A Path to Coldness of Heart

Chapter Twenty-Two:

Winter, Year 1017 AFE:

Throyes

T he portal technicians requested the presence of their Empress at their headquarters. Mist put aside nonsense that was a consequence of having too much time, made her way to the home space of the Imperial Interstitial Communications and Transport Corps. If they had completed their assignment she would use their selfaggrandizing designation cheerfully.

Lord Yuan Tin Yuan welcomed her personally. Lord Yuan seemed even more elderly. And, true, he had been a boy at the same time as her departed grandfather. Like Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i, Lord Yuan survived shifting political winds by remaining indifferent to the source of his orders. Lord Yuan was interested only in his own narrow realm. Existence itself was all about communication. He provided the best, most efficient tools.

Mist supposed the end of the several wars had left Lord Yuan’s corps with a lot of free time. Mischief time, Lord Ssu-ma would call it. Mischief prevention was one reason that the trainees of the Demonstration Legion were given so much make-work.

The legions themselves were, already, beginning to transition to a public works orientation. They would begin by building border fortifications to defend new borders.

“Lord Yuan, your presence graces us,” Mist said.

“I have no other diversions right now, Illustrious, so I choose to steal the glory of the clever young men who do the real work.” “May I assume that my western adjustments have been completed?”

“You may, Illustrious. And in the most laudable fashion, I must say.” Lord Yuan could be a talker. She ought not to offend him by hurrying him. Time was not pressing, nowadays.

“I know you have a thousand tasks, Illustrious, so, difficult as it may be for an old man with a wandering mind, I will try to be concise.”

Mist’s lifeguards stirred but did not allow their amusement any more obvious demonstration.

“Thank you, Lord Yuan.”

“The functioning portals remain in place, there to be sacrificed. To those venues we added dead portals to be discovered, too. We also positioned reconditioned damaged portals that will function without benefit of cosmetic upgrades. Those remain inert. We hope the westerners will ignore them because they look dead. We can activate them at will later.

“At the cemetery we installed portals in another two mausoleums, then a third portal, better disguised, in the rear of the tomb of the dead Queen. There are new units concealed in the ruins of your former home, too. And, finally, there is a new unit in a ruined temple in the forest southwest…”

Repetitious mention of ruins penetrated. “What do you mean, ruins?

My house was damaged when I saw it but it wasn’t a ruin.”

“I speak figuratively. The natives tore it up while looking for treasure and portals. Then a girl who was living in the basement set a fire. No one knows what that was about. The place is empty, now, though.”

“They didn’t find any treasure.”

Lord Yuan added, “Nor did they find the new portals. They’ve only just begun searching the cemetery.”

“I can use the portals if I want, then?”

“Exercising utmost caution, Illustrious. Those are unpredictable people out there.”

“Yes. And the Empire Destroyer is still there with them.”

“We believe so, Illustrious. He has become invisible himself but his familiar haunts the nighttime sky.”

“Let me think about this. Oh. Good work, everyone. Thank you.” Lord Yuan said, “I will see that you get the designator, alert, and activation codes as soon as we finalize them, Illustrious.”

…

Mist joined Wen-chin and the Old Man without warning. There were playing shogi and drinking tea. The Old Man’s color had improved. He had gained weight. There were black speckles at the roots of his hair and a twinkle in his eye when he considered her.

The man within had come back a long way if he could now appreciate what he was seeing.

She asked, “Have we been making progress?”

Wen-chin said, “I’m losing games, now. At this rate the advantage will be all his soon.”

“Any recollections?”

“Some, but it’s like the dementia of old folks. He has crystalline memories of things that happened so long ago that they don’t even echo in our mythologies today. He seems especially focused on something called the Nawami Crusades. Heard of that?”

“Obliquely, during the skirmish with the Deliverer.” She considered the Old Man, who did not seem to mind being discussed. “How is his attitude toward the Star Rider?” She enunciated carefully, testing the Old Man’s hearing.

He heard her just fine. He started. Then his shoulders slumped. He shrank into himself.

“I see.” Then, “Could his dawn-time memories be more useful than anything recent? What say you?”

“An argument could be made, I’m sure.”

