It was his own worst disaster since his condemnation to this horrible plane, happening almost casually. Absent the Horn…
He had to stop it. All of it. Now. He had to take time out to reflect seriously, not just about how to survive in times to come but about what this all meant in the grander scheme.
He was not watching a chance encounter go foul. That was an ambush. Tervola had been in place and waiting, armed with the most ferocious weapon in their arsenal. That they had been waiting told a hundred tales—none of them happy for the Star Rider.
The product of the combined equations was that that the Star Rider needed to leave the stage immediately, abandoning the play while it was in progress. Any other course would lead to the end of everything.
They would be waiting at Fangdred, Varthlokkur and the she-Tervola. They had been ahead of him most of the way. They had immense resources, some of which he had remained unaware.
All that was obvious. He did not send demons to spy. There was no point. They would be prepared for that, too.
The messenger demon brought word of Varthlokkur’s raid into the Place of the Iron Statues, further proving that the enemy had exceptional resources and impossible knowledge. Varthlokkur might reasonably remember that the Place existed but how could he possibly know how to get past the safeguards to do the damage that he had done? Could it be that the Unborn was that much more powerful than anyone had imagined?
Old Meddler sighed. He slumped. The long struggle might be over—with him as the loser.
Not yet! No. He had options. Again, the best was just to hide till today’s devils died and their knowledge faded. They always did die. The knowledge always did fade—though this time could be the exception.
Was there any real point? His enemies had eliminated his last few tools. With no Horn, no horse, and the Place in shambles, he had nothing left but time.
There was one final refuge, beneath the Mountains of the Thousand Sorcerers. He had not gone there since his effort to ready the Disciple for his role. He could head for the Horned Mountain now and let himself be wrapped in the arms of his lover, Time, underneath, till he could emerge and amaze and terrify tomorrow with his return. He would have to do so armed only with Magden Norath’s grim journals, because there were almost no resources cached in that deep labyrinth. He knew not why. Those choices had not been made by him.
But. The Horned Mountain was a long way south, through deserts and mountains, a harsh passage for a man several thousand years old.
Also… Varthlokkur really had invaded the Place. How much damage had he done? Had he broken any chains? Had he cracked any confining walls? If he had done more than just finish off already damaged iron statues, things could begin to come apart in a huge way. And the warder in charge, the warder once able to handle it all with ease, no longer possessed the powers or tools to do his job effectively.
“Be careful what you wish for. There are always unforeseen consequences.”
He could not just walk away from what might be coming.
...
Babeltausque murmured, “What did he say?” He no longer understood anything Tang Shan said.
Carrie wiggled like she wanted to snuggle closer, though the fire was huge and she was damned near inside his clothing already. She had been creeped out by the donkey drover from the moment the man used sign and broken Wesson to beg leave to share the fire.
She breathed, “He said this is the man who murdered the King of Hammad al Nakir.”
“Oh.”
There had been a lot of talk about that in Fangdred because Megelin’s parents were underfoot. Babeltausque had paid attention only because there was nothing to do but monitor the gossip getting kicked around in the few languages he understood.
“Your heart just started beating faster, Bee Boss.”
“Yes.”
“Be careful. He’s deadlier than a cobra.”
And sensitive to personal danger. He knew the instant the attitude of his companions changed from indifferent to calculating.
“What?” Babeltausque asked after Tang Shan added something.
“He says Shinsan could earn a debt of gratitude from both sides in Hammad al Nakir by delivering this monster.”
“I know I wouldn’t want to be in his boots. I don’t know about the Lady Yasmid but that King Without a Throne ain’t a very nice guy.”
“He needs delivering, Bee.”
The drover casually thanked them for sharing their fire. Carrie thanked him for having provided tea. Babeltausque donned his “handling a Greyfells in a fury” bland face. He felt the killer calculate his chances and dislike them—even unaware that he had fallen in with sorcerers.
