A Path to Coldness of Heart

Chapter Nineteen:

Year 1017 AFE:

Chaos in Peace

M ist shoved the broken woodwork aside, duck-walked a step, rose to find herself face to face with a chubby man in black. He smelled like swamp water. He squeaked and ran. She followed, hoping to keep him from reporting her presence. That hope died when she stepped outside.

The Unborn came down from the night as though it had been waiting just for her.

Reason suggested that it must have been tracking the man now in such enthusiastic flight.

The Unborn settled at eye level, a dozen feet away. It was unafraid.

Mist wondered if it was capable of fear.

It shot upward, then whipped away toward Vorgreberg.

Mist’s lifeguard stepped out in time to watch it dwindle. “Is there a problem, Illustrious?”

“I don’t think so. Though there was a man here when I left the portal. He ran away. We should have time to poke around.”

Wait! Here that man came, a pale witch light burning over his left shoulder.

“Illustrious?”

“He doesn’t seem belligerent.”

The pudgy fellow approached till he was three yards away. His light grew stronger. Mist’s bodyguard stepped out to her left, watching the man’s right hand.

Mist asked, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

He faced Vorgreberg. “It won’t be long.” The Unborn reappeared. “Not long at all.” He turned back. “I am Babeltausque, a wizard. Mouse size, relatively speaking.”

The Unborn closed fast. It was not alone. Varthlokkur dangled beneath it.

“Illustrious! Get behind me.”

“There is no point. Either we are in no danger or it is too late to protect ourselves. You. Sorcerer. What is he doing here?”

“Helping find an ugly and elusive child-killer.”

“Tell me.”

He was still talking when the Unborn deposited the Empire Destroyer beside him. Mist felt tension rise in her companion.

Varthlokkur smiled. “You were the ghost in the graveyard, too.”

So. The squatters had talked. And so had the Unborn. “I’m told you’re hunting an especially horrible villain.”

“A clever or lucky one. My skills at divining the past have been inadequate, though he made no deliberate effort to hide from my sort.”

An outsider might have suspected that there was more than verbal communication going on. Both were deceitful in appearance. Both were ages older than they looked, though not necessarily wiser.

“I’m willing to contribute,” Mist said. “This young man told me a great deal. He lied a lot, too, but I’ll forgive him. He was protecting his principal.”

“Oh?”

“I have a daughter.”

Mist wondered what she was doing.

Both wizards were calculating, too.

She had to buy time. Varthlokkur had identified her only other entrance into Kavelin. She needed to get more set up quickly. Just in case.

She repeated herself. “I have children, too. I might be able to help.” That knocked Varthlokkur off balance.

Her lifeguard had sense enough to keep his mouth shut. The chubby man was horrified, though.

Varthlokkur said, “My colleague believes that you must be the darkness distilled. His attitude will improve if you give us a means to prove that the child-killer isn’t him.”

Mist eyed the pudgy man. He had a creepy quality. Most western sorcerers did. They were all twisted somehow.

A chill touched her. She had lost friends who were weird western wizards. Another chill. No one she knew ever died a natural death.

Varthlokkur asked, “Are you all right?”

“I think too much. Comes of having too much time on my hands. Tell me about your killer.”

The wizard did so, adding, “I came up empty when I tried to divine the dump. The killer kept his features hidden. And he was lucky.”

“How so?”

“Ley lines intersect near the site. Their resonances interfere with the scrying.”

“You can get around that.”

Her bodyguard made a sound that was not a word.

“Of course. I have an empire to manage. I have the Old Man to reclaim. There’s no time for hobbies.”

“Your suggestion?”

“Track the girl, not the killer. You know who she was. You know where she lived. Go back to when she was safe. Follow her forward.”

Varthlokkur offered a nod of respect. “That’s sure to travel some ugly road.”

“No doubt. You westerners tolerate…” She stopped. She did not know that her own people were less wicked. “I should go.”

“Any luck with the Old Man?”

“No. How about you with the Deliverer?”

“Ethrian. His mother’s optimism seems justified but the process will take longer than she hopes.”

“Let me know what works.”

“Does Old Meddler know?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think not. Not yet. Will you free Ragnarson?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Kavelin has begun to recover. Him being here might do more harm than good.”

“I must go.” She dared not say that they had made a huge mistake.

Inger would know that Bragi lived before sunrise. All Kavelin would know within days. It might no longer matter if she sent him home. The possibility would alter the political climate anyway.

The chubby man looked bland and indifferent and small. He understood what he had overheard.