“Only a few of us know he’s alive. I’m sure the Star Rider isn’t one. Starting tomorrow you’ll be dogged by scribes. They will record everything, especially recovered memories. Copies will be made, distributed, and scattered as fast as possible. More copies will be made elsewhere, with some being hidden. If we suffer the fate of all of Old Meddler’s previous enemies we will, at least, leave a legacy too vast and in too many forms to eradicate. One that might be used by a future generation.”

Wen-chin rose, stretched, bowed. “So shall it be.” Then, “Make sure your scribes know how to keep out of the way.”

“They will.”

Scribes were always unobtrusive when they served those at high levels. That was a skill as critical as excellent penmanship.

Wen-chin seated himself. He made a move that pleased the Old Man. He grumbled, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

…

Ragnarson was in a good temper. He thought he had his inner conflicts worked out. He had been exercising, too. He supposed he could walk a mile without collapsing now. He asked Mist, “Has something happened?”

“Mostly not, really. It’s more like we’re winding down everywhere.” “Calm before the storm?”

“Possibly, in my head. And maybe in Varthlokkur’s. Probably hoping that it is, the Star Rider. The rest of the world is sitting back and putting its feet up.”

“Sounds like a good thing.”

“I wouldn’t disagree. But I do know that Old Meddler is out there and he hasn’t given up his wicked ways.”

Ragnarson grunted. That was not meant to communicate anything.

Mist asked, “You have any thoughts on that subject?”

Ragnarson grunted again. “None charitable toward him. But I don’t have any toward the wind or rain, either. Weather is a fact of life. So is Old Meddler.” Then, “I saw him once, you know.”

Mist frowned. “And? A lot of people have.”

“They hadn’t, back then. Some of Nepanthe’s brothers and El Murid were about all. It was during one of the fights in the Savernake Gap. The time the Power went away. He was way up high overhead. I only picked him out for a second, I’m pretty sure because he screwed up. Nobody was supposed to know he was interfering.”

He guessed his confession meant nothing here. Mist had gone away inside her head while he was talking.

She came back a new woman, full of energy and excitement. “I’ve had an epiphany. And I’ve made up my mind. You’re going back to Kavelin even if you are still crazy. I’ll put a leash on you so I can calm you down if you need it. We have to end the chaos. We need stability and strength. Some things can’t be allowed to relax. Some things have to be kept together.”

Ragnarson confessed, “You’ve lost me completely.” She was not listening.

…

The Empress ran her lifeguards ragged. She was manic. She darted round the empire till she found Lord Ssu-ma. She spent an intense hour with the pig farmer’s son, then scampered back to the Karkha Tower for a slightly less intense sit-down with Kuo Wen-chin. It would have been more efficient to do that before she looked for Lord Ssu-ma but she had been excited and just had to see Shih-ka’i first. He was now the man she most trusted in this world-despite his deceit in the matter of Kuo Wen-chin. And that had begun to look like an inspired bit of insubordination.

From the Karkha Tower she raced off to see Lord Yuan Tin Yuan, rousing that ancient from the bed that was the one luxury he allowed himself. Following a long chat she plunged into the night in a Kaveliner graveyard.

Nothing had changed there. Nothing had been done to keep Shinsan from walking the transfer streams into Kavelin.

However…

The mausoleum portal had been sabotaged so that it could not be used to make a getaway. “Which might not demonstrate clarity of reasoning by whoever did the damage,” Mist told portal technician Tang Shan, who had accompanied her. “Snap this trap on the wrong prey, you could end up wishing you’d left them a half-dozen holes to get back out.”

The technician was not smitten by her brilliance. He nodded vacantly and focused on finding the problem. Mist led her lifeguards out into the night.

A pink dot appeared in the direction of Vorgreberg seconds later. She remarked, “That didn’t take long.”

The dot headed their way.

Closer, something stirred amongst the tombstones, hurried away. It was something sizable but left too fast to be identified. It might have been a deer. Deer did graze among the tombstones. The grasses were sweet and some flowers left by the living made tasty treats.

An owl said something suitably mournful not far away. A bat swooshed within grabbing distance.

A lifeguard drove a short infantry thrusting spear into the ground. Another tied a courier case to its butt using the cord the infantryman would keep tied to his wrist so his weapon would not get lost if his grip failed.

“Good enough.” Mist led the way back into the mausoleum as the Unborn drew close enough to be seen as something less pleasant than a pink light.

One added level of clever lay behind the sabotage. If she got away that indicated the existence of another portal.