Babeltausque was not that sure of the easterners himself. He chose to assume that Tang Shan and Lein She were at least his equals.
He said, “Sit down. You won’t be leaving us.”
Carrie added, “We know who you are. Don’t make it hard on…”
Babeltausque snickered.
“Bee Boss, you aren’t twelve.”
The killer was not amused. He fixed on Lein She now. Lein She had donned his mask. He was just a Candidate. His mask was simple but it was what it was. The killer knew what it meant. This would be an excellent time for that devil who saved him from the hunger in that desert tower to pop up again, to keep the scheme he wanted played out from aborting.
“Sit,” Babeltausque said again, gesturing.
The man understood. He sat. His options were few.
Carrie asked, “What’s the plan?”
“Hunh?” He did not have one.
“Be a lot of money on those donkeys.”
“Temptation, you’re saying.”
“Big time, Bee. Big time.”
“Carrie, this will sound bad. It might not even make you happy.”
“Surprise me, love.”
“The last temptation I gave in to was you. I’m not interested in anything else anymore. I’m especially not interested in grabbing some money and trying to outrun a lot of people who want to take it away.”
Carrie giggled and pretended to tickle his chest. “You lie like a dog, Bee. You’d be all over Haida Heltkler if you ever got the chance.”
His heartbeat increased. She would feel it. But it was not the pounding that would proclaim him a liar. “I don’t think so. I’m happy with what I have. Really. You and my job as the Queen’s wizard. That’s all I want. It’s all I need.”
“Wow. All righty, then. Know something, Bee? I can live with that.”
Tang Shan said something the sorcerer had no need to follow closely. He wanted the love stuff shelved. He was hungry. It was cold out. It was time to move on. The boys from the Tower were up and bouncing, getting their blood flowing. They could stay warm by jogging.
Babeltausque looked down. His belly was a specter of its former glory but it had not gone away completely. He would do no jogging anywhere.
Lein She understood prisoners management. He lashed the killer’s right hand to a donkey pack, added a cantrip that would keep the knot from untying till he told it to let go. Then the cold march began.
†
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
YEAR 1019 AFE:
KNOTS AT THE END OF THE ROPE
Nathan Wolf leaned into the Queen’s sitting chamber. His breath misted. “The sorcerer just turned up, Majesty.”
Inger pulled her hands back from the brazier that was the best even Kavelin’s Queen could afford. “Babeltausque?” Unable to believe.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Nathan must be thoroughly rattled.
“But… How…?”
“Ask him yourself. I came as soon as I heard. It’s him and his girlfriend, some Shinsaners and a couple of others, plus about twenty donkeys and horses. They strolled in a couple minutes ago with their butts frozen off.”
“But… How…?” Oh. Yes. Ask Babeltausque. “All right. Let me grab another wrap and some gloves.”
&nb
sp; She strode so briskly that Nathan had trouble keeping up. Everyone in the castle was headed in the same direction. Inger almost trampled Dr. Wachtel and Toby.
Josiah was there already, with blankets and hot tea. The constant babble eased briefly on the Queen’s arrival, then redoubled. Even the easterners seemed compelled to talk to her.
She watched a desert man be led away, his hands bound behind him.
The sorcerer’s sex toy quieted the foreigners while her lover explained to his sovereign.
She, of course, heard only, “The entire treasury of Royalist Hammad al Nakir,” and nothing about the Star Rider or deadly attacks.
“No. He cached some a few places before he banged into us. You should probably get that gleam out of your eye.”
Greyfells blood would tell. The moment she knew there was money to be had she thought that anyone who knew of its provenance ought to be silenced.
Babeltausque told her, “These people are Tervola. They’re alert. They won’t cooperate. And neither will I.”
“Excuse me?”
“I won’t be used as a black sorcerer anymore. Majesty. I’ll be the royal wizard, but not the kind that does dirty deeds. I have responsibilities, now.” He looked at his baby whore. She looked back with adoration that Inger feared was real.
