An Ill Fate Marshalling

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 approxi­ mate 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 whisper­ ing. 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 sorry. „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 depen­ dent 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 re­ ward? 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 to me. 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 shoul­ ders. 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."

She laughed.

„I'm serious."

„I had a vision of you and me here, holding off the world.

And doing it, because you're so damned stubborn. We weren't fighting with swords. We were using ideas. Ours were better than theirs, and, oh, how they were howling! Like the Panthers when you beat them."

„I didn't know you'd noticed. Thought you hated Cap­ tures."

„I do. That doesn't stop me from betting. I won two hundred nobles that day."

„Well, son of a bitch. What do you know about that?"

Outside, the mists had begun to clear. Mist. Best double-check that woman. Have Varthlokkur sniff out her backtrail. „Damn!"

„What now?"

„Nothing. Just seeing enemies under every bed." And in a few, too. He strolled to the nursery door. A startled nurse faced him when he stepped through. He did not visit often.

Fulk lay on his stomach with his knees drawn up. Beauti­ ful. Precious little things, babies. Made a man philosophi­ cal. „We all started this way," he told Inger. „Ever think about that?"

„What do you mean?"

„That's everybody, a long time ago. You. Me. Magden Norath. Varthlokkur. High lords of the Dread Empire. All helpless like Fulk. All cuddle, giggle, wet, and squall. What happens? How come we start cutting each other's throats when we get up on our hind legs?"

„You are in a mood, aren't you? Take that one to Derel. It's beyond me."

„Uhm." Ragnarson bent, kissed his son. Fulk opened one eye, closed it again. „Better get to work. Still got to clean up after ourselves." Sherilee crossed his mind. Business would take him out Lieneke Lane, wouldn't it?

His breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs and fried chicken. Chicken again. Idly, he wondered if his enemies weren't attacking through his palate.

First order of business? he wondered, leaning against the table.

Slugbait wandered through without noticing his mon­ arch. He was arguing with another Guardsman. „We got to come up with a gimmick. Can't let this match go. After yesterday, we could win a fortune."

„Could, Slug. That's the problem. We ain't going to beat the Panthers again."

„I say we can, if we got the King and we don't have to go against them for a couple weeks."

„How you going to get the match delayed? No. No way I'm going to lose any money on you guys."

„Well, shit. Be that way. More for the rest of us."

Ragnarson ignored the rest. He had found a place to start his day. He would see the judges. How could he get the match with the Panthers set back?

He encountered Varthlokkur at the stables. „Headed for town too?" The wizard grunted affirmatively. „How's Nepanthe?"

„Fine."

„The baby? Decided on a name?"

„Perfect. No."

„Something bothering you?"

The wizard looked at him as if noticing him for the first time. „Oh. Still thinking about Norath's assassins. Radeachar winnowed the castle last night. The Itaskians are all shielded."

Ragnarson stared at a sentry atop the wall. „All?"

„Every one."

It came up like a fist to the solar plexus. He grunted, faked a stumble to cover his distress. „Anyone besides the dowrymen?"

„A few. Mostly wives and children."

„Babies? Even the babies?"

„Even the babies. Babies can hear. It's not as bad as it looks. It's mostly smoke screen."

„Smoke screen." Ragnarson looked back at the citadel. „Smoke screen." One lay between himself and the wizard. They were avoiding what they had tucked into the backs of their minds. „What's in town, anyway?"

„I had Radeachar search the city. He found the place where Norath's killers hid out."

„Need help?"

Varthlokkur shook his head.

„Might still be a couple around. We never accounted for all of them that attacked Liakopulos."

„I'll be all right. What're you up to?"

Bragi explained about having to delay the match with the Panthers. Varthlokkur gave him an odd look. It asked why he was fiddling with trivialities. Bragi did not justify him­ self.

They departed the castle in silence. Finally, Bragi said, „These shieldings. Those people were checked before. How come we're just noticing now?"

„They weren't shielded before, possibly. Or we didn't notice because we weren't looking for it."

„Or the plot's growing?"

„Uhm."