Unless…

Genius Tang Shan reported, “Somebody drove a sliver the size of a toothpick in beside the access modal. The catch was jammed. We’re all set now.”

“Great work, Tang Shan,” Mist said. “So, let’s get the hell gone. That thing turned up faster than I expected.”

…

Varthlokkur approached Throyes cautiously. It was nighttime, of course, and there was no moon out. No need to let people down there get a good look at what the Unborn was hauling. Troubling enough that they would see the monster itself.

Radeachar deposited him atop the Karkha Tower. He waited while the lookout went for the man in charge. The Candidate took his time. Varthlokkur did not recall his name. He arrived moving slowly and with considerable care. He had not yet recovered fully from wounds suffered earlier in the year. He talked slowly, too, enunciating carefully, apparently unaware that Varthlokkur had spent his youth in Shinsan and spoke the principal dialect quite well.

The wizard did not set the Candidate straight. Little advantages must be hoarded.

The Candidate said, “The Illustrious is not here right now. I am to make you comfortable in one of our apartments till she can grace us with her presence.”

Was he out of touch with the language after all? “Are you being sarcastic, Candidate?”

The very suggestion appalled the young man. “Sir? No! Why would you even consider that?”

“I withdraw the question. I forgot the impact she can have. Indulge me, if you will. I have chosen to bring an associate. I would like to wait here till Radeachar brings him in.”

“But… I wasn’t informed…”

“It won’t take long. He’s just across the river. We leap-frogged getting here.” He spied Radeachar in the distance, approaching slowly, at a considerable altitude.

…

Ragnarson was tired and not feeling particularly patient. It was past his customary bedtime. He had nothing to say, either, though he suspected he had no languages in common with his companions.

Though not dressed it, the younger man was Tervola and had to be in disgrace to be locked up here. The other, who never spoke and did nothing but study a shogi board, seemed vaguely familiar.

Neither introduced himself. Fine by him. He stood by a window, vainly hoping to see something of the city. He saw only the same nothing from a more acute angle.

A strong pink light waxing and waning told him the Unborn was active out there.

Why? What was going on?

He would find out when that suited someone’s whim.

The door opened. People entered. The first two were legionnaires armed and armored for the sorcerous battlefield. Behind came two tall men in western dress, then the Candidate who managed the tower, then three more armed men. The soldiers spread out. The Candidate said, “The Illustrious will be here shortly. Scribes. Your presence will not be required.”

Two nearly invisible little men, not of the ruling race of Shinsan, gathered their writing materials and exited.

Ragnarson paid no attention. He stared-glared-at the westerners. First was Varthlokkur, looking distinctly uncomfortable. A step behind him came Michael Trebilcock, looking far older than his actual age. He had gained weight, gone grey, developed a limp, and acquired a sense of style suited to the common man.

Both gravitated toward Ragnarson, though the wizard had fixed on the old man hunched over the shogi board.

Trebilcock extended a hand. Varthlokkur did not. Ragnarson shook. Trebilcock said, “Reports said you might have survived but I never quite believed them. It didn’t make sense.” Which made it clear that the raid on the tower had not been initiated by Michael Trebilcock.

“Not much that goes on here does.” Ragnarson and the wizard went on staring one another down.

Trebilcock said, “The stupidest thing you can do is hang onto stupidity already committed. Particularly when even congenitally stupid folks see that you were stupid and you’re going right on being stupid.”

Ragnarson broke eye contact. Neither he nor the wizard addressed their conflict nor responded to Trebilcock. They had, silently and tacitly, agreed to put all that in the past, for now.

Ragnarson asked the wizard, “How is the boy?”

“Coming back, but slowly. His mother is more optimistic than I am.” The wizard stared at the old man.

Ragnarson asked, “You know him? He seems familiar, somehow.”

“He should be. From Fangdred. You probably didn’t see much of him at the time, though.”

“That was a long time ago. Michael, I heard you were dead, too, but your name always came up whenever anything happened that nobody could explain.”

“The world is supposed to think I’m dead.” Trebilcock turned to look at the new arrivals.

Ragnarson recognized Lord Ssu-ma but not his companion, a Tervola of extreme age. Varthlokkur, though, did. He headed for the man as though excited.

Ragnarson glanced at Trebilcock. Michael shrugged. “Any idea what we’re doing here?”