“Good heavens,” the Queen said. “Good heavens.”
Kristen, with Fulk and Bragi swirling around her, asked Carrie, “Are you all right with that?”
“Bee growing a set and wanting to be a decent guy? Yeah. I’m loving it.” Not a hint of acknowledgement of Kristen’s status.
“That, too. But I meant…” She looked at the girl’s waist and nodded.
“Oh. Sure. Yes. It happened…”
Inger grasped the truth as Carrie realized that her lover’s transformation had happened because he had figured it out, too.
The Queen shook her head, surprised by her own good feelings.
Josiah had men unloading donkeys already. Those poor animals were bedraggled. “Nathan, appropriate enough to buy firewood for us, the staff, and the stable, then get some decent food in here. Decent. Don’t go crazy. Then you and Josiah join me to go over our books.”
She owed a lot of money. Good people and bad, no one who had seen the El Murid Wars would have trouble rationalizing confiscation of wealth from the desert. Most of that would have gotten there as plunder, anyway.
“Babeltausque, I could bear your children myself. Conning you into signing up with me was the smartest thing I ever did.”
The sorcerer had trouble understanding when people were joking, especially when they were droll or sarcastic but kept a straight face. He coped by remaining unresponsive till he gathered cues enough to guess what was going on.
Carrie said, “I bet he’d jump at that. But I’m selfish. I won’t share.”
Inger was stunned. Did the girl think she was amongst her own street people? She managed, “I’m heartbroken. Who is that forlorn cripple?” The woman did not look like much but seemed important even so.
Babeltausque said, “I’m not sure, Majesty. Something supernatural. She came out of the otherworld used by Shinsan’s portals. She took control of a boy who tried to follow us and transformed his body into that. The bad foot was the last part out. Maybe the boy wasn’t big enough to let her make a complete new body. Don’t offend her. She might look lost but still be a goddess or devil.”
He knew more than he was saying. He believed what he did say. Complying with his suggestions would be sensible.
“Doctor Wachtel, take charge of the young lady. Help her if you can.” She had forked branches for crutches. Lein She had made those for her.
Wachtel approached her, made himself understood by grunts and signs. Too, she understood a few Wesson words and phrases—which astonished everyone.
Inger said, “Toby, take our other guests to the empty quarters. Garyline, help him. Miss Depar, you seem able to communicate with them. Go with Garyline and Toby. Kristen, contribute wherever you can.”
That earned her a grim look—followed by a curt nod. Things did have to be done.
Inger added, “The lifeguard that got left might be helpful, too. Where is he? You’d think he’d want to see this.”
Kristen said, “You asked him to stick to his quarters.”
Of course. It was honorable behavior to the point of obnoxiousness. Centurion of the First. Something like that. She was ashamed. She could not recall the man’s name.
“Tell him I said he can come out and help. We should hear from his boss again soon, shouldn’t we, Babeltausque?”
“As you say. Some of them are important officers.”
The Depar girl engaged the one Inger thought might be called Tong Shand. Inger said, “Get them settled, then join Josiah, Nathan, and me. We need to decide what’s next.”
“As you will, Majesty.”
Damn. He was having serious moral difficulties.
She understood. He had delivered what might be the one tool she needed to turn completely nasty, at a moment when she had Kristen and her brat in grabbing range.
That move would alienate Babeltausque—and, possibly, Josiah and Nathan, too.
“Everyone, please handle your assignments.”
Inger took herself to the wall. She stared westward, toward the part of the kingdom least likely to support her if she seized this day.
The Kavelin disease stirred. Anything she did to aggrandize herself could succeed only after savage cost to the kingdom. It would mean a return to the situation of a year ago, when Kavelin had been ready to indulge in a suicidal frenzy.
She reflected briefly. Ozora Mundwiller would not suffer what she was tempted to try. Neither would Abaca Enigara. The Guild would stick a few spears in. And Bragi would be out there somewhere, unpredictable, with supremely dangerous allies.
