An Ill Fate Marshalling Read online

  He found Mist arguing with several unfamiliar Tervola. He located Dahl Haas. “Dahl, pick some good fighting men and get them up here.” He scanned the room. He had a little help.... The big map table was gone. Wounded carpeted the floor where it had stood.

  Varthlokkur joined him. “I’m calling Radeachar.”

  “Good.”

  Mist noticed them. She seemed puzzled.

  “The Baron was right,” Bragi muttered. He sent guards to the portals, told Varthlokkur, “I get the feeling we weren’t expected.”

  The woman said something to her companions, came their way. “I see you made it back.”

  “Some of us. A lot of my men died out there. Hsung laid a trap. It almost worked.”

  “My people were hit hard too. The trickster who almost stopped us wants to meet you.”

  “Hsung?”

  “Lord Hsung.”

  “Ain’t Lord Nothing to me, Mist. Don’t go taking yourself too seriously. Not in my territory.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s been an emotional day.”

  Lord Hsung introduced himself. “Keeping your job?” Ragnarson asked. “Still going to be boss of the occupation?”

  “Her Highness has chosen to entrust me with our western provinces.”

  “Guess I can expect the same old crap then, eh?” Lord Hsung stiffened. Ragnarson did not relent. “My turn to do a little arm-twisting. I won’t cry about Hammad al Nakir. I won’t even whine about you putting spies in my palace. All part of the game, right? But I am irked about my caravan people. A whole lot irked.”

  Glass shattered behind Ragnarson. A chill crawled his spine. Help was here. The Unborn had come. It had forced one of the blocked windows.

  “You know how much good glass costs?” Mist shrieked. “We’re on the same side, remember?”

  “We weren’t first to forget,” Varthlokkur countered. “I can’t prove it, but I’m morally certain the King and I weren’t supposed to return from the raid.”

  Bragi said, “I get mean when people mess with me. You’re going to be a guest of the Crown for a while.”

  Mist looked deflated. “For how long? We’re involved in two desperate wars.”

  “Two?”

  “That thing in the east.”

  “Ask me how much I care. The worse the whipping you take, the more weight off my back.”

  “This thing has big nightmares, Bragi. It hates the world.”

  Varthlokkur made a warning gesture. Why? And why was he so pale all of a sudden?

  Mist led Bragi aside. “I didn’t have any choice, Bragi. You don’t understand what you mean to those Tervola who survived the Great Eastern Wars. They want you bad. I made it a soft trap, hoping your famous luck would hold. It did. We all got what we wanted, didn’t we? Can we go on being friends?”

  “Okay.” But I won’t forget, he thought. I’ll get my turn. “But don’t screw around with me. All I ask is that you deal with me straight. I’ll hurt you if you don’t. What does he want?”

  Varthlokkur was gesturing excitedly. He called, “Radeachar got it!”

  “Got what?”

  “He found our man. He followed the assassin into the city and watched him make contact. In the park. His control is one of the Queen’s men. Radeachar couldn’t tell which. He has an identity shield.”

  Ragnarson cursed. “We’d better stake him out. An Itaskian, eh? I figured some of them were spies, but.... Let’s go.”

  “Home at last,” the wizard mumbled. “You realize I haven’t seen my daughter since she was born?”

  “I haven’t seen Inger.”

  “Why the long face?”

  “Thinking about our other problems. Dahl! Get us a couple horses. Tell Sir Gjerdrum he’s in charge. He can let Mist’s people go.”

  Dahl clicked his heels and bowed stiffly, imitating Itaskian military fashions. Ragnarson sent a disgusted look after him. “He’s getting carried away with the etiquette and honors.”

  “He means well,” Varthlokkur observed. “A little more of that and the Estates might take you seriously.”

  “The Estates can put it where the moon don’t shine. Hurry up, Dahl.”

  “You’re changeable today, aren’t you?”

  “In and out of an `is-it-worth-it’ mood.”

  Haas brought the horses. Ragnarson started toward town. Varthlokkur cantered up beside him. “I’ve been through it a hundred times. You always end up going on. You have to. Too many people are keeping your wagon in its ruts.”