“Nary a clue, though this is where they keep me. How come you’re with him?”

“I’m not sure. He’s been freeloading and getting underfoot since he walked into my shop looking for something else. He doesn’t explain himself. No clue at all?”

“None. This is new. But there is one odd note. Other than Varthlokkur and the two who just walked out, everybody here is supposed to be dead.”

Trebilcock frowned. “I don’t know anyone but you and him. Most people do think you and I are dead. There was a hot rumor about you a while back but it blew over when you never turned up.”

“How come you’re dead? Why aren’t you helping Inger?”

“Truth? You may not like it.”

“Try me.”

“She didn’t deserve help. I tried. I cut her miles of slack. She couldn’t stop being a Greyfells. So now the only people she has left are ones who didn’t have the balls to run away.”

Wistfully, Ragnarson said, “She was so fine when I met her.”

Michael responded with a conspiratorial smile. “That would be back when she was just another woman amongst women you hadn’t yet had.”

“Yeah. Before the world made her over. Before I opened the gate to hell.”

He watched Lord Ssu-ma introduce the ancient Tervola to the Tervola in civilian dress. The former, plainly, was astonished to find the other in good health.

Varthlokkur returned. “That old man was one of my teachers. He was a youngster then, though. We were as nearly friends as could be where one was a fast-rising technical genius and the other an emotional cripple with extreme potential. I’m amazed that he’s still with us. He claims they won’t let him die because he knows more about the transfer streams than any dozen of his staffers combined.”

Ragnarson showed Trebilcock a set of raised eyebrows. This excited wizard was not the Varthlokkur either of them knew.

Trebilcock asked, “He say anything about why we’re here?”

The wizard shook his head.

Trebilcock said, “As usual, he knows more than he’s telling.”

Ragnarson said, “Whatever, they’re taking it to the highest level. The other Tervola is Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i. He’s Mist’s number one military guy.”

“She’s up to something.”

Varthlokkur said, “Her father was the Demon Prince. Imperial founder Tuan Hoa was her grandfather. She has made herself empress twice. She was born, ‘Up to something.’ She’ll die when something she’s up to bites her head off.”

The legionnaires along the far wall, beside the entrance, snapped to attention. They had not done so before, even for Lord Ssu-ma.

The Candidate bellowed, “The Most Illustrious…”

Mist patted his left cheek. “They know who I am, Lein She.” She told her chief lifeguard, “You may leave, now.”

Neither he nor his men moved.

“Daring,” Ragnarson said. “They do have the right but, man, will they pay later!”

Mist was irked in the extreme. Obviously, she thought the safety of her secrets trumped that of her person. And it was plain that she did not want to press the issue. That would require compulsion and, likely, lead to a dearth of volunteers for the lifeguard company.

Michael Trebilcock observed, “That wasn’t smart. She must be under a lot of stress.”

Ragnarson grunted agreement.

Varthlokkur asked, “What do you mean?”

“She should have anticipated the problem. She should have worked it out ahead of time.”

“Maybe she did. Maybe it’s supposed to show us how determined her lifeguards are.”

Ragnarson did not think so. What it might mean down the road would depend on the characters of the men gathered here-and might depend on the purpose of the gathering, as well.

Mist chose to pretend that she had provoked her lifeguards deliberately. She said, “We’re here to talk about the entity who rides the flying horse. Don’t use any of his customary names. He may have placed spells that will alert him if he’s mentioned directly by someone he thinks might cause him grief.”

Silence followed.

“I want to destroy him. I know it’s been tried before. Failing destruction, I mean to disarm or to weaken him. Failing that, I mean to gather a body of information so large and spread out so widely that it will survive any effort to extirpate it. The information will be hidden in a thousand places, to be found by some fool who can build on it, toward a more successful outcome.”

The man opposite the Old Man moved a piece on the shogi board. “Were I himself and inclined to spy, this tower would be a favorite target.”

“You would need to know it exists.”

Ragnarson noted the subtlest of changes in Lord Ssu-ma. The man had regained respect for his empress, but something disturbing had occurred to him. He beckoned the Candidate, Lein She, to him, breathed into the man’s ear. Lein She turned pale, nodded, limped out.