„Can't you just break through?"

„There was a time... . The shields are too strong."

Bragi sped the wizard a puzzled look. „How come?"

„Not sure I can explain. Not sure I understand myself. Negative entropy."

„Huh?"

„Know what entropy is? The tendency of a system to run down, like a fire burning out?"

„You can always throw more wood on a fire."

„Only till you run out of wood. The wise believe the universe itself is a woodpile that will be gone one day."

„What's that got to do with shielded minds?"

„The classical view of sorcery has been that the Power is entropic. That there's only so much. Each time a spell is cast, a little is used up. When it's gone, it's gone. I now believe recent events have proven that viewpoint false."

„I still don't see... ."

„Consider everything that's happened in your lifetime. Back to the El Murid Wars. Sorcery, but nothing really startling. Come forward. Here, there, a bigger thing or two. Then Shinsan's war with Escalon. The biggest release of thaumaturgic energies since the Fall. Then the Great East­ ern Wars. Bigger still. And now this war with Matayanga. Even bigger. Part of it is increased know-how, but more is because spells are getting easier to cast. Less talented people are using the Power with greater effect.

„We're chewing holes in the fabric of reality. Our spells are like worms gnawing through timbers. Each one lets a little raw Power leak away and float free. Just like the air. Next time someone tries a magick, it's a hair easier, a hair stronger, and more Power leaks free. I think it's that free-floating energy that powers my Winterstorm. And Radeachar."

„Then he'd be getting stronger too, wouldn't he?"

„He is. That's what started me thinking."

„Is it important?" Ragnarson saw shadows. Black shad­ ows. More shadows that he did not want to see.

„It could be. I don't know. I hope it doesn't mean something is beginning to unravel. ... I don't know what it means." The wizard seemed to be talking to someone else, to be arguing. „There're too many distractions. I don't get time to think, to study, the way I once did. What I need is a year locked up in Fangdred."

„The older you get, the more the world closes in," Bragi observed, for want of a better response.

They were several blocks into the city. „Here's where I leave you," the wizard said. „Place is a couple blocks that way."

„Take care." Ragnarson resumed trying to invent an excuse that would impress the judges.

The wizard stood in the street with his eyes closed. Passers-by looked at him askance, recognized him, hastened away. Most made signs against the evil eye. Often as not, the sign was repeated, interposed between signer and palace. There was a distinct fear of the darknesses the King had enlisted as allies.

The wizard listened to his creature, Radeachar. He scanned the building with his own powers. He was a cautious man.

Nothing. No trap. But still he was nervous. Not a half mile away lay a castle filled with people he could not read. He prepared a bitter spell. Any ambusher would receive a nasty surprise.

He need not have wasted his time. Nothing moved inside save the ubiquitous roaches. The men who had occupied the flat would threaten no one ever again.

For a long time he could not look at the bodies. He had seen his horrors over the centuries, but... .

The flat was barren save for blankets ranged as pallets along the walls. The dust was thick. A few sausages hung from a beam. Gnawed, moldy cheeses lay piled in one corner. A scatter of crumbs marked the site of a bread stack.

He glanced at the bodies. The rats had been at them. Tiny red eyes stared at him through a tangle of dry hair. He shuddered.

He prowled restlessly, sneezing as he stirred up the dust. There was no stink of corruption. Norath's creatures seemed immune.

He began searching, wizard's senses probing. Nothing. What had they done here, these created assassins? Sat in silence, eating when the flesh demanded? No games to while the time?

He murmured, „Norath, you scare me more than my old enemies in Shinsan."

Searching as if these had been true men, likely to conceal damning evidence, he nearly overlooked the paper. He looked for loose boards and secret compartments till by chance he noted the tattered, wadded scrap behind the cheeses, perhaps thrown there before the food was laid in.

A long, lazy hand, full of arrogance, declared, „Milady: The appearance of the bearer will assure you of the comple­ tion of my half of our agreement. Norath." The ink had faded to sepia

Varthlokkur eased toward the door, an unhappy man. This scrap could hang. Should he pass it to the King? The assassins had failed, after all.

