A Path to Coldness of Heart

Chapter Thirty-One:

Year 1019 AFE:

Knots at the End of the Rope

Nathan Wolf leaned into the Queen’s sitting chamber. His breath misted. “The sorcerer just turned up, Majesty.”

Inger pulled her hands back from the brazier that was the best even Kavelin’s Queen could afford. “Babeltausque?” Unable to believe. “Yes, ma’am.”

Ma’am? Nathan must be thoroughly rattled.

“But… How…?”

“Ask him yourself. I came as soon as I heard. It’s him and his girlfriend, some Shinsaners and a couple of others, plus about twenty donkeys and horses. They strolled in a couple minutes ago with their butts frozen off.”

“But… How…?” Oh. Yes. Ask Babeltausque. “All right. Let me grab another wrap and some gloves.”

She strode so briskly that Nathan had trouble keeping up. Everyone in the castle was headed in the same direction. Inger almost trampled Dr. Wachtel and Toby.

Josiah was there already, with blankets and hot tea. The constant babble eased briefly on the Queen’s arrival, then redoubled. Even the easterners seemed compelled to talk to her.

She watched a desert man be led away, his hands bound behind him. The sorcerer’s sex toy quieted the foreigners while her lover explained to his sovereign.

She, of course, heard only, “The entire treasury of Royalist Hammad al Nakir,” and nothing about the Star Rider or deadly attacks.

“No. He cached some a few places before he banged into us. You should probably get that gleam out of your eye.”

Greyfells blood would tell. The moment she knew there was money to be had she thought that anyone who knew of its provenance ought to be silenced.

Babeltausque told her, “These people are Tervola. They’re alert. They won’t cooperate. And neither will I.”

“Excuse me?”

“I won’t be used as a black sorcerer anymore. Majesty. I’ll be the royal wizard, but not the kind that does dirty deeds. I have responsibilities, now.” He looked at his baby whore. She looked back with adoration that Inger feared was real.

“Good heavens,” the Queen said. “Good heavens.”

Kristen, with Fulk and Bragi swirling around her, asked Carrie, “Are you all right with that?”

“Bee growing a set and wanting to be a decent guy? Yeah. I’m loving it.” Not a hint of acknowledgement of Kristen’s status.

“That, too. But I meant…” She looked at the girl’s waist and nodded.

“Oh. Sure. Yes. It happened…”

Inger grasped the truth as Carrie realized that her lover’s transformation had happened because he had figured it out, too.

The Queen shook her head, surprised by her own good feelings.

Josiah had men unloading donkeys already. Those poor animals were bedraggled. “Nathan, appropriate enough to buy firewood for us, the staff, and the stable, then get some decent food in here. Decent. Don’t go crazy. Then you and Josiah join me to go over our books.”

She owed a lot of money. Good people and bad, no one who had seen the El Murid Wars would have trouble rationalizing confiscation of wealth from the desert. Most of that would have gotten there as plunder, anyway.

“Babeltausque, I could bear your children myself. Conning you into signing up with me was the smartest thing I ever did.”

The sorcerer had trouble understanding when people were joking, especially when they were droll or sarcastic but kept a straight face. He coped by remaining unresponsive till he gathered cues enough to guess what was going on.

Carrie said, “I bet he’d jump at that. But I’m selfish. I won’t share.”

Inger was stunned. Did the girl think she was amongst her own street people? She managed, “I’m heartbroken. Who is that forlorn cripple?” The woman did not look like much but seemed important even so.

Babeltausque said, “I’m not sure, Majesty. Something supernatural. She came out of the otherworld used by Shinsan’s portals. She took control of a boy who tried to follow us and transformed his body into that. The bad foot was the last part out. Maybe the boy wasn’t big enough to let her make a complete new body. Don’t offend her. She might look lost but still be a goddess or devil.”

He knew more than he was saying. He believed what he did say. Complying with his suggestions would be sensible.

“Doctor Wachtel, take charge of the young lady. Help her if you can.” She had forked branches for crutches. Lein She had made those for her.

Wachtel approached her, made himself understood by grunts and signs. Too, she understood a few Wesson words and phrases-which astonished everyone.

Inger said, “Toby, take our other guests to the empty quarters. Garyline, help him. Miss Depar, you seem able to communicate with them. Go with Garyline and Toby. Kristen, contribute wherever you can.”