  “Just as many are trying to push it off the road.”

  “No. That’s another rut.” Later, Varthlokkur said, “Might better keep your eyes open. We left our bodyguards.”

  “Think Norath sent more than one nine?”

  “No. Somebody else might try. The somebody who paid Norath. It’s a good time to strike. The country is confused. It’s ready for bad news.” The wizard glanced up. The Unborn drifted overhead, high enough to attract little attention. “There’s Radeachar, of course, but crossbow bolts strike quickly. Especially if the assassin has a shielded mind.”

  Rowdy drunks howled just inside the city gate. The streets seethed with mobs trundling about shrieking the victory song of the Charygin Hall Panthers.

  “Damn it all!” Ragnarson swore after hearing the news. “They beat Cynith’s Bears by three goals. The Bears were supposed to be better than the Guards. Smart money went with them when we held the Panthers close in the second game.”

  “I could put a curse on them.” Varthlokkur chuckled at Ragnarson’s reaction. “Thought creative cheating was part of the game?”

  “There’s cheating and cheating.”

  “Pity. Radeachar would make a hell of a striker. He’d give the game a new dimension.”

  “Get thee behind me.”

  The wizard chuckled again.

  Bragi listened to the chatter in the streets. Most people were too busy to notice him. He seldom dressed more elegantly than his soldiers.

  “Going to be dusk when we get there,” Bragi observed.

  “Uhm. I’ll have Radeachar scout ahead.”

  “Right.”

  It was dusk when they reached the park. Ragnarson was saying, “You don’t realize how much you miss, sometimes. Out of town one week and it turns into a foreign city.”

  “Quiet. Ah. I thought so. Swordplay. Over there. Where Radeachar said the assassin was hiding.” He looked up. The Unborn drifted above the trees.

  “Let’s go.” Ragnarson dismounted, hastened into the orchard with ready sword. “Uhm,” he muttered. “Getting stiff.” His wounds weren’t bad, but they ached abominably.

  The wizard was a step behind him, running with a lightness remarkable for an old man.

  The clang of swordplay grew louder. A man cried out, mortally wounded. Blades met again. Ragnarson panted, “Can you stop them?”

  “I can try.” Varthlokkur stopped, closed his eyes. Bragi ran on.

  A second death cry howled among the fruit trees.

  Ragnarson found Josiah Gales panting over two dead men. One was the assassin. The other was an Itaskian stonecutter named Thorn Callison.

  “Drop the sword and back off, Gales.”

  The sergeant spun, came to guard, took a step forward. He looked panicky.

  That faded. He composed himself, deposited his weapon on the trampled earth, backed away. He seated himself, hugged his knees.

  Ragnarson rested his sword-tip on the earth. “Start talking.” He wished there were more light. Gales’ shadowed face could not be read.

  Gales did not hesitate. “Callison acted strange all day. He was supposed to work on the dolphin fountain. This morning he asked for a pass so he could pick up a tool he’d had made. I gave him the token. He went and came back. I didn’t see any tools. Next watch he gave Beckett the same story. I didn’t find out till a little while ago, by accident. I went to see how he was doing on the fountain. He hadn’t hit a lick. I talked to a couple men from back home. They told
me he was acting spooky. I went looking for him. And I’ll be damned, there he was, heading out the gate. Carrying a sword. I hadn’t seen Thorn Callison wear a sword in ten years. I asked at the gate. They said he was going to town to pick up a tool. How come the sword, I asked. They said he said he was worried about getting jumped. It would be dark before he got back.

  “I did some thinking. Known Thorn how long? Soldiered together. Maybe the tool was almost ready and the smith kept saying come back. Then I realized it wasn’t like Thorn to go fetch. He’d have the smith deliver. So I said to myself, why don’t we just check this out?

  “What he was doing was coming out here to see that critter there. I recognized it straight off. Same as went after the General and Colonel. They talked some. I couldn’t hear them. All of a sudden, it looked like Thorn was getting ready to kill the guy. Getting rid of evidence. I couldn’t believe it. Thorn running a bunch of assassins? He’s a stonecutter. Then I remembered he acted strange the day they jumped the General, too.

