A Cruel Wind

by Glen Cook

  he

  wants to be king of. Hammad al Nakir is a hundred times bigger than Kavelin.”

  “Hammad al Nakir runs itself. It’s got a whole different tradition.”

  “Could be.”

  They reached Valther’s home. “Any news?” Bragi asked.

  “Not much. Nepanthe, Ethrian, Haroun, Rolf… She couldn’t find a trace. They’re either shielded, or…”

  “Or?”

  “Dead.”

  “Rolf’s dead. Definitely. We found him in the cemetery. He took three of them with him.”

  “Three of who?”

  “Ones like we had at my house.”

  “Harish?”

  “No pretense this time. But they were the same breed. What about the jewel?”

  “It’s not there.”

  “Where’d it go?”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “It keeps piling up, and that’s the best we can come up with? Nobody knows anything for sure? But I do. I’ll get them if they don’t get me first.”

  “That goes without saying,” Haaken remarked sarcastically.

  “Eh?”

  “They knew that before they started. That’s why they tried to kill you first.”

  “Oh. Where’s Gundar? Let’s see what he’s got to say.”

  Gundar didn’t tell them anything new. His description of Nepanthe’s visitor fit the six dead assassins.

  “Guess we can kiss her off,” Haaken whispered.

  “Quiet!” Bragi muttered. “This’ll give Valther a bigger stake. Maybe get some action out of him.” He felt that Valther was dragging his heels. Why? His brother-in-law kidnapped, his brother murdered… That should have been motivation enough. If Nepanthe didn’t move him, Ragnarson reflected, he would have to find a new chief spy.

  His paranoia had reached the point where he suspected everyone. Anyone he didn’t see working as hard as he—regardless of how hard they hit it when out of his sight—was somehow betraying him.

  That, too, may have been part of the enemy plan. A cunning adversary operated on many levels.

  S

  EVENTEEN:

  S

  PRING-

  S

  UMMER, 1011 AFE

  M

  ICHAEL’S

  A

  DVENTURE

  Michael Trebilcock lay as still and patient as a cat. His gaze never left the house across Lieneke Lane.

  He had stumbled onto the foreigners while visiting his friend Aral, whose father had known his own in their younger days. Aral’s father was a caravan outfitter fallen on hard times. He survived on military supply contracts given because the family had remained loyal during the rebellion.

  The three had left an inn down the block, looking so much like the men Michael had seen at Ragnarson’s that he had felt compelled to follow them.

  His investigation had been luckless till then. Even with Aral’s help he hadn’t discovered anything of interest.

  Everybody in Vorgreberg believed something was afoot. But anyone who

  knew

  anything was keeping quiet. There was an undercurrent of fear. Knives had flashed by moonlight; bodies had turned up in rain-damp morning gutters. Few people were interested in risking a premature visit from the Dark Lady.

  “Aral!” he had yelled, and they had followed the three here.

  One was inside. The others were out of sight, hiding.

  Aral Dantice was a short, wide, tough little thug, tempered in the streets during his father’s hardship. He didn’t look bright. Scars complemented his aura of thuggishness. His problem, his weakness, was a lack of patience. He wouldn’t have taken half his scars if he had had enough self-control.

  “Let’s grab them,” Dantice whispered. “If they’re the same gang…”

  “Easy. Let’s find out what they’re up to first.”

  “What they’re up to is no good. Let’s just cut them up.”

  “Suppose they’re all right? You want to hang?”

  Aral was straightforward, Trebilcock thought. You always knew where he stood.

  Michael didn’t understand their friendship. They had little in common but curiosity and itchy feet, and the past friendship of their fathers. They were opposites in virtually everything.

  But Trebilcock didn’t understand himself. He was a man without direction. He didn’t know why he had come to Kavelin. Friendship for Gjerdrum? Plain wanderlust? Or just his intense need for an excuse not to take over his father’s business? He had turned that over to the family accountants to manage and followed Gjerdrum to this incredibly complex little kingdom, never knowing what he was seeking.