Mist continued, “Until today no one came here except by transfer.” She watched Lord Ssu-ma and the Candidate, constrained a frown. “Most of you prisoners are dead to the world outside. Unless he cares about a handful of local criminals left over from before we took over… Lord Ssu-ma, what?”

“That may, in fact, be true, Illustrious. I asked Lein She to consult the records, to see if any of those men were involved in the Pracchia conspiracy.”

Ragnarson saw the red flags. The Star Rider might know about the tower already. He might have initiated that attack. The Unborn’s several visits would not have gone unnoticed either.

Mist said, “That possibility hadn’t occurred to me. It’s certainly plausible. The raiders’ true purpose might have been to plant spying talismans.” She began to think out loud. “That would be something small and easily overlooked. So he wouldn’t be watching directly, himself. He would get reports from someone here in the city. Those would be slow, infrequent, and unreliable. Magden Norath may have been the last dependable friend he had.”

Lord Yuan invited himself to leave without asking permission.

No one said anything. Ragnarson thought the slapped-together character of the gathering was about to assert itself. Chaos might be afoot, particularly if Old Meddler was watching.

He considered Varthlokkur. The wizard would have been the most difficult to locate and get to attend-had ridden the Unborn into a halfass conspiracy in full view of thousands.

Old Meddler might still be several steps ahead.

Questions, questions. The wizard had come from Kavelin. Mist must still have transfer access there. Why, then, would Varthlokkur show himself getting here? He could have made a transfer and remained invisible.

Mist said, “We here share a treasure house of knowledge. Especially…” She indicated the Old Man, who flinched, for the first time demonstrating any awareness of his situation. “There are others I wish could be here. The Disciple and the Deliverer would be especially valuable.”

That caused a stir. It surprised Ragnarson, for sure. But neither of those two had more than a couple toes anchored in this world. Right?

Lord Yuan returned. “Lord Ssu-ma’s intuition was correct. Monitors are parasited onto the transfer portals, presumably about the time of that raid, but only big enough to report usages, not who is coming and going. They’re not sophisticated. It will take time to wring out the details. Illustrious, you should consider how best to profit from the opportunity.”

Might Varthlokkur have suspected and so have avoided using the portals? Probably not.

Once there had been talk of a dread monster that lurked inside the transfer streams, preying on travelers. But that had been dealt with during the war with the Deliverer. Had it not?

Maybe there was something else.

Everything seemed to have an underground, secret side.

Ragnarson enjoyed an intuitive moment.

Mist wanted to pull the relevant secrets into a single pot so she could cook up something unique. Though chaotic at this moment, this was no spur of the moment gathering.

She asked, “Are any of you opposed to what I’m proposing? On any grounds but degree of difficulty?”

…

The Old Man turned, peered at Mist directly, entirely present and fully engaged. A remarkable change, if real.

He did not speak.

“No one? It’s a good thing I mean to do? It could risk this entire empire.”

Wen-chin said, “It may be too altruistic for most, Illustrious.”

Was there a caution buried there? A subtle admonition that this was not a path her ancestors would have chosen to walk without first having seen a major chance to aggrandize themselves?

She shrugged. Whatever she did, some Tervola would suspect a darker intent. That was the nature of the beast. Such men viewed the world through the lenses of their own characters.

“I see no objections. Gentlemen, I do mean this.” Despite the terrible fright Lords Yuan and Ssu-ma had just delivered. “I will take the Empire to war against that wicked entity. There’ll be no getting out after this.”

She proposed an adventure that had begun a thousand times before.

She looked round. She had, indirectly, polled each one earlier. Lords Yuan and Shih-ka’i would be reluctant. They had no skin in the game- though Lord Yuan could be captivated by the technical challenge of implications that had emerged during the contest with the Deliverer.

He had remained invisible throughout that struggle, behind the scenes, fixated on maximizing the carrying capacity of the transfer portals. The success of the eastern legions had depended entirely on transfer logistics. Tactical and operational stresses had been extreme, too. Lord Yuan had not had time to examine all of the temporal anomalies and philosophical conundrums that had arisen. But he was getting excited now.

The pig farmer’s son, then. She needed his stabilizing support. But how to make him a believer?

That would be a challenge. She was no fanatic herself.

She wanted to do this. She saw it as worthy work that could change the world. But she did not want to become a martyr to her cause.

“Still no one?” She looked at Shih-ka’i directly. He did not respond. “Very well. Some questions, then.”