  “I couldn’t let Thorn kill that thing. I jumped out and told them to drop their swords. Thorn looked at me and got a real sad look. He said, `Gales... why the hell did you have to follow me?’ Then he said something foreign. The other guy came after me. Thorn jumped in too. It was rough. Getting dark. I had the advantage `cause I didn’t have to worry about who I cut. I got one of them. Then there got to be a little more light.” Gales looked up. Ragnarson did not follow his glance.

  “Then Thorn came after me like he’d gone crazy. He turned into a wild man. I didn’t want to hurt him. Maybe he got himself into a bind somehow, you know? Like somebody had something on him. Maybe the Queen, she could square it if I could get him to talk to her.

  “But Thorn wouldn’t let it happen that way. He used to be good. A little rusty. Maybe he forgot we used to practice together. He tried one of the old tricks. Before I knew what I was doing, I took him out. Then you jumped out from behind a tree and scared the shit out of me, and almost got yourself killed too, making me think there was more of them.”

  Ragnarson nodded. “All right, Gales. I’ll buy it. Go get somebody to clean up. Don’t forget your sword.”

  Gales disappeared quickly. Varthlokkur joined Ragnarson, who asked, “What do you think?”

  “Could be the truth. Fits the visible evidence.”

  “And he could be a glib liar. Maybe Callison followed him.”

  “Why?”

  “Gales is acting peculiar lately. And the way he talked. Clear. Direct. Hardly wasting any words. Not your usual Gales. Like maybe he was too busy thinking fast to have time for his act.”

  “He was shielded.”

  “Aha! Maybe he and I should have a little chat in the dungeon.”

  “Callison was shielded too. I suspect all the Itaskians are. Only two or three would need it.... If you only masked the traitors, they’d be marked men anyway.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him. Call it a hunch. He strikes a big wrong note. Inger’s whole crowd seems off-key sometimes.” The look he gave Varthlokkur half-dared the wizard to comment.

  “You would be wise to take a closer look.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t like the way you said that.”

  “I meant exactly what I said. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s been said before. They’re not your people. Their first loyalty lies elsewhere. Maybe one, ten, or a hundred came here to do something that isn’t in your interest.”

  “You know something you’re not saying?”

  “No. Just pursuing a logical chain. Neither Gales nor Callison is the sort who could hire a Magden Norath.”

  “There’s a depth to it....”

  “We’ve known that all along. The stumper is, who profits?”

  “Where’s the sense? Take out Liakopulos, Abaca, and Gjerdrum. What happens? I promote somebody. The regimental commanders are just as trustworthy.”

  “It’ll come in time.” Varthlokkur gazed toward the castle. “Can you run out of need for me for a while? My wife has needs too.”

  “Mine too, I guess.” Bragi’s thoughts drifted toward Lieneke Lane. “Later, then.”

  The wizard waited till the King had vanished among the plum trees. His eyes closed. The Unborn descended. Thorn Callison, stonecutter, got to his feet.

  The wizard asked questions. Callison answered. The wizard departed the death-ground wearing the expression of a man who had seen a vision of darkness. He could no longer tell himself that his suspicions were the result of a hyperactive, black imagination.

  15 Year 1016 AFE

  Unpleasant Surprises

  RAGNARSON ROLLED OUT of bed gently, careful not to disturb Inger. He went to the window, stared out at mist-shrouded Vorgreberg.

  He had come to Inger with the best of intentions, then had put her off, pleading wounds and weariness. She had accepted his claims. Yet the story would have been different had he been with Sherilee, he was sure.

  There was something wrong between them. Something getting wronger. Sherilee was the latest symptom.

  Why was it going bad? It had seemed so right when they met, during the war.

  No, he told himself. You had your reservations when you sent your proposal. You had doubts and suspicions. You just weren’t sure. She’d been good to you in your exile. You were vulnerable.

  She’s been trying, hasn’t she?

  Maybe she has mixed feelings too.

  He couldn’t shake a conviction that he was missing out. That there had to be something more to life. Would Sherilee give it to him? Probably not. Her best gift would be a last illusion of youth.