Michael Trebilcock was with him, wherever. Aral Dantice had turned invisible but rumor had him nearby and watching.
So, layer dire practical considerations atop the Kavelin disease and one might even overcome one’s own worst nature.
...
Mist told her daughter, “This isn’t something I’m qualified to help you with, dear. I’ve never been in your situation. I’ve never even seen anything like it.” She would not devalue Eka’s trauma. Puppy love or not it had to be taken seriously. It could shape a girl who might torture the world later on, trivial as this might seem to a jaded adult right now. “Talk to your Aunt Nepanthe.” Hardly an expert herself, of course, but Nepanthe had had more than one man in her life. She had navigated some fierce emotional waters.
Mist added, “Don’t be angry. I do want to help. I just don’t know how. The only man… Only your father… I was just hopeless.”
Ekaterina delivered a tortured sigh worthy of a girl a little older and much more put upon by an indifferently cruel world. “I guess I understand.”
“I do know that you can’t force things to be what you want. The harder you try the worse they get.”
“I know that much, Mother.” Another millennial sigh. “So when will all this stuff be over? I’m sick of this place. I want to go home.”
Mist maintained her composure. She did not ask where Eka thought home might lie. “I can’t even guess anymore, dear. Our opponent might have accepted defeat.”
“He’s up to something. Scalza and I can both tell that.”
“That’s his nature. We’re as prepared as we can be.”
She saw Eka grasp the loophole, then choose to ignore it. “I’m just tired… No, I’m really depressed.”
“Here’s a thought. Just blue-skying. Did you ever tell Ethrian how you feel? Yes. I know. It’s dangerous. He might say what you don’t want to hear. But he might surprise you, too. And if the wound is waiting, putting it off won’t help.”
Eka’s response was instant outrage that gave way quickly to her dangerously grounded, deadly rational core.
Ekaterina set free a different species of sigh, the sort that e
ased tension before one commenced a risky venture. She went to where Ethrian was playing a sleepy game of shogi with Lord Kuo, whispered into his left ear. Puzzled, the boy excused himself. He let Eka lead him outside.
Dread rising, Mist whispered, “She’s too young.” Then started.
Michael Trebilcock was scarcely a yard away, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged. “I don’t know. The body may be. But it feels like there’s a very old soul inside.”
She nodded. She understood, though she did not agree. Eka could be unsettling to adults who expected her to be like others her age but half as bright and raised in ordinary family circumstances. “She’ll be all right, though. Nepanthe is a good mother.” Which was painful to say. “Can you do me a modest favor?”
“Within reason.”
“Keep an eye on Eka till she comes back.”
“Any special instructions?”
“No. You’ll know if something needs doing. Just be Michael You till it does. If.”
He bowed slightly. “All right.” He went out.
Mist turned back to her personal war, having realized that Eka was better liked than either of them had believed.
She leaned on the back of Scalza’s chair. He tended to be off-putting. Other than Ethrian people had to work at liking him. Ethrian liked everybody. Oh, and the Old Man. The Old Man considered Scalza a kindred soul. They both felt isolated but that isolation was self-induced. Scalza was young enough to be lured out. People here would care for him if he would let them.
...
Yasmid felt lost in space and time, and culturally, too. Maybe she was too old to adapt. She had been flexible when she was young. Look what she had survived…
Now she clung to Haroun, watched Sebil el Selib through the enhanced scrying system Lord Yuan had generously created, and waited while the child within her grew. The daughter within.
She knew. There were many months to go but she knew. And Haroun was not pleased, though he never admitted that. He hoped she was wrong.
Elwas was holding it together at home, better than she would have thought possible. He had harnessed Ibn Adim ed-Din al-Dimishqi, somehow. Jirbash and Habibullah added their own genius. Overall, the movement remained healthy. With no sound Yasmid could not determine how Elwas kept the reins on a people who now lacked their Lady and Disciple. That he did so was pleasure enough.