  There had been few of the adventures he had anticipated. Life had been pretty dull. But now… It had begun to move. His blood, finally, was stirring.

  Aral started to rise.

  Trebilcock pulled him down. “Hey! Come on!”

  “One of them just left.”

  Michael peered at the house. The man who had gone inside was on the porch, watching the lane. One of his henchmen was running toward town.

  “Okay. Follow him. But don’t bother him. Let him do whatever he wants. I’ll stick to this one.”

  “Where should we meet?”

  “They’ll get together again. When they do, so will we. If they don’t, I guess we’ll meet at your place.”

  “Right.” Dantice scampered along the backside of the hedge where they had hidden. He was built so low that keeping down wasn’t difficult.

  A woman and boy joined the man on the porch.

  The fat man’s wife, Michael thought. The boy must be his son.

  The woman said something. She seemed nervous. The man nodded. She ducked inside, returned with a bundle. All three hastened along the lane.

  Trebilcock crept along behind the hedge, waiting for the third man to act. Nepanthe seemed extremely upset, though she was accompanying the man by choice. She was sneaking away, and was afraid someone would notice.

  “That dark guy must’ve done some fancy talking,” Trebilcock muttered.

  The third man then followed Nepanthe and her escort once they rounded a bend. When he had made the same turn, Michael went back to the road. He kept his head down. He was passing the Marshall’s home. A half-dozen soldiers were there, and might…

  “Hey! Michael!”

  “Damnit!” It was one of the Horse Guards he bummed with. For once in his life he wished he didn’t have so many friends. “‘Lo, Tie. How goes it?”

  “Fine. Except I think they’re getting carried away trying to find things for us to do. Squaring away the Marshall’s house, you know what I mean? He’s got a wife, he’s got a maid and butler and all. Don’t seem right…”

  So. The word wasn’t out. “That’s a shame. But you could be out riding around the Gudbrandsdal in the rain.”

  “You got it. I don’t complain to the sergeant. He’d come up with something like that.”

  “I’d like to hang around and see what’s happening, Tie, but I’ve got a job.”

  “You?”

  “Sure. Not much. Running messages for the Marshall’s secretary. But he expects me to get them moved.”

  “Yeah. All right. Catch you later. Why don’t you plop in at the Kit ’N Kettle tonight? Got some girls from Arsen Street coming down… But don’t bring that chunky guy. What’s his name? Dantice. He busted the place up last time.”

  “Okay. I’ll see. If Prataxis don’t keep me running.”

  “What’s with that guy anyway, Mike?”

  Trebilcock glanced up the lane. How far ahead were they? “Aral? Don’t mind him, Tie. He isn’t so bad when you get to know him. Hey. I’ve got to go.”

  “Sure. See you later.”

  Trebilcock walked briskly till his soldier friend could no longer see him. Then he jogged, glancing down the cross lanes to make sure they hadn’t turned aside.

  He hoped they were headed back to their inn. In Aral’s part of town they would be easier to trail. />
  Luck was with him. That was their destination, and he picked up the rear guard in West Market Street, which was packed with shoppers.

  He found Dantice lounging around outside his father’s place. That, for Aral, was a near career. “What happened?”

  “Not a damned thing. The guy came back to the inn. The others just showed up.”

  “What’re they up to?”

  “Mike, I don’t know. You’re the one playing spy. Ho! Hang on. Here’s the first one again.”

  A dusky man had come to the inn door leading a half-dozen horses.

  “Oh-oh,” Trebilcock muttered. “What do we do now?”

  “How should I know? You’re the brains.”

  “Aral, they’re leaving town. I never thought of that. I just thought… Never mind. Here.” He slapped a gold piece into Dantice’s hand. “Get us a couple horses. Some food and stuff. I’m going to talk to your father.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Come on. Why not?”

  “You’re nuts. All right. You straighten it with the old man.”

  “Right. Yes. Come on. Hurry. We’ll lose them.”

  “I’m going.”

