An Ill Fate Marshalling

7

Year 1016 AFE; Decisions

Ragnarson sat with one leg sprawled across a small, square table. His eyes were closed. He was daydreaming.

To his left sat Varthlokkur. The sorcerer's tongue-tip protruded from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he forced a quill to produce a drawing. „The memories are clear enough," he told Prataxis, opposite him. „But I'm no artist."

The drawing betrayed that. It was of a man's face. But of whom?

„Maybe charcoals, that you could erase," Prataxis sug­ gested.

„Better would be an artist who could work from my descriptions."

The two were toying with an illustrated history of the Fall. Varthlokkur was the last living participant. The major extant record of the epoch, The Wizards of Ilkazar, con­ sisted of impassioned anti-Empire propaganda. Whenever his path crossed that of the sorcerer, conservator Prataxis teased forth memories and committed them to paper. The Fall was western history's crucial crossroad. Prataxis be­ lieved the perpetuation of old lies to be a sin.

Ilkazar's last king had slain Varthlokkur's mother. Varthlokkur had crushed the Empire in revenge.

„I can't capture the real feel of the man," the wizard grumbled. „Wish I could impress a thought directly onto the paper."

Ragnarson snorted like an old boar hog being wakened by a pig farmer. „Why not? I hear tell a good sorcerer can think pictures into one of those seeing bowls. So think your memories of those old-time wizards and kings. Let an artist draw what he sees." He sniffled, sneezed, searched for a handkerchief. There had been another rainy day game of

Captures, a rematch with the Panthers, that had been long and savage and had left him with a murderous cold. The Panthers had won, five-four, on a disputed goal. The judges themselves were still arguing.

Varthlokkur and Prataxis exchanged looks. Derel said, „Wouldn't it work?"

„Maybe," Varthlokkur grumped. He awarded the King a foul look. His was the ire of a professional being taught to suck eggs by a layman.

The door opened. Dahl Haas stepped inside. From a rigid attention, he announced, „Sir Gjerdrum Eanredson, Your Majesty." A slight scowl crossed his face. He was not pleased with his King's inelegant sprawl. „Herd him in, Dahl."

Sir Gjerdrum took the remaining chair. His handsome Wesson face looked perplexed.

Ragnarson sat up. „That's all, Dahl. Look around to see if we're getting any unusual attention."

Haas withdrew, clearly piqued because he had not been invited to stay.

„What's up?" Eanredson asked.

Ragnarson began paring his nails with a small knife. Prataxis wrinkled his nose. „Some odd stuff" has been piling up. I figured it's time we did something."

Eanredson ran a hand through his hair. The room was hot.

„It's this way. I spent a lot of time thinking. I decided you're the only ones I really trust right now. So we powwow. We decide where we're going." He wiped his knife on his trousers. „Okay. Questions."

Baffled, Gjerdrum asked, „What kind of problems? I thought we were in pretty good shape." He paid little attention to politics.

„It's a long list, Gjerdrum. I clogged it all together into three groups, then rated those by how many people they'd affect. So. First area. Mist, Aral Dantice, and their cohorts, are probably plotting to get Mist her throne back. If they make it, problem number two might disappear.

„That's Hammad al Nakir, where some strange things are going on. Mainly, Hsung's machinations. Seems he's trying to round our flank by making a puppet of the Peacock Throne.

„Third general problem. The succession. It doesn't look important right now. I'm healthy. But somebody could stick a knife in me, like they did Liakopulos. Then what? Civil war? Gjerdrum, if I croak tonight, what will the army do?"

„I don't know. That isn't something we've been worrying about. Support whoever the Thing elects, I guess."

„What if that somebody was from the Estates? Somebody from the old school. Would you put up with that? Would Credence? The Marena Dimura have to be taken into account."

„I don't know about me. Credence would take to the woods. He'd fight."

Varthlokkur said, „One of your sons would be the logical candidate, even though it's not in the law."

„But I have three sons. And a grandson. Which should it be? My grandson is the firstborn of my oldest, if you like that theory of succession. Gundar is the oldest surviving son. But Fulk's mother was Queen when he was born. Elana was just a soldier's wife. Ainjar don't count because he's the farthest away."

Prataxis observed, „They're all under age. That means a regency."

„I know. Meaning more worries. Mainly, about trust. All my worries are about trust. What about those Itaskians of Inger's? Are they a foreign fifth column? Inger could be­ come regent. How about Michael? What would he do? Then there's Abaca. And the Estates. And Dantice, Mundwiller, and that crowd. And whoever tried to kill Liakopulos, and dropped the list I found. There are people with stakes we don't recognize. I want to set up guidelines for dealing with everything. Then, even if I'm gone, there'll be a path to follow."

„We're going to be here a while," Eanredson said.

„So be it. Derel, you and I have been over this some. You've had time to think."

„The problems are interrelated. If you solve one, the others will soften."

„I know. So let's pick an area and hammer away."

„The succession, then. Hsung's doings aren't pressing. They're a sideshow. Shinsan is preoccupied elsewhere. He won't do anything but tinker. He'll have to stay free to help Kuo if the Matayangan thing goes bad. And Mist will be around a long time."

„There'll never be a better time, Derel. Shinsan is in big trouble. Once they drop the hammer on Matayanga, Kuo is out of the woods. He can cover his ass. I want to smack him while he's vulnerable."

Prataxis shrugged. „You're King. But really, an estab­ lished line of succession, including a designated regent, would do more good."

„Gjerdrum?"

„I'd be more comfortable if I knew who'd take over. Hammad al Nakir? That's Michael's area."

„What about Mist?" Ragnarson's mind was set. He was disappointed in his people. They wouldn't see the impor­ tance of weakening Shinsan. Not even Derel, who so recent­ ly had advised him to play Hsung's game.

„How would she change anything?" Gjerdrum asked. „Sorry. The Chatelaine is your friend. But there's no reason to believe that she could or would alter Shinsan's historical imperatives."

„Historical imperatives? College boy. Varthlokkur?"

„I don't like Shinsan." The wizard examined his finger­ tips. „Lord Kuo is an enigma. His supporters are unknowns too. Mist we know."

Prataxis started to protest.

Varthlokkur snapped, „Wait, will you? I think I'm speak­ ing from a more knowledgeable viewpoint."

Prataxis subsided. Ragnarson sat up straighter.

„When I couldn't find the man responsible for the attack on the General, I started making daily divinations. I've been spending so much time at that that my wife claims I'm neglecting her. I'm trying to do what I can while I can. Her time is close. I won't be able to help much longer."

Prataxis said, „Tell us why you're not worried about the succession."

„Did I say I wasn't? I don't think so."

„We don't expect you to neglect Nepanthe," Bragi inter­ jected. „You were talking about divinations."

Varthlokkur unleashed one of his classic intimidating frowns. Any man in the street would have fainted. Ragnarson just grinned, though his stomach did flutter.

„Divinations. The damned things are as unreliable as ever. I put in a hundred hours on them this week... . Well, twenty-five or thirty. I didn't find out much, but I can tell you the King will still be around five years from now. It was only a glimpse, but a solid one."

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 mum­ bled, „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. Dur­ ing 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 guidon some kid from Iwa Skolovda used because he didn't have anything else."

Ragnarson's fist hammered the table. Varthlokkur's ink­ well 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 any­ body 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 mut­ tered, 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 myself, 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.