The message was less important for content than for the language in which it was written. Itaskian.

Ragnarson found himself passing through Vorgreberg's west gate. His mount seemed to be taking him to Lieneke Lane without conscious guidance.

„Sire?" the voice called a second time, breaking his self-enchantment, startling him with its concern. „Are you all right?" Sir Gjerdrum and Aral Dantice were staring at him.

„Just daydreaming." He flashed a grin. „Tell Slugbait I got the Panthers match set back. Put your money on the Guards. We're going to win."

Dantice responded with a dubious scowl.

„Well, don't bet the deed to the old family farm. I'm headed out Lieneke Lane. Come from there?"

Gjerdrum nodded. He looked grim.

„Something wrong, Gjerdrum? Trouble?"

„No. It's personal. Going to tell Gwenie it's over. Can't think how to say it. Julie and me... there might be a wedding."

„Congratulations. I guess. Seen Mist, Aral? She pull out yet?"

„She's gone." Dantice fumbled inside his shirt. „Left you a letter." He was not a happy man.

Ragnarson accepted the envelope, opened it after leaving the younger men.

Mist merely repeated her apologies, saying he had been a friend good and true throughout her exile. As a gesture, she would leave her children with him. He grinned. Crafty witch. They would be less hostages to fortune here. She wasn't making a gesture. She was shielding them from the politics of the Dread Empire.

He'd have to hand them over to his daughter-in-law. How would Kris take that? Two more mouths, two more little bodies to cuddle and mend, another two hearts to keep unbroken... . „She's going to raise merry hell."

Lieneke Lane was quiet. His own house seemed silent, moody, withdrawn. Down the lane, Mist's place already looked deserted.

Kristen stepped out as he dismounted. She placed hands on hips, glared. „Just what makes you think I'm going to take care of Mist's brats too? What is this? An orphanage?"

„What?" He threw up his hands in faked bewilderment.

„Don't try to con me..."

Bragi's face drooped into an idiot grin. Sherilee was leaning out an upstairs window. Kristen shrugged, defeated by chemistry.

The old doorman collected Ragnarson's horse. Bragi gave Kristen a hasty peck on the forehead, charged upstairs. Sherilee squealed when he swept her into his arms.

Varthlokkur cradled his daughter with his right forearm. His left hand lay folded within his wife's fingers. He stared out the window. „Looks like rain tomorrow."

„What's the matter?" Nepanthe asked.

„Trouble."

„Always trouble. Ours?"

„The King's. Looks like Inger bought those assassins."

„Inger? She's so nice. I don't believe it."

„It wouldn't be a historical precedent. I think Bragi knows, too. He's trying to lie to himself. Like maybe if he ignores it long enough, Inger will come to her senses."

„Talk to him."

„Too much like telling a man his wife is cheating. He don't want to hear it. Puts him in a vise. He has to do something. Like as not, he takes a whack at you instead of the woman." He didn't want the King taking a poke his way. He might say something Nepanthe shouldn't hear.

How much did Bragi know about the east? And Mist? She would soon be intimate with the situation.

„Talk to Prataxis. Bragi will put up with anything from him."

„That might do it." But he was thinking Michael Trebilcock, not Derel Prataxis. Michael would do some­ thing.

The sun plunged into the clouds of the west. Derel and Baron Hardle reined in before the King's suburban home. They made a mixed pair, those two, yet were as alike as pod-mate peas today. Two more sour, embittered faces could hardly be imagined. They did not speak as they stalked toward the house.

Kristen answered their knock. The pandemonium of a small herd of children echoed behind her. „Yes?" Her smile faded as she saw their grim faces. „What's happened?"

„Is His Majesty here?" Prataxis asked.

„Come in. I'll get him. Strangle a few kids if they bother you."

Prataxis watched her bustle upstairs. He muttered, „More complications. He couldn't have picked a worse time."

„Uhm." Hardle, too, had seen enough to guess what was going on. „Can't say as I blame him. A delectable morsel."