That earned her a grim look-followed by a curt nod. Things did have to be done.

Inger added, “The lifeguard that got left might be helpful, too. Where is he? You’d think he’d want to see this.”

Kristen said, “You asked him to stick to his quarters.”

Of course. It was honorable behavior to the point of obnoxiousness. Centurion of the First. Something like that. She was ashamed. She could not recall the man’s name.

“Tell him I said he can come out and help. We should hear from his boss again soon, shouldn’t we, Babeltausque?”

“As you say. Some of them are important officers.”

The Depar girl engaged the one Inger thought might be called Tong Shand. Inger said, “Get them settled, then join Josiah, Nathan, and me. We need to decide what’s next.”

“As you will, Majesty.”

Damn. He was having serious moral difficulties.

She understood. He had delivered what might be the one tool she needed to turn completely nasty, at a moment when she had Kristen and her brat in grabbing range.

That move would alienate Babeltausque-and, possibly, Josiah and Nathan, too.

“Everyone, please handle your assignments.”

Inger took herself to the wall. She stared westward, toward the part of the kingdom least likely to support her if she seized this day.

The Kavelin disease stirred. Anything she did to aggrandize herself could succeed only after savage cost to the kingdom. It would mean a return to the situation of a year ago, when Kavelin had been ready to indulge in a suicidal frenzy.

She reflected briefly. Ozora Mundwiller would not suffer what she was tempted to try. Neither would Abaca Enigara. The Guild would stick a few spears in. And Bragi would be out there somewhere, unpredictable, with supremely dangerous allies.

Michael Trebilcock was with him, wherever. Aral Dantice had turned invisible but rumor had him nearby and watching.

So, layer dire practical considerations atop the Kavelin disease and one might even overcome one’s own worst nature.

…

Mist told her daughter, “This isn’t something I’m qualified to help you with, dear. I’ve never been in your situation. I’ve never even seen anything like it.” She would not devalue Eka’s trauma. Puppy love or not it had to be taken seriously. It could shape a girl who might torture the world later on, trivial as this might seem to a jaded adult right now. “Talk to your Aunt Nepanthe.” Hardly an expert herself, of course, but Nepanthe had had more than one man in her life. She had navigated some fierce emotional waters.

Mist added, “Don’t be angry. I do want to help. I just don’t know how. The only man… Only your father… I was just hopeless.”

Ekaterina delivered a tortured sigh worthy of a girl a little older and much more put upon by an indifferently cruel world. “I guess I understand.”

“I do know that you can’t force things to be what you want. The harder you try the worse they get.”

“I know that much, Mother.” Another millennial sigh. “So when will all this stuff be over? I’m sick of this place. I want to go home.”

Mist maintained her composure. She did not ask where Eka thought home might lie. “I can’t even guess anymore, dear. Our opponent might have accepted defeat.”

“He’s up to something. Scalza and I can both tell that.”

“That’s his nature. We’re as prepared as we can be.”

She saw Eka grasp the loophole, then choose to ignore it. “I’m just tired… No, I’m really depressed.”

“Here’s a thought. Just blue-skying. Did you ever tell Ethrian how you feel? Yes. I know. It’s dangerous. He might say what you don’t want to hear. But he might surprise you, too. And if the wound is waiting, putting it off won’t help.”

Eka’s response was instant outrage that gave way quickly to her dangerously grounded, deadly rational core.

Ekaterina set free a different species of sigh, the sort that eased tension before one commenced a risky venture. She went to where Ethrian was playing a sleepy game of shogi with Lord Kuo, whispered into his left ear. Puzzled, the boy excused himself. He let Eka lead him outside.

Dread rising, Mist whispered, “She’s too young.” Then started.

Michael Trebilcock was scarcely a yard away, one eyebrow raised. He shrugged. “I don’t know. The body may be. But it feels like there’s a very old soul inside.”

She nodded. She understood, though she did not agree. Eka could be unsettling to adults who expected her to be like others her age but half as bright and raised in ordinary family circumstances. “She’ll be all right, though. Nepanthe is a good mother.” Which was painful to say. “Can you do me a modest favor?”

“Within reason.”

“Keep an eye on Eka till she comes back.”