Almost idly, he told Varthlokkur, “Two men tried to kill me on my way out here. I didn’t recognize them. They were Wessons. They didn’t have unusual accents and they didn’t say anything that explained why. I marked them with tracer spells.”

Varthlokkur said, “You’re good at that, aren’t you.”

“Everybody has to be good at something.”

Mist retreated into the house. That was the last she heard.

…

“The Vorgreberg portals have to be considered compromised,” Mist told her technicians. “I expect them to be destroyed. Get replacements into place before that happens.”

She dismissed her bodyguard. He needed rest and family time, unlike his Empress. She relaxed a few hours herself, then chose another lifeguard to accompany her to the Karkha Tower. She was not surprised to find Lord Ssu-ma visiting. He had a lot of free time. He spent much of it with Kuo. She invited herself to join him, Wen-chin, and the Old Man.

They were surprised to see her so early in the day.

She said, “They don’t see it themselves but things are coming to a head in Kavelin. And Varthlokkur is in the middle of it.” She explained.

Shih-ka’i asked, “Might his slips have been deliberate?”

“No. He’s lost the habit of caution. He doesn’t need to watch himself at home. The news should cause fundamental shifts but I can’t guess what those might be.”

Shih-ka’i suggested, “Ask Ragnarson.”

“He’s farther removed from today’s reality than I am.”

Wen-chin and Shih-ka’i were playing shogi. Each had made one move since the Empress arrived. It was Wen-chin’s turn. He spoke for the first time. “Ask anyway. You know him well. You judge his response.”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

…

“There is a shift underway,” Wen-chin observed.

“Uhm?” Shih-ka’i focused on the board. He was the superior player but was in a bad position this time around.

“Just years ago we were all playing games of empire. That ends tomorrow, when you execute the treaty with Matayanga. The whole world will be at peace.”

“You think?”

“Consider. In Kavelin one pretender’s ambition is to catch a criminal. The other waits like an ambush predator, showing no ambition whatsoever. Rather the same situation prevails in Hammad al Nakir.”

“True. As far as we know. The west is caught up in the doldrums of peace. North and south, they’re interested only in harvests and their burgeoning mercantile ventures.”

“Peace?”

That came from the Old Man, who drowsed in a western-style chair while disinterestedly watching the game. He began to shake. He made a brief whimpering sound, then slipped away to hide inside himself. Shih-ka’i said, “His fear could be justified. Old Meddler must be livid. But even he can’t chivy an exhausted world into another round of butchery. Generations have to pass.”

“Let that be true. Will you yield?”

…

Ragnarson was at his little desk when Mist arrived. He did not look up. “I can’t remember the color of my mother’s eyes.”

“Blue, I expect. They’re all blue up there, aren’t they?”

“You’d think. But my mother wasn’t Trolledyngjan. My father brought her back from a raid on Hellin Daimiel.”

“Then they were brown, or darker. Does it matter?”

“Not in the history of empires. I wanted to capture what I remember about the people I’ve lost. The memories have begun to get away. Those people shouldn’t be forgotten. So. To what do I owe the honor?”

“I visited Kavelin last night. When I came back I rested till people would be awake here.”

“Did something happen?”

“A lot of nothing. But Varthlokkur was there, helping Inger hunt somebody who tortured and raped a little girl. Kristen’s faction is sitting in Sedlmayr, waiting for Inger to eliminate herself. Nobody is talking politics anymore.”

“Same here. I don’t like being locked up but the lack of pressure is nice. They’ve stopped killing each other, haven’t they?”

“Yes. Do you want to spend the rest of your life here?”

“No. But I don’t want to be the man you locked up, either.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Once she was gone, he added, “I won’t be your tool, either.”

…

Mist found Shih-ka’i tearing his hair, figuratively. He and Wen-chin were involved in the same game. He would not yield.

Mist said, “Ragnarson seems indifferent to what’s going on in Kavelin, evidently because everything has collapsed into peace. He seems inclined to stay away.”

Shih-ka’i said, “Amazing, the impact a good harvest can have.” Mist nodded. The world was drifting into pacifist indifference. She would not complain. She was fond of peace herself. Something was happening, down below the level of consciousness.

The world and all its warlords were putting their swords aside. That contradicted human nature.

Mist left the Tervola to their game and the attention of the now unnaturally alert Old Man. She went to an empty apartment, told her lifeguard, “Wake me in three hours.”

She had to rest before meeting with the Matayangans.

…

Mist wakened with the future fixed in her mind.