Prataxis snorted. He was a man perpetually baffled by the power woman exercised over others of his sex. He just could not comprehend how an otherwise sensible man could be knocked cuckoo by a skirt, though he had seen countless such devastations.

The more he thought, the more irate he became. He was in a positive frenzy when Ragnarson appeared. „Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. „We did everything but call out the Vorgrebergers."

„What's happened?" It had to be bad to make Prataxis stand on his hind legs and howl.

Prataxis retreated, awed by his own temerity. „It's too late now."

Sourly, the Baron added, „Too late for anything but the weeping."

„What are we talking about?"

„We needed you in the Thing. To stand witness for yourself. We couldn't find you, and couldn't argue for you because you never told us... ."

„To the point. What did those idiots do?"

„They passed a succession law," Prataxis said. „Seems they started on it when we locked ourselves up out here. It went through today. The Estates bought enough votes... ."

„Succession law? The Estates?" Red crept through the King's beard. Prataxis handed him a rolled copy. He did not read it immediately. Derel would not be here, in this mood, were its terms acceptable. „Where the hell were you? Why didn't you stop them?"

„We were here till today," the Baron reminded him. „Along with Sir Gjerdrum, Colonel Abaca, and everybody else who might have made a difference. Mundwiller couldn't beat them alone."

Ragnarson ripped the roll open, read, hurled it away. He sat on the stairsteps, folded his fists before his face, gnawed the knuckle of a thumb.

Kristen retrieved the copy. She scanned it, stiffened. It fell from her hand. She glared at the men, flung herself from the hallway.

Ragnarson muttered, „Fulk. With Inger Regent. That's not what I wanted. Definitely not what I wanted."

Derel refrained from saying I told you so. „That's why I scrambled so hard trying to find you. Never occurred to me to look here till Gjerdrum mentioned meeting you at the gate."

„All right. We blew it. They slipped one past us. How do we undo it?"

„Lawfully, we can't," Hardle said. „They made a good job of it."

„Laws can be unpassed, can't they?"

„We could change it if we muster the votes. What the Baron wants to say is, we can't."

„Why the hell not? Get all our people here and ram it through."

„We've been deserted. On this, not in general. There's a lot of relief about having everything settled. Some of our people don't want the question reopened. They want a denned succession."

„But. ..."

„The future is enemy territory," Prataxis said. „Most people don't have your take-what-comes attitude. They want it scouted out."

„Damn! Hand me that thing, Derel. Maybe there's a hole in it somewhere."

Prataxis retrieved the document. „No loopholes, Sire. Some good men shaped it up."

He saw that. Fulk was his successor, with Inger Regent should the throne come vacant before Fulk achieved his majority. Which, without doubt, the Estates hoped fervent­ ly. Next came any other children Inger might bear, then Inger herself in a twistback counter to all tradition. Only then did the line leave Inger's control. It swung to Bragi's grandson, and from the younger Bragi to Ragnarson's sons. A complex document and, as Prataxis said, without loop­ hole or leeway.

„Well. Damn my eyes. This'll learn me, won't it? Guess we have to live with it." Again he stared at the floor. After a time, „Thanks for coming round. I'll be along. Strategy session. Got to talk to Kristen first."

Derel and Baron Hardle bowed slightly, departed. Their faces were greyer than ever.

One day's victory had segued into another's defeat. The old ways were threatening a return.

Ragnarson continued reflecting on what that document meant beyond what it said. It constituted a quiet, gentle­ manly declaration that the Estates had returned to the field.

It was a letter of marque for anyone who cared to take his head. From now on he had better be damned careful, damned quick on his feet.

Michael's face crossed his mind. He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. It was wicked. „Kristen. Let's talk now."

Michael strode into Arsen Street, stopped. „What the hell?"

He had not visited Arsen Street since that infamous night of the coronation. In those days it had been the heart of the underworld, the city's vice center. It had had a more than shopworn look, and had been both dark and dangerous.

The buildings had received facelifts. Lamps illuminated the pavement. Armed watchmen stood at each corner. A lady of quality passed Trebilcock, unafraid of the night. „What the hell?"

