queen told the lady, “You may go, Thelma.”

  The woman’s eyes grew huge. “My Lady?”

  “Leave us.”

  “But....”

  “You heard me. Scat. Sergeant, you have a letter for me?”

  The woman closed the door behind her. Gales asked, “Is this wise?”

  “He doesn’t pay attention to what I do anymore. He’d as soon I went back home.” She tossed the despatch case into a chest. There was nothing in it.

  “I’m Your Ladyship’s man, of course, but I think you misjudge His Majesty.”

  She made a placatory gesture. “Sorry, Josiah. I guess it’s the pressure.” She gave him one of those melting smiles. “What did you find out?”

  “I couldn’t make sense of everything, but it looks like the King wants to act against Shinsan.”

  “How?”

  “By helping the woman Mist reclaim her throne.”

  “That’s it? Why was he so sneaky about this meeting, then?”

  “There was some discussion of the succession. Then the wizard said he’d performed a divination that guaranteed His Majesty would be around for years. They talked about Hammad al Nakir, too, and where Michael Trebilcock might be.”

  “I wonder that mysel
f, Josiah. He’s a dangerous man. He deserves closer observation.”

  “All right. When we locate him again.”

  “This business with the east. It’ll complicate things, won’t it?”

  “Some. It’ll probably get them pulling together again. Which might be his plan.”

  “Then we take it more carefully. We’ve made some serious mistakes. We’ve been lucky. Let’s don’t repeat them and trap ourselves.”

  “It’s too late to stop....”

  “I know. We’ll have to live with the risks.”

  Gales bowed slightly. Reluctantly, he started backing from the room.

  That smile crossed Inger’s lips. “Was there something else, Josiah?”

  Was she daring him to make a fool of himself? “Uh....” He thought fast. Better to be a small fool than a big one. “When last we spoke, you accused His Majesty of having a mistress. It isn’t true. I checked.”

  Inger laughed. “Oh, thank you, Josiah. Thank you. You’re precious. I didn’t mean it that way. His mistress is this ridiculous little country, not some tavern slut. You’d better go before Thelma decides we’re worth gossiping about. Don’t forget Trebilcock.”

  “I won’t, My Lady.”

  When Josiah Gales used that tone there was no doubt he meant what he said.

  8 Year 1016 AFE

  Michael’s Journey

  AFTER HE HAD viewed the dead assassin and questioned the injured general, Michael went walking in the park surrounding Castle Krief. During two long circuits he reviewed everything he knew, thought he knew, and suspected. His memory was virtually perfect. He seldom had to consult the small staff he employed to keep records.

  A finger pointed. It was a shadowy finger, and its thrust lay in a strange direction. He had no evidence harder than intuition. He couldn’t take that to the King.

  He had a good idea where evidence might be found. If it existed at all.

  He didn’t return to the castle. He thought his best course would be to disappear. He had to handle this personally. It was that touchy. It would be best if nobody knew a thing till he had something concrete.

  He walked into the city, to an apartment he seldom used. The owner lived on the premises. He was a veteran and a reliable man. His connection with Michael Trebilcock was a secret shared with no one else. He would gather the necessary resources and equipment. Michael would begin his journey there.

  Trebilcock had made up his mind while questioning Liakopulos. There was no point searching for the assassins. There was no cross-contact between his people and their masters. He would have had prior warning if there were.

  He was that sure of his organization.

  He assumed the guise of a post rider. Two days later he crossed the border into Tamerice. Two days later still he reached the home of a wartime acquaintance, a merchant named Sam Chordine. They traded favors regularly.

  Michael’s system was based on the trading of favors and his ability to convince people that what he wanted was right and necessary.

  Chordine laid on a spread, though it was the heart of the night. He asked no questions till Michael was thoroughly stuffed, and then only, “How long has it been?”

  Michael belched. “Sorry. Right after Palmisano?”

  “No. Must have been later than that. I remember you in the Gap.”

  “Then in Ravelin, sure.”

  “Yeah. I remember. King Bragi’s coronation.”

  Trebilcock grinned. “Don’t bring that up. Just remembering makes my head hurt. I’m still finding out things I did that night.”

  “I’m not too clear after the crowning. I remember you and that chunky friend of yours-Karal, was it?-trying to take me some place called the Fat Man’s.”

  “Aral. Aral Dantice. You didn’t go. The King had to have Prataxis bailed out.” Michael chuckled at the memory. “You haven’t seen scorn till you’ve seen it on the face of a Rebsamen don.”

  “What brings you to these parts?”

  “Wish I could say just a friendly visit, but that’d be a lie. Put on a few pounds, haven’t you?”

  “A few too many. I don’t get much exercise. Business is too damned good. I can afford to eat stuff I like. And that’s what I’ve been doing. What do you need?”

  “You have anything going into Hammad al Nakir? Headed for Al Rhemish?”

  “We run a train through the Pylons every week. Luxury goods. You want to send something in, or bring something out?”

  “Somebody. Me.”

  “Uhm!” Chordine closed piggish eyes and pursed thick lips. Michael waited. After a time, Sam asked, “Any point me asking why?”