“Any special instructions?”

“No. You’ll know if something needs doing. Just be Michael You till it does. If.”

He bowed slightly. “All right.” He went out.

Mist turned back to her personal war, having realized that Eka was better liked than either of them had believed.

She leaned on the back of Scalza’s chair. He tended to be off-putting. Other than Ethrian people had to work at liking him. Ethrian liked everybody. Oh, and the Old Man. The Old Man considered Scalza a kindred soul. They both felt isolated but that isolation was self-induced. Scalza was young enough to be lured out. People here would care for him if he would let them.

…

Yasmid felt lost in space and time, and culturally, too. Maybe she was too old to adapt. She had been flexible when she was young. Look what she had survived…

Now she clung to Haroun, watched Sebil el Selib through the enhanced scrying system Lord Yuan had generously created, and waited while the child within her grew. The daughter within.

She knew. There were many months to go but she knew. And Haroun was not pleased, though he never admitted that. He hoped she was wrong.

Elwas was holding it together at home, better than she would have thought possible. He had harnessed Ibn Adim ed-Din al-Dimishqi, somehow. Jirbash and Habibullah added their own genius. Overall, the movement remained healthy. With no sound Yasmid could not determine how Elwas kept the reins on a people who now lacked their Lady and Disciple. That he did so was pleasure enough.

Old Lord Yuan had observed, “There did have to come a day when you and your father passed the mantle.”

She had been surprised the first time he spoke her language, then learned that he had been one of Varthlokkur’s teachers when the wizard was young. He had discovered a few truths about the mechanics of the world and time.

“True, but it isn’t something we face well.”

The old man offered a slight bow and moved on.

Her husband found nothing to encourage him when he took his occasional glance at history in the making in Al Rhemish.

That city remained chaotic. It looked like the Faithful meant to stay away till the insanity of factionalism devoured their enemies. Al-Souki and his ilk would move only after those idiots spent themselves, bringing welcome order.

Yasmid asked, “Can we just forget everything? Leave it to the next generation?”

She was not pleased by his answer, which was no answer. He was not yet ready to step away, though his struggle had been poisoning his soul for two generations. But he did not reject her suggestion, either.

…

Ragnarson tracked events in Kavelin when he could get a seat at a scrying bowl and help from somebody who knew how to work it. He strove to be nicer than was his nature. These folks knew him now. His strained smiles and schooled friendliness were suspect, but still they helped. The combination of close quarters and external threat had created a camaraderie unlikely to survive the threat’s conclusion for long.

Mist joined him as he followed developments in Vorgreberg with his oldest surviving friend. Bin Yousif was as animated as Bragi had seen him since their reunion.

Hunger for a killing was upon him.

Ragnarson grunted his acknowledgement of her presence. She said, “We’ll be sending you home soon. Lord Yuan has made a connection with a portal out there.”

“So you don’t need me to…”

“None of this went the way I expected. Nothing ever does conform to plan but this has been… unusual.”

She seemed distracted. She kept looking around, nervous about something.

Ha! Daughter and boyfriend had disappeared. As had Michael.

Could that be a big deal? Had he missed some big change completely?

“I’m not sure I’m that excited about going back. There’ll be a lot of work waiting.”

Bin Yousif said something softly, without turning.

“Yeah. I know. It’s my fault so it’s my job to fix it.”

Ouch! That seemed to tweak Haroun’s wife.

…

Haroun made his decision. “Light of My Heart.” He beckoned Yasmid, indicated the scryer Bragi Ragnarson was watching. Centered was a oneeyed man in a cold and dirty cell: Boneman. “There is one more thing that I need to do.”

Her face hardened. “I understand.” Some seconds later, she added, “The Evil One has found a home in my heart. I cannot forgive.”…

Micah al-Rhami no longer considered himself anyone or anything else. What he had been was lost, nor could it ever be recovered. The Evil One had done his wicked best. But God had won His point as well. The Message had been brought to the world. There were Believers who would carry on. He hoped God would let them remember him as el Murid, not what, in unconquerable weakness, he had become afterward.

His entire world was a tiny, icy cell. He was not quite sure where that was. The air was thin. He had never been so cold. He sniffled constantly. He could find no good in anything there. But he had gained something he had lacked for years: a friend. The heathen Phogedatvitsu, who had no agenda and no desire to use the Disciple to further it.

They spent a lot of time discussing mutually alien philosophies. And Micah was content to be this new, unknown worm of a worn out old man. He was content to have the world think that the Disciple had gone to his reward, if it was so inclined, because, in a way, that was true.

And, if he understood right-things were always confusing-he had a grandchild coming at last.

…

Michael did not get close enough to hear what passed between Ekaterina and Ethrian. The latter looked startled and confused. He stood there with mouth agape, unable to respond-especially not the way the girl hoped.

Michael had played both roles in this scenario in his time, most recently, in absentia, with Haida Heltkler. He had not had serious designs on the girl but he had taken her for granted. Had thought Haida the perfect mate, other than that she was so young. She was Michael Trebilcock in a gender mirror, all he was and a girl besides. But, as with what had been happening between Eka and Ethrian, theirs had been a dance of the clueless and the deluded exacerbated by militant mutual dread of the potential consequences of straightforward communication.

In his absence and perceived indifference Haida had been swayed by the determined and bluntly declarative courtship of Bight Mundwiller-to the not entirely uncompromising despair of Bight’s great-grandmother.

There was every chance that Eka had stated her case the most oblique, arcane, and confusing way possible in order to minimize her own emotional risk.

Would the possibility that the relationship she wanted had not occurred to Ethrian hurt Ekaterina more than outright rejection? In the names of all gods, let the boy not make a joke of this.

Thanks be, he did not. After several stunned seconds he extended a hand, took Eka’s, that she had raised uncertainly, and drew her into an embrace.

This part Michael did not follow. This was what he should have done with Haida, if he had wanted her, but he had not done it. Nor did he hear what the boy whispered to please the girl.

It might not have been what she wanted to hear but it was close enough. For the moment.

Everything would be all right. For the moment.

Michael headed for the chamber in the Wind Tower. He would report one less threat likely to arise at this most inopportune of times.

He found Varthlokkur fixated on the Karkha Tower and in a state of agitation. The wizard expected Old Meddler to do something ugly any minute now.

Haroun bin Yousif, his bride, and King Bragi were gone. “Home,” Nepanthe told him when he asked the air. “You and I and Smyrena will go after the portals cycle.”

Another glance at the wizard explained why Nepanthe and the baby were to leave. Varthlokkur expected big trouble. The symbols floating in the Winterstorm danced as though stirred by an unseasonable whirlwind.

Michael asked, “Where is Mist?”

Nepanthe said, “We don’t know. She got a wild hair and took off. Said she’d be right back. Where are Eka and Ethrian? We have to get them out of here, too.”

The other living clutter had begun leaving soon after the Karkha Tower went.

…

Mist’s wild hair lured her to Lioantung, where night had fallen already. Lords Ssu-ma and Chu were startled when she turned up, unaccompanied by lifeguards. Lo Kuun could find no words. Shih-ka’i babbled, “Illustrious?”

“You captured the horse. And the Horn. I couldn’t stay away. I had to see them, up close, before…”

“Before?”

“The grand old villain is finally ready to attack. I wanted my successes fresh in my mind beforehand.”

“I see.” She meant that she did not expect to survive the night. She wanted to go into the darkness sure that she had come closer to victory than had anyone before her. She wanted to go out believing that she had damaged Old Meddler so badly that he would not be able to go on for long. “What did you do about the children?”

That, she sensed, might be the most important question that this man had ever asked her. Somehow, it held personal meaning. “They will go to Kavelin for now. They will not be at risk when my doom arrives.”

“Very well. I shall stand behind them, then.” Meaning he would become their guardian should she truly be taken.

“Thank you, Shih-ka’i. You can’t imagine how much that means to me. I’ll face the night with much more confidence.”

“Come, then. I’ll show you.”

They had the winged horse suspended in a custom harness on a huge wagon. Hanging there, it could not escape. Neither would it suffer further damage as it traveled west toward the heart of the empire. A senior Tervola veterinarian had treated its injuries. The animal was half hidden inside casts and bandages. It was awake despite having been given medications for pain. It eyed Mist intelligently.

“Has it tried to communicate?”

“No, Illustrious. I believe it is content, though.”

Lo Kuun said, “As content as any creature can be after having been rattled by the blast from a thaumaturgic long shaft, followed by hitting rocky ground going fifty miles an hour.”

She considered the beast. “Yes. I suppose. What about the Horn?” Shih-ka’i said, “Over there. You’ll be disappointed.”

He was right. The Horn was mashed, broken, burned, and melted in places. What had been recovered lay strewn about on one long table. Beyond and around it lay tons of random material that it had spewed across the countryside after it was hit.

“They’re still bringing stuff in by the wagonload,” Lo Kuun said. “I doubt we’ll ever find it all.”

Mist said, “I am disappointed but I understand. I’d better get back. Just to make sure my orders are unambiguous and being carried out exactly.” Her children might not be entirely accepting of their new role, which was to get out of the way and stay alive.

“It is truly that close to happening, Illustrious?” Lord Ssu-ma asked. “It is. It may have begun already, though I hope he delays for a few hours more.”

“That being the case, I have to get a move-on myself.”

Mist wondered what that meant. He volunteered nothing.

…

Ragnarson stepped out of the portal feeling giddy, with an inclination to throw up. A voice said, “Keep moving. You don’t want to be in the way when the next traveler arrives.”

Ah. That antique, Lord Yuan, was managing this exercise personally. Ragnarson stumbled a half-dozen steps before he realized where he was-because when he focused he found himself looking at Fiana in her casket, radiant as ever she had been in life.

He wanted to be mad because they were still using her tomb to hide their portals, but he was too sick and there were too many things that had to be done. He kissed his fingers, laid them on the glass over Fiana’s beautiful face, then staggered toward the light.

One of Yuan’s henchmen had the door to the mausoleum partway open. It was late afternoon in Vorgreberg. Bragi stepped out far enough to look westward. The descending sun had settled behind the hill already.

Haroun and Yasmid emerged. Bin Yousif said something about the milder weather.

Minutes passed. Ragnarson began to frown. The others should have come through by now… Ah. Here came Scalza, indignant about having to miss the impending battle, but without much real vigor. Michael Trebilcock was two minutes behind the boy, patiently chivvying Ekaterina, who was thoroughly put out. Nepanthe followed, with the baby. Smyrena was terrified.

Nobody looked like they had come through without feeling terribly ill. Yasmid appeared especially sick, and troubled by concerns about how the transfer might have affected her unborn child.

“All right,” he growled. “We’re all freaking unhappy to be here and we’re all hung over. But we are here and they aren’t going to let anybody go back till the excitement is over. I’m going to be hungry when my gut settles down. I reckon the rest of you will be, too, so let’s go someplace where we can find food and fire.”

Lord Yuan came outside. “Please hurry, Majesty. To the castle. And send our people back out here. We have a task for them.” He paused several beats before adding, “And we will do our best to leave this memorial in at least as good a condition as we found it.”

He sounded quite sincere.

“Thank you. I’ll send them right away.”

…

Josiah entered Inger’s private quarters using the secret passageway. He seemed particularly uncomfortable. “Josiah? Are you…? Should you be with Wachtel?”

“Ah…probably. Though I think this is more mental than physical. A rider just came in. The King is back, with a party that appears to include…” He suffered a spasm of some sort. He pulled himself together, offered several unlikely names in addition to that of Michael Trebilcock. “They could be at the gate by now.”

“Damn.” Said without any real fire. “We can’t run them off so let’s bring out Nathan and Babeltausque and deal with it.”

…

Mist felt ill and was nearly exhausted when she left the darkness for the orderly quiet of the Wind Tower, where Varthlokkur was half lost inside the Winterstorm. The others were just waiting. The Disciple and his Matayangan friend, whom she continued to pretend not to recognize, crowded a shadowed alcove, shivering. Ethrian, Lord Kuo, and the Old Man sat around the shogi table. A game was in progress but nobody was paying attention.

She asked, “They all got out, then?”

Lord Kuo: “Some took more convincing than others. Ekaterina in particular. But we got her to understand that she would go regardless of what had to be done to make that happen.”

Mist eyed Ethrian, one eyebrow raised.

Ethrian said, “I was too big for even Michael Trebilcock to shift since he already had his hands full with your wildcat daughter.”

Mist could not restrain a smile. “She has potential.”

“Scalza only argued a little.”

The Old Man said, “That one calculates.”

“Yes.” She eyed Varthlokkur. The wizard was so busy he had yet to acknowledge her presence. “How soon? Do we know?”

Wen-chin said, “There are demons in the air now, carrying iron statues. We can’t track himself so we’ll have to wait for him to get inside visual range. Always assuming that he comes in person.”

Mist nodded. She did not doubt that Old Meddler would want to stand witness to his wickedness. She was counting on it, in fact. She turned to peer into the darkened end of the chamber. The stasis sphere from long ago, resurrected and refurbished, awaited Old Meddler there. She hoped that phase of Varthlokkur’s scheme worked out.

Ethrian said, “All we can do is wait.”

She agreed. “We wait.”

“Not long,” the Old Man said. “And this time will make an end.”

…

Old Meddler finished instructing the demons that would attack Fangdred. Thirteen would go, in two waves, none pleased to be involved. They expected nothing good to come of this. Great demons had died already. Dead, for real and forever. That did not happen on this plane. Not credibly. Never before.

The old villain had constrained them completely, however. They could do nothing but go forward and execute his will, so long as he survived. And he had made sure they could not seize on that loophole, even by aiding his enemies through inaction.

They would go, those lords of the demon plane, carrying two iron statues, neither of those especially overwhelming. They would attack Fangdred. Some would get hurt, perhaps badly. He had not lied to them about that. But he was confident that they would end this latest threat for all time.

His ka would go with them while his flesh remained in the Karkha Tower. Demons would come for his flesh once Fangdred fell and its thousand booby traps had been disarmed. He would then appropriate the magic of Varthlokkur and his bitch Tervola ally. Both would be invaluable in ages to come.

He settled himself, left his flesh, entered the smallish demon that would carry his consciousness northward. They set out.

Scout demons soon reached the Dragon’s Teeth. They were linked to all the others. What one saw, all could see. The scouts were particularly important. Fangdred’s exact location remained mysterious.

Yes, Old Meddler had been there before but Fangdred was hidden now, behind sorcery of both Dread Empire weaving and of Varthlokkur’s creation. A visual search was unavoidable.

Last time a furious storm was raging. This time the sky was nearly cloudless, though there was moisture in the air that captured and scattered the light of a moon that was almost full. Only the brightest stars stood out, against a background that was blue indigo rather than black.

The demon scouts stood out, too, as bleak absences of light snaking about like serpents swimming, dragon-size, sniffing for Fangdred’s unnatural warmth. The enemy would not betray himself with outside lights.

There. A fierce peak where stone had been shaped and piled by Man.

The scouts circled, waiting for the rest of their wave. Old Meddler eased in closer, wondering if he had not found the hidden fortress too easily. Were they trying to lure him in?

He encountered a limit beyond which his demon steed could not pass.

No. Definitely not trying to lure him. But they knew he was coming. And they had not run. They meant to make a stand. They did want him to attack, maybe to spend his strength getting through to them.

He prowled and probed. He would give them what they wanted. They could not survive the power he had brought to the game.

There was a momentary lapse in Fangdred’s protection. He darted through, only beginning to feel uncomfortable after he had. Had they let him in?

No. Someone had used a transfer portal. Evidently the barrier had to go down while that happened.

His vision grew fuzzy nearer the fortress. He approached cautiously, wondering why he was afraid. He doubted that he could be done any harm. Should his guide be hurt he could just break loose and be pulled back to his flesh.

He aimed for the Wind Tower, which rose above the bulk of the improbable fortress. His demon could not penetrate solid stone but it found a place where a lack of mortar would let it slide a tendril between blocks. Old Meddler took his consciousness through, crawling along that slender thread. The viewing inside was more vague and distorted, still. He pulled demon, stretched demon, took his consciousness down a floor, then drew back and went up to the level where his enemies had gathered.

What? No! This could not be!

The Old Man pushed a shogi piece forward. The Deliverer made a comment about the move.

Lord Kuo Wen-chin shrugged and shook his head sadly.

The bitch Tervola looked almost directly at Old Meddler’s viewpoint, frowning, as though sensing something uncertain. Beyond her the specter of the salt trader’s son stirred and said something possibly cautionary.

So many dead men. That Matayangan… But the Old Man was the worst. Because of him this might yet get dicey indeed.

Varthlokkur stood surrounded by glowing symbols. Old Meddler spied dark worms representing each of his demons-including the one limpeted to the outside of the Wind Tower, permitting him this access. The second wave would arrive before long.

There was no sound. He could not hear what the wizard shouted. His henchmen crowded in to see what had him excited-which was not, as Old Meddler supposed, the proximity of the demon that he himself rode.

The wizard’s wand tapped four viciously brilliant points of light moving through the Winterstorm, two toward the shadow dragons swarming outside Fangdred, one toward the squadron in transit, while the last and most intense streaked toward Throyes.

The bitch Tervola, facing his direction, mouthed, “It’s Shih-ka’i! The sneaky bastard brought the last four shafts up from Matayanga. He must have started them moving weeks ago.”

Old Meddler did not know what that meant but he was sure that it boded no good for the Star Rider.

He began to pull back. To get out. Not because he was in danger here but because danger was afoot somewhere else and he ought to be there to handle it. He had a huge crew about to deal with this place.

He had entered a trap after all, but not a crafted one.

The barrier was back. He and the lead troop were inside. He had to get out.

How?

He would have to wait out the first squadron’s attack. That should open the way.

Points of blinding light came out of the south at a velocity almost unimaginable. The barrier troubled them not at all. Each found a demon carrying an iron statue. Blinding blasts of light, separated by a second, shredded the night. They boiled snow off the mountains below. They set both demons aflame. The iron statues, molten on one side, fell away. The explosions threw off blazing sub-munitions like the biggest fireworks ever created. Those took out several other demons. The sky over the Dragon’s Teeth filled with burning serpents but Old Meddler’s demon was not among them.

An identical firework burst in the distance, amidst the second wave.

The violence here cracked Fangdred’s barrier. Old Meddler’s demon dashed through and headed south.

There had been four points of light moving through the Winterstorm. The brightest was headed for Throyes.

He had stumbled into an ambush that even surprised his enemies. Varthlokkur and the bitch Tervola had had something else entirely in mind, he was sure.

What had they been waiting for? Knowing that he was coming?

The Old Man was with her. That would be root and core and foundation of all his difficulties, now and forevermore.

He might not make it through this time.

The dead might pull him down.

He was surprised at how much he wanted to go on living, even after ages of pain and disappointment.

His demon ripped past the second squad. Four were on fire. He sent the strongest call he could: Abandon everything and come with me!

Despair. His consciousness was out here. But his body was…

A blinding point moved across the night. He was moving faster. He was not a material entity. He and the point were converging. What would one of those things do to the Karkha Tower? What would it do to the people inside, of whom he was the one who truly mattered?

Slam! Like hitting a wall at full gallop he reentered his flesh. And was still trying to harness it when the world went white.

…

Lein She was first to burst into the transfer chamber in his home base. He had insisted he be the man once Lord Yuan made sure of the connection. The Karkha Tower was his responsibility. If need be he would go down first in the effort to reclaim it.

He stepped into heat that stunned him, though it was fading. It dried his eyes. He kept blinking, having trouble seeing. He spotted a shape scuttling with one arm across its eyes, making mewling sounds. None of his men, nor any of Tang Shan’s, had survived the earlier attack. He thrust his blade into the whimperer’s back.

Tang Shan arrived, then-as the world surged and shifted and icy darkness flooded the chamber. Lein She felt a presence so sudden and vast and abiding that he lost control of his bowels.

The demon was not interested in him. It had work to do. It was gone when the next man arrived to find Lein She and Tang Shan leaning on one another, gaping at surroundings notable for the absence of a little old whimperer.

The new arrival observed, “Damn! Everything is all runny melted like candle wax!”

…

Varthlokkur stepped out of the Winterstorm and collapsed, though he remained conscious. “We won. Sort of. And without having to spend much of our own capital.”

Mist said, “He got away. Again.”

“He’ll be no threat again in our lifetimes. Or in many lifetimes to come. And him surviving may not be an all bad thing.”

“You’ll have to work hard to sell me that.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“All right. Meantime, I do know where to look if I want to keep after him. El Murid was good for that much.”

Varthlokkur fell asleep before he could ask where, thinking that that old devil always had one more trick. But today they had played a few of their own and had gotten several steps ahead.