The Fat Man's was as changed within as without. That screaming, ramshackle dive had gone elegant. The doorman wore livery, and was mannered. „Are you a member, sir?"

„A guest. Of Aral Dantice. Where's Gus?" The former bouncer/doorman had been seven feet tall, nearly as wide, and as mean as his place of employment.

This doorman was offended. „The gentleman hasn't been here for some time."

„The gentleman hasn't. There've been some changes."

„Indeed. If you'll follow me. Mr. Dantice has his own booth."

Some changes, Michael thought. A neighborhood had clawed its way up to respectability and he hadn't known. He did not like that. He wanted to know what was happening everywhere, all the time.

Maybe he was too outward-directed, paying too much attention to the provinces and Ravelin's neighbors. Vorgreberg was, after all, the kingdom's heart.

Aral was waiting. „You look puzzled, Michael."

„It's changed."

„Not as much as you think. We're just trying to reach a class with more money."

„We?"

„Me and the Fat Man. We're the bosses down here. Though he's out front."

„You?"

„I sort of decided to diversify when my Dad died."

„I knew you were into smuggling, but... Hell, all traders are smugglers."

Aral laughed softly. „Don't look so shocked, Michael."

„It's not shock. It's old-fashioned surprise. I'm supposed to know things. I didn't know about this."

„Why should you? You're supposed to watch the King's enemies. He doesn't have any down here."

A waiter appeared. He offered Aral a bottle of wine. Dantice sniffed, nodded. The waiter went for glasses. Real glasses, not the hardy stoneware taverns used to lessen breakage. Aral awaited Michael's reaction. Trebilcock had been raised in genteel circumstances.

Michael ignored him. He compared customer faces to the file in his mind. Known hoodlums? A few. Merchants. Minor nobility... .

Aral grumbled, „Hang up your hat. Relax."

„In a minute."

„What is it?"

„I need your help."

„I'll do what I can. You know that. What is it? Business or personal?"

„Business. I need to know what's going on in Throyes and Al Rhemish. I've lost my assets there."

Dantice nodded. He sipped his wine. „I see."

„I want to watch Hsung close. He'll be trickier than ever. And Norath... ."

„Norath?"

Michael had not told Aral about his visit to Al Rhemish. He did so now. „Somehow, he got out of Palmisano alive. He's back in business. In Al Rhemish. Running Megelin."

„Another one?" Dantice looked worried. „Mike, how many of them got away? Are they all out there laughing at us?"

„What do you mean?"

„I don't know for sure. Some hints out of the north Basin. Strange doings. Sound like the Old Meddler."

„Couldn't be. The King killed him. Norath is the prob­ lem. I need information from Al Rhemish. Please."

„I'll do what I can. It won't be easy. The desert run is dangerous. Now I know why. Come on. Let's enjoy."

They strove valiantly, but the evening failed. They were not the men of years before. Michael had too much on his mind. Dantice kept letting a lost love's face get in his way.

Josiah Gales shivered continuously, though the apart­ ment was warm enough. He felt the cold breath of Death.

„You think he suspects?" Inger asked.

„No, My Lady. I think he knows. I think he has for some time. I think the wizard does too. And Trebilcock has a strong suspicion."

Inger shivered too. „Damn," she said softly. „We'd better be careful."

„Damned careful. It could be worth our heads. I have a feeling he's giving me the rope to hang myself now."

„Back off. Stay away from everything. Be the ideal sol­ dier."

„I suggest we all take that approach. My Lady, not even you are untouchable."

„Josiah?"

„Your husband is slow to anger, but he's a hard man. He killed his best friend. You're not immune. Not if he decides it's in Kavelin's interest."

Gently, almost unconsciously, Inger made a sign against the evil eye. „Josiah, I think you're right. It's a filthy game we're playing. Why did I let them push me into it?"

Gales shrugged.

„Back to your quarters. Pass the word. No operations without my personal approval. Don't approach me unless it's an emergency."

Gales bowed, slipped out of the apartment.

Only Radeachar noted his going. The Unborn could not put a face to him. Gales was shielded from its probings.