  Trebilcock slammed through the door of the Dantice establishment, knocking the bell off its mounting. “Mr. Dantice! Mr. Dantice!”

  The older Dantice came from the little office where he kept his accounts. “Hello, Michael. How are you?”

  “Mr. Dantice, I need some money. All the money you can give me. Here.” He seized pen and paper. “I’ll write you a letter of credit. You can take it to Pleskau Brothers. They handle my finances in Vorgreberg.”

  “Michael, boy, calm down. What’s this all about?”

  “Mr. Dantice! Hurry!” Trebilcock raced to the door, peeped out. Nepanthe, Ethrian, and the dark men were mounting up. “There’s no time. They’re leaving. I’m doing a job for the Marshall. I’ve got to have money. I’m going out of town.”

  “But…”

  “Isn’t my credit good?”

  “The best.” The old man scratched the back of his head. “I just don’t understand…”

  “I’ll explain when we get back. Just give me what you can.” He wrote hastily, leaving a blank for the amount.

  Puzzled, but wanting to help his son’s friend—whom he thought a bit strange, but felt to be a good influence—Dantice retrieved his cash box from hiding.

  “Michael, I don’t have much here today. ’Bout fifteen nobles, and change.”

  “That’s good. Whatever. We’ll only be gone a couple days. It’s just so we can eat on the way.” He flung himself to the door again. “Hurry. They’re almost gone. Come on, Aral. Where are you?”

  “Twelve and seven. That’s all I can spare, Michael. I have to keep some just in case…”

  “Fine. Fine. Ten is plenty, really. If I can’t get by….” He signed the credit for ten nobles, scooped coins as fast as the older man could count them out. “Thanks, Mr. Dantice. You’re a gem.” He kissed the old man.

  “Michael!”

  “Hey, we’ll see you in a few days.”

  He whipped out the door. Aral was just coming with the horses. “They’re all Trego had left.”

  “We’ll switch later. You see where they headed?”

  “Up the street. If they leave town, they’ll have to use a gate. Different than the west one, right? From here that means the east or south.”

  “But which? Never mind. Let’s see if we can catch up.”

  They made no friends that day, pushing through the streets the way they did, as if they were the Nordmen of old. They caught Nepanthe’s party as it turned into the Palace Road, which ran straight to the east gate.

  “Got them now,” Trebilcock enthused. “We can swing around and get ahead.”

  “Why not just pass them?”

  “The woman knows me.”

  “Whatever. You’re the boss. What’d the old man say when you told him?”

  “What?”

  “That I’m going off with you. He’s still trying to dump those account books on me.”

  “Oh, hell. I clean forgot, Aral.”

  “You didn’t tell him?”

  “I was too busy trying to get some money.”

  “Well, he’ll live. He’s used to me taking off for a couple days whenever I find me a new slut.”

  But this adventure would last longer than either expected.

  Their path wound eastward, through Forbeck and Savernake provinces, often by circuitous routes. The group they tracked avoided all human contact. The two expended a lot of ingenuity maintaining contact while escaping notice.

  “They’re sure in a hurry,” Aral grumped the third morning.

  He hadn’t complained yet, but his behind was killing him. He wasn’t accustomed to long days in the saddle.

  “Don’t worry. They’ll slow down. You’ll outlast the woman and boy.”

  Michael picked the right note. There was no way Aral Dantice was going to be outdone by a kid and a broad in her forties.

  Michael finally realized they were getting in deep after they passed Baxendala at night and were approaching Maisak, the last stronghold of Kavelin, high in the Savernake Gap.

  There, between Maisak and Baxendala, stood several memorials of the civil war. It was said that broken swords and bones could still be found all through the area.

  Two weeks after sneaking past Maisak, Michael and Aral reached a point from which they could see the eastern plains.

  “My God! Look, Mike. There’s nothing out there. Just grass.”