She meant that not as a call for questions but as a prelude to presenting several topics. But Michael Trebilcock spoke quickly. “Here’s one. Why am I here?”

“The question intrigues me as well. Consult the wizard. I didn’t invite you. Of this gathering you’re the man I know the least and trust the least, but it’s too late to evict you. I won’t rail against what I can’t change, though I suppose I could always kill you. I would caution you but I do know you well enough to understand that that would be pointless. You thrive on danger. You seek it the way the Disciple seeks opium.”

Varthlokkur volunteered, “I brought Michael because he has unique intelligence resources and can provide priceless support if you do return the King to Kavelin. I thought it would be useful if Michael understood what is going on and why.”

Mist nodded. That exposed a problem sure to rear up again. Some of these men were used to thinking for themselves. They would do what they thought needed doing without asking.

This would be the hardest thing she had done yet. She might be doomed to fail simply for having made the choice to try.

Old Meddler had survived forever. No doubt he smelled this taking shape. Given his oft-demonstrated talent for suborning even those with everything to lose by assisting him, she would not be amazed to discover that someone here was his agent already.

The Old Man? He and the Old Meddler had worked together for ages. Their falling out might be more apparent than real.

Or it could be Michael Trebilcock, just for the thrill? Michael loved complex conspiracies.

Someone said, “Illustrious?”

Varthlokkur said, “Gentlemen, our leader just underwent a severe paranoia spasm.”

Mist glared as he continued, “That’s his most insidious strength. He makes you waste time looking over your shoulder. Your own class relies heavily on the same power.”

She forced a smile. “Well. You haven’t declared yourselves out. So. All right. Are any of you prepared to declare yourselves in?”

Lords Ssu-ma and Yuan did not lift their hands. Lord Yuan she understood. This was political. He was not a political person. He would do as he was told once the political choices had been made. He would go baying after the research possibilities.

The only way Old Meddler could suborn Lord Yuan would be to promise him all the secrets of the transfer streams, which was beyond his power to do. Every historical indicator suggested that those streams were divine artifacts not only alien to the Star Rider but possibly even actively inimical.

Her researches had been limited but she had found no reference to any interaction between the Star Rider and the transfer streams, yet that digging had her thinking that the Windmjirnerhorn had to operate on a related principal. The riches that thing spilled had to come from somewhere.

She said, “During our wars with the west the entity we will not name once thwarted everyone by using the Poles of Power to kill all sorcery for a brief time. Do any of you know anything about them?”

No one volunteered anything. She peered at Varthlokkur, sure he must know more than she did. He said nothing.

“All right. The thinking used to be that the Windmjirnerhorn was one of the Poles. That’s probably not true. I can find no reason to believe it. It is certain though, that one is something called the Tear of Mimizan.” She surveyed both attentive and marginally bored faces.

“My late husband and his brothers served the Monitor of Escalon during Escalon’s war with Shinsan. Once it became obvious that defeat was inevitable the Monitor slipped the Tear to my brother-in-law Turran. There is nothing on record to explain how or why the Tear came into the possession of the Monitor. My suspicion is, he got it from a certain old villain who thereby created false hope that extended the struggle and guaranteed a good deal more destruction. Turran had the Tear smuggled west to Bragi Ragnarson’s first wife, Elana.” It would not be politick to mention that Turran had had a considerable affection for Elana. Bragi would not be pleased by any public reminder that she had been murdered while in bed with Mist’s brother-in-law “She didn’t know what she had. Others suspected, though not how important the trinket might actually be. But never mind all that. I want to know what became of the Tear.”

Lord Yuan lifted a hand tentatively.

“Lord Yuan?”

“You proffer an essentially traditional view of the Poles. It may not be correct.”

“Lord?”

“A strong case can be made for the transfer streams being one of the Poles. Possibly the more important Pole. Leakage may be what all sorcerers feed on. Leakage could be the Power itself.”

Mist was not about to debate Lord Yuan. He knew this subject better than the rest of the room combined. “Will you explain that in words fit for a simpleton? I don’t follow.” Near as she could tell, neither did anyone else, excepting possibly the Old Man. And his nod might be due to sleepiness.