  It couldn’t last. He was twice her age. He was on the downhill side. It would catch up. But, gods! how alive he had felt that night. Inger hadn’t done that for him, ever. Neither had Elana, despite all their years together, though he had loved her deeply and did still. Fiana... she had had the knack.

  How much was emotion? How much physical? “Damn!” he growled. He could analyze forever and never unmask the whole problem. Some of the mental parts were quite clear. The physical... was it simply a matter of more approximate physical templating, where the needs of one pairing simply meshed better than another?

  “Gods,” he muttered. “This is Prataxis-thinking. Maybe that’s why he never married. Maybe he analyzes too damned much.”

  The bed creaked. He didn’t turn. Inger began kneading his shoulders. “What is it?”

  He stared across the misty city. Morning birds winged above the carpet of wool. He watched a brace of blackbirds harass a crow who wanted nothing more than to pursue his corvine business. There I go, he thought. Only there’s a whole flock after me, with half of them invisible.

  “Brooding,” he replied.

  “Can I help?”

  “I don’t know. I have to find out the problem before I figure what to do about it. I feel kind of hemmed in, kind of guilty about maybe not caring enough about things, lonely, like I’ve wasted half my life, and maybe plain restless. Yesterday I scored a big coup. If it turns out, it could be one of the big dates in Kavelin’s history. And I’m not excited. I don’t feel any sense of accomplishment.”

  “Talk to Derel.”

  “I have. All he does is give me a scholarly explanation. That doesn’t help.”

  “Maybe part of you doesn’t believe you gained anything.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe your heart knows something your head doesn’t. Your intuition is spooky. How many times have I seen you guess right without any apparent evidence?”

  That talent was contributing to his nervousness and indecision. He wanted desperately to still its dark whispering. He had ideas and suspicions even Derel had not heard. There are things in each man’s life he tries to make untrue by virtue of concerted disbelief.

  “Maybe that’s my mother’s witch blood.”

  “Maybe it’s saying there’s still something wrong.”

  “In Ravelin?” Stop pushing, woman. Don’t make me face these thoughts. You might be s
orry. “I don’t need witch blood to know that. I’m bailing a goddamned sinking boat. Sharks are chomping holes in the bottom while the rats squabble among themselves. My friends may be more dangerous than my enemies. I’ve been too successful.

  Kavelin isn’t in any imminent peril. People are grinding their own axes. I’m halfway tempted to ride away. If I had somebody like Mocker or Haroun to go with, I’d be gone.”

  “Don’t be silly. You can’t. Too many people are dependent on you.”

  “That’s one of my worries. Another is I can’t depend on anybody. Like the palace... I feed people, clothe them, pay them, give them important work, and what’s my reward? One becomes an agent for Lord Hsung. Others try to kill Liakopulos, Abaca, and Gjerdrum. Your people. It just baffles me. I can’t figure why they’d do it.”

  “What do you mean, my people?”

  He told her about Gales and the stonecutter and the assassin who had died in the park.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said. “He’s been with me since I was little. Sort of my personal bodyguard. He saved me from getting raped once.”

  “What?”

  “I was fifteen. Pretty romantic. A band of brigands were hiding in the forest near our manor. My father told me not to go riding till they were hunted down. Being young and stupid, I naturally disobeyed. I went looking for them. I had the idea they would be romantic foresters. They turned out to be... it was bad. Josiah nearly died of his wounds, but he got me out before they hurt me. I owe him.... He’s embarrassed to be around me now because they had me unclothed before he saved me. He’s a dear, sweet man, Bragi. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

  “I never said he would. We’re talking about what he might do tome. Or maybe not him. But somebody from Itaskia.”

  “I’ll find out. I don’t like it, but if you say it, it’s true. You don’t talk till you know.” She continued rubbing his shoulders. He began to relax. After a pause, she said, “This really bothers me. If we can’t trust them, who can we trust?”

  He closed his eyes momentarily, controlling his tongue. “I count their names on my fingers. And I don’t know if they’ll be trustworthy tomorrow.”