  Trebilcock grew nervous. How did people keep from getting lost out there? It was a green grass ocean. Yet the caravans came and went…

  They met caravans every day. Traders were racing to get through with early loads, to obtain the best prices. Sometimes the two overhauled an eastbound train and encountered someone they knew. Thus they kept track of their quarry. Later, when they reached the ruins of Gog-Ahlan, they would have to close up. The other party might strike out toward Necremnos, or Throyes, or any of the cities tributary to them. And who knew where they would go from there?

  They traded for better horses, foodstuffs, equipment, and weapons along the way, and always got a poor deal. Trebilcock had no mercantile sense whatsoever. He finally surrendered the quartermaster chores to Aral, who was more intimidating in his dickering.

  It was in potentially violent confrontations that Michael Trebilcock was intimidating. Men tended to back down when they saw his eyes.

  Michael didn’t understand, but used it. He felt it was his best weapon. He had trained in arms, as had everyone at the Rebsamen, but didn’t consider himself much good. He didn’t consider himself good at anything unless he was the best around.

  They reached Gog-Ahlan. Aral found a man who was a friend of his father. With Michael’s help he wrote the elder Dantice, and wrote a credit on House Dantice, which Michael promised to repay. And they learned that Nepanthe’s party was bound for Throyes.

  There was no holding Aral to an unswerving purpose that night. Old Gog-Ahlan lay in ruins, a victim of the might of Ilkazar four centuries earlier. On the outskirts, though, a trading city had grown up. Vices were readily available. Aral had energies to dissipate.

  It took him two nights. Bowing to the inevitable, Michael tried to keep up. Then, heads spinning, they rode on.

  Their quarry moved more leisurely now, safely beyond the reach of Kavelin’s Marshall.

  The two overhauled them within the week, a hundred miles from Throyes. “Now we go ahead,” Michael said. “We’ll swing around, too far away to be recognized.” That was what two riders overtaking a larger party would do anyway. Out on those wild plains no one trusted anyone else.

  Throyes was a sprawl of a city that made Vorgreberg look like a farming village. Most of it wasn’t walled, and no one cared who came or went.

  Here, for the first time in their lives, they felt like foreigners. They were surrounded by people who were different, who owed them no
sympathy. Aral behaved himself.

  Four days passed. Their quarry didn’t show. Dantice began fretting.

  Michael had begun to consider hitting their back trail when Aral said, “Here they come. Finally.”

  Only one man remained. He was wounded. The woman and boy, though, were hale if still a little frightened.

  “Bandits,” Trebilcock guessed. “Let’s stay behind after this. In case we need to rescue the lady.”

  “Hey, Mike, I’m ready. Let’s do it. My old man must be out of his head by now. You know how long we’ve been gone?”

  “I know. And I think we should stay gone until we find out what’s happening.”

  “We won’t get a better chance. That guy’s bad hurt.”

  “No. Let’s see where he goes.”

  The wounded man went to a house in the wealthiest part of town. There he turned the woman and boy over. The man who received them wasn’t happy. Neither eavesdropper understood the language, but his tone was clear, if not his reasons.

  “What now?” Aral asked.

  “We see what happens.”

  They watched. Aral daringly climbed the garden wall and listened at windows. But he heard nothing of importance.

  Two days later the woman and boy returned to the road with a new escort.

  “Oh, no,” Aral groaned. “Here we go again. We going to follow them to the edge of the world?”

  “If we have to.”

  “Hey, Mike, I didn’t sign on for that. A couple days, you said.”

  “I’m not dragging you. You can go back. Just give me half the money.”

  “What? You’d be in debtor’s prison by tomorrow night. And I ain’t riding around out here without nobody to talk to.”

  “Then you’d better stick with me.”

  “They can’t go far anyway. Argon is the end of the road.”

  “How do you know?”

  “They’re heading for the Argon Gate. If they were headed east, they’d go to Necremnos. So they’d head for the Necremnos Gate.”

  “How do you know where they’re heading?”

  “You know my old man.”

  “So?”

  “His stories?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  Dantice’s father bragged endlessly about his youthful adventures, before the El Murid Wars, when he had made a fortune in the eastern trade. Aral, having heard the tales all his life, had a fair notion of where they were.