“As you wish, Illustrious. I believe the Power we use in our sorcery is actually leakage from transfer streams that have become old and inefficient through lack of care, just as irrigation or navigation canals will become porous and leaky if not adequately maintained. Mathematically, we shouldn’t be able to access the Power at all, nor even the transfer streams. Those are, I am convinced, far more complicated than commonly assumed. We see them only in the workaday dimensions, like a network of creeks and canals we use to row our boats from place to place. They may, in fact, be the bones of the universe. Or something beyond anything the human mind can imagine. The Tear of Mimizan and, possibly, the Windmjirnerhorn, may be keys or control devices.”

The ancient may have suffered an epiphany. Or a stroke. He did go still and silent. It was plain that he did not plan to say anything more right now.

Mist said, “Excuse Lord Yuan. He does this. Anyone else care to contribute? Lord Ssu-ma? You’ve been particularly subdued. Would you like to explain?”

“I have no thoughts of consequence, Illustrious. I am a pig farmer’s son. It is beyond my capacity to encompass how this proposition can benefit the Empire if we pursue it with a vigor actually necessary to bring us to confrontation with him so terrible we dare not name his name.”

He had a point. “I see. You so fear the potential cost to the Empire that you concede defeat beforehand.”

“Considering the historical evidence, that temptation is there.”

“Would you have felt the same about the Deliverer had you not been ordered to take charge of a campaign already begun?”

She waited while he gave the unfair question honest consideration.

“I might have had I known the full story of the monster behind the Deliverer while not knowing that we had no choice but to fight.”

Mist said nothing. She wanted more. She thought he could not help but fill a vacuum now. And so he did.

“I spent my life teaching the Empire’s most promising youngsters, knowing that nine of ten would die badly. I did not think that it had to be that way. The Empire did not need to be at war every day, all the time. Our unreasoning passion for conquest drove us to where we are today, exhausted and on the brink of collapse.”

Mist nodded. Shih-ka’i exaggerated but she did not disagree with his sentiments. The Empire had paid an awful price for its recent successes. But it was true that now there were no longer any enemies who could do the Empire serious harm, other than the Star Rider.

Old Meddler always acted through proxies. The collapse of the Pracchia conspiracy had left him with few of those. Magden Norath had been the last of any significance.

Today’s most terrible danger might still be ambition in the Tervola class. The respected old men said they were reining the madness in, because it had cost Shinsan so dearly, but the treachery disease would continue in a certain kind of heart. And Old Meddler might pluck those strings to compose some nocturne where the empire once again turned upon itself.

Mist grimaced. She would have to be as harsh as her father and grandfather had been. Nothing less would serve.

Some people just asked to be killed.

She said, “You took up the struggle against the Deliverer because you were directed to do so. I understand. I’ll rely on a similar formula in the matter of him who toys with the world.”

She paused. She had begun to improvise. And that had hatched an interesting notion. “Lord Kuo. You will assume responsibility for the staff side. Plan. Coordinate. Find resources. You know the staff role. Lord Ssu-ma will be responsible for execution.”

None of the Tervola missed the significance of her calling Wen-chin “Lord.” Good.

Lord Ssu-ma bowed, resigned. “As you command, so shall it be, Illustrious. That settled, may I ask about the others gathered here?”

“I hope to employ their skills, genius, and knowledge. I am counting on Lord Yuan to improve our arsenal substantially.” Did that sound too rehearsed?

She had had little to do with Lord Yuan till recently. Lately, though, he had begged frequently to be freed from workaday responsibilities so he could concentrate on ferreting out secrets of the transfer streams. Which inevitably preceded an appeal for more funds.

In that he was not unusual.

Mist said, “I will step aside and let you brainstorm now. Or complain, or argue, according to your nature.”

She paid little attention. There was not much to hear. No one wanted to say anything. Mist began to contemplate Lein She and her lifeguards.

Michael Trebilcock told her, “Don’t give in.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignore that temptation. They’re good men.”

Had he been reading her mind?

“You don’t need to trust them. Watch them. If they fail you they may lead you somewhere interesting.”

Or not. They had been selected randomly, excepting Lein She, and the tower raid would have weaned him from any service to an outside agency-assuming Old Meddler was the ultimate cause of all that blood.

It would cost little to follow Michael’s advice.

…

Varthlokkur told Mist, “I should take the Old Man to Fangdred and put him together with Ethrian.”