  “You can ask. I won’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

  “That’s the way of it, eh? All right. I’ll see what I can do. I do hire people sometimes. Megelin’s men don’t take much notice.”

  “I appreciate it, Sam.”

  “You’ll pay for it, too. Old Sam will come collecting someday.”

  “Seems to me you’re one up on me already.”

  “That spot of business with the woman? Hardly the same thing, Michael.”

  “It was a lot of trouble convincing her she should move west instead of having a talk with your wife, Sam. She squealed and squawked all the way. My man nearly ended up getting hung. Not to mention the expense.”

  “Seems as how I recall footing that bill, Michael.” Chordine grinned. “But thanks anyway. I suppose we’re even if I help you.”

  “Till your next girlfriend finds herself in a family way.”

  Chordine picked through the wreckage atop the table, snatching tidbits overlooked first time around. “Hope you’re in a working mood, boy. You’ll have to do your share. And you’ll have to come back out with the same caravan.”

  Michael closed one eye and raised the opposite eyebrow. “You’ve got a heart as black as Hell’s gate, Sam.”

  Chordine responded with mock surprise. “Me? What on earth do you mean?”

  “I read you like a book. Right now you’re figuring how many weeks pay for a guard you’ll save. Once I’m out of sight, you’ll wring your hands in glee.”

  Chordine responded with a huge, deep chuckle. “And run down to my strongroom and worship my sacks of gold. So it goes, friend Michael. So it goes. I’m getting fat in more ways than one. Let me show you your room again. Anything you need? I have a little scullery maid you’d find tasty. Not too bright, but what the hell? She makes up for it with enthusiasm.”

  “We’ll see, Sam. Don’t send her. Just let our paths cross. We’ll see what course nature takes.”

  “You’re a man after my own heart, Michael. A man after my own heart. Explain to me why I ever did a fool thing like get married. Common sense told me to stay away from that damned altar, but would I listen? Hell no. Had to have that woman, and that was the only way. She acted like she was sitting on a gold mine. I’ve been paying gold rates ever since. For pyrite. If I was young and single like you, you bet your sweet ass....”

  “How are your kids?” At war’s end Chordine had had seven, including two sets of twins. All daughters.

  “Ah, Michael, they’re my despair. They’ll be the death of me. A man has eleven daughters, and the older ones blooming, every rogue in a thousand miles darkens his door. What’s the world coming to? Don’t the young think about anything else? It got so bad I hired guards to protect my little string of pearls. What happens? I have to run the damned guards off.”

  “You should have hired amazons.”

  “Yeah.” Chordine grinned. “Plump little gals about five feet tall. Redheaded and randy.”

  Michael smiled. “Think I’ll turn in, Sam. Let’s solve your family problems tomorrow.”

  Trebilcock liked Chordine-in small doses. Waiting for the caravan would have driven him to distraction had he not diverted himself with the scullery maid. Chordine’s older daughters did not make the waiting easier. They shared their father’s appetites, and were not the least bit shy.

  He sighed relievedly when
he joined the southbound caravan.

  At his request it traveled more briskly than was customary, or good for the animals, all of which carried skins of wine. Wine brought a premium in a land where it lay under religious interdict.

  The drink was bound for Megelin’s crowd. Chordine got it past customs by paying a nominal, contraband tax,” which found its way into the purses of the inspectors. The train entered Hammad al Nakir a day ahead of schedule, and reached Al Rhemish three ahead. Michael figured that would give him three extra days to poke around.

  He had been into the desert on occasion, but never to its capital. His first glimpse stunned him.

  Al Rhemish lay at the bottom of a great craterlike bowl surrounded by broad, barren vistas. After all that waste, it was a shock to crest the ringing hills and see so much green.

  Al Rhemish itself stood on an island surrounded by a shallow lake. One stone causeway connected the holy city to the mainland. The inner slopes of the bowl boasted citrus orchards, pastures, olive groves, and countless little truck farms. An irrigation canal began at the wall’s highest point and spiralled lazily down to the lake, making three complete circuits of the bowl.

  Michael stopped and gaped. He mopped sweat from his sunburned face. He was an unnaturally pale man. His fairness served him poorly in the broiling desert sun.

  “Keep moving,” the master caravaneer growled. “Look all you want after we get there.”

  “Where does the water come from?”

  “There’s an aqueduct comes down from the Kapenrungs. El Murid built it. In my father’s time this was desert too. Megelin wanted to bust up the aqueduct. He wanted to wreck everything El Murid did. The priests said they’d put a curse on him. His generals said they’d desert him.” The caravaneer indicated a stand of monuments on the bowl’s far rim. They were barely discernable from where Michael sat his horse. “He did start wrecking the Stellae of the Immortals, but Beloul and El Senoussi made him stop.”

  “What were they?”

  “Obelisks. Graven with the names of people who died for El Murid’s movement. They surround the graves of his wife and son. They say there’s another stand at Sebil el Selib called the Stellae of the Martyrs.”

  “Uhm.” Michael urged his mount forward. He knew most of this already, of course, but hearing or reading about the wrack of history was not the same as actually seeing it. He remained beside the caravan master down the long slope to the causeway. “Any suggestions?” he asked.