An Ill Fate Marshalling

13

Year 1016 AFE; At the Ready

The interminable wait had become a deathwatch. The Matayangan thing went on and on and on, and still Mist insisted the time was not ripe. Vorgreberg's rumor mill churned a thousand wild speculations. They trickled into the provinces, where they became wilder still.

Ragnarson asked Mist, „How long before Hsung's agent puts it all together?"

„I know. I know. Pretty soon we'll have to assume he knows. Damn the man!" she snapped. „Lord Kuo, I mean. Why doesn't he move?"

The red sand now thrust deep into Shinsan. Mist's informants said Southern Army scarcely existed anymore. There was a huge gap in its line.

Ragnarson was tempted to back out. Why risk his people in a coup attempt when Matayanga threatened to crush Ravelin's enemies for him?

Baron Hardle said something. Bragi swore at him, then apologized. Everyone wanted a minute off. He did himself. But rules were rules. There would be no leaks.

Inger had sent a dozen messages. He had ignored them. The tone of the latest was strident.

Mist said, „Fifty hours. If Lord Kuo hasn't moved, I will myself."

„In the dark?"

„In the dark. I can't keep my people under control much longer. If one defects, they'll stampede. It would take ten years to put it together again."

Dantice concealed his hurt.

„It's late," Ragnarson observed. „I'm going to get some sleep."

He was leaving when Haas called, „Sire, would you remind Captain Trebilcock that he was supposed to relieve me half an hour ago?"

„All right. Sir Gjerdrum, too. He's supposed to have relieved General Liakopulos." He walked down the lane muttering. Kristen had brought in her friends. Now Gjerdrum, Dahl, and Michael were dodging their watches.

He spat into the dust beside the road. „Sure as hell miss Inger." Why didn't he feel that way when they were sepa­ rated within the palace?

Human contrariness, he supposed. A month ago he was upset because he wasn't interested in women. Now he was going crazy thinking about Inger and Sherilee.

He kicked a pebble. It hit a cobblestone, ricocheted straight up. He grabbed it on the fly. „Good reflexes, old-timer."

He'd really fixed himself with Sherilee. Talked himself right out of it. Kristen hadn't heard from her all week.

He eyed a distant tree trunk, snapped the stone. It hit ground short and to the right. „Damn! I can throw better than that." He collected a fist full of pebbles, quickly discovered that he didn't have a twenty year old arm anymore. Remembering when set him to recalling lost opportunities.

He had a whole catalog. It did not just include women he had failed to tumble. More and more, lately, he found himself irritated about every wasted moment.

Derel declared it was a normal life stage. He said most men Ragnarson's age went through it. Varthlokkur claimed it never ended. He claimed he could not count the times he had determined not to let opportunity escape, only to let it get away almost immediately. The trouble was, a man seldom recognized opportunity till it departed.

Something popped in Ragnarson's elbow. It left a dull ache. His next throw went nowhere.

„Damn it all, anyway!" He selected another stone, threw with his whole body. And thought his arm would fall off.

But he hit the damned tree. A glancing shot, eight feet above his point of aim, but he hit it.

„Just got to admit old time is catching up. It's a damned shame you don't get more." He kicked another pebble. It rolled ten feet. „Even better would be to live the same life over, four or five times, trying it different ways."

Was he too preoccupied with his own mortality? He had some good years left. He should worry about getting the most out of them, not how he had squandered those already gone. „Whining won't get them back, Ragnarson."

Michael was seated on the front steps, beside Julie. They eyed one another with an unmistakable intensity.

„Trebilcock!" Ragnarson snapped. „Knock it off! You're late for your watch."

Michael sprang up. He looked like a child caught red-handed at some mischief.

„Sorry, Sire. It won't happen again."

Kristen opened the door. „Saw you coming," she said. Bragi eased inside. „Little short, weren't you?"

„Probably. I'm getting worried."

„No progress?"

„No. Where's Gjerdrum? He's late too."

„In the pantry with Tilde."

„Figured it'd be something like that. You sure know the right friends. They all set their hooks, didn't they?"

„Just about." She put on a brave smile. „I could always go after Derel." A tear escaped her eye. She buried her face in his chest.

„Hey! What's all this?"

„Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, I guess."

„One of them steal the guy you were eyeballing?"

„No. Not really. None of them are my type. It's just the idea. Suddenly, all of my friends have friends, and here I am, still in the audience."

„Yeah, well. Be patient. Your day will come."

„I keep telling myself that. You want to eat now?"

„I guess. Though what I really need is some sleep."

„Go on upstairs. I'll send your supper up."

„What's wrong with the kitchen?"

„It's full of Guardsmen. You don't look like you're in the mood for them."

„You're right. Well, let's see if I've got enough energy to make it to the third floor."

„Want some stretcher-bearers?"

„Smart mouth."

He was using the room that had belonged to his brother

Haaken before his death. Kristen had wanted to put him in the room he had shared with Elana. He would not so much as look through the doorway, though the room had changed since his wife had died there.

Haaken's was the one room which held no ghosts. He had visited it rarely. Haaken had used it only occasionally. He had commanded the Vorgreberger Regiment, and had made his home at their city barracks.

It was a tiny room, about seven by ten, with the bed shoved to one end, beneath a window. There was a chair and a small table that Haaken had used as a desk, and a few mementoes. One was a locket their mother had given them before their flight from Trolledyngja. Bragi opened it. It contained a curl of his mother's hair. Where was Helga now? Long dead, probably. He felt a vague guilt. He ought to go home, to see.

He shut the locket, dropped onto the bed, began remem­ bering. There were a lot of years to review.

He fell into a half-sleep, recalling the bad times after the El Murid Wars. He, Mocker, and Haroun would have sold their souls for a hundredth of what he had today. They nearly had for less. If a god had told him he