Ragnarson glanced from the wizard to the Empress. Was something going on in the shadows, there? Both seemed guarded.

Mist responded, “No. Because I think he’ll be safer here.”

Though the wizard looked inclined to argue, he said only, “You may be right. The only way in here is by transfer. He never… Oh! Stupid.”

Ragnarson swallowed a temptation to mention winged horses and flying evil familiars. He needed to stay small, his ears not taken into account.

Anyway, Varthlokkur had remembered without having to be prompted.

Mist said, “I can keep him from coming in from above. The horse is immortal but not invulnerable. Bring the boy here.”

Varthlokkur sighed. “I don’t see Nepanthe letting us do that. She did a stint as a guest in these parts.”

“That wasn’t me or mine. Remind her that we have the world’s best healers, including those who heal damaged minds. I will put together a team to work with the Old Man.”

Ragnarson thought Mist’s project insane and doomed. The allies would have to make sudden decisions and act quickly to keep up with an enthusiastic Star Rider. They did not trust one another enough not to waste time looking for hidden agendas any time anyone made a suggestion.

Another edge Old Meddler had.

Varthlokkur said, “Nepanthe might listen if you argued convincingly. Expect her to insist on staying with him, though.”

Mist nodded, then beckoned. “Lord Yuan.”

Varthlokkur gave Ragnarson a searching look, then Michael Trebilcock, who was eavesdropping, too.

Yuan arrived. “How may I be of service, Illustrious?”

“I asked you to dig into the past of your shop to see if it played any part in the incident that claimed the lives of the Princes Thaumaturge.”

“I did that.”

Ragnarson and Varthlokkur were puzzled. What could that signify now?

Lord Yuan said, “As I told you before, Illustrious, I played no part personally. Neither your father nor his brother would have approached me about participating in such crimes. That stipulated, there is no doubt that someone younger and politically more ambitious might have seen an opportunity. I searched the records exhaustively. It would appear that transfer portals were not used to put the Princes into Fangdred that night. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”

Mist sighed. “I’m not. That’s what I suspected.” She glanced at Varthlokkur, who shrugged, and at the Old Man, who was focused on the shogi board. “Demons, I suppose.”

Lord Yuan said, “Almost certainly, Illustrious. Though I found notes indicating that the Windmjirnerhorn may have been active at the time.”

His remark was a big, “So what?” to Ragnarson but obviously meant something to Varthlokkur, who seemed almost excited.

Mist was having original thoughts of her own, though Ragnarson doubted that they matched the wizard’s. She said, “I see a solution to the problem…”

Varthlokkur started to ask Lord Yuan something at the same moment. He stopped, deferring.

Mist said, “If we placed a portal in Fangdred, positioned so you could be comfortable about controlling it, Nepanthe and Ethrian could move back and forth to suit themselves. Scalza and Eka, too, if they wanted. The Old Man could go there and still be able to duck out if danger threatened.”

She spoke tentatively, evidently intent on going easy on Varthlokkur’s paranoia. The wizard just nodded. “That might be useful. Lord Yuan, can you detect the Horn in use?” Not using its full name for the same reason no one named the Star Rider.

“Not it, per se, but the power echo when it’s in use.”

The wizard’s excitement dwindled.

Lord Yuan went on, “The device has a unique signature. It reverberates in the transfer stream rather like water dancing in a tumbler when a tuning fork is struck close by.”

Even Varthlokkur frowned, not following.

Mist interceded. “You two talk that out later. It sounds like something we can use.”

Lord Yuan shook his head. “I haven’t found a way. It’s not even directional. It’s on or it’s off, in use or not in use, the latter so infrequently that there is no point wasting man-hours watching for it.”

Varthlokkur said, “Even so…”

Ragnarson had begun to feel like the man whose job it would be to watch for the Windmjirnerhorn to announce itself. He could not focus. Michael listened intently, memorizing every word without understanding a one, in case it proved useful later, but his eyes had glazed over. Mist observed with benevolent exasperation. Elsewhere, a raging game of shogi roared along with distressed commentary from Lord Kuo Wen-chin.

Ragnarson met Mist’s eyes. She said, “I have sown the seeds.” “They appear to have quickened, too. Where do we go now?”

“I have a master plan. If I say one word more than I have already, though, the Fates will rip it apart like jackals devouring a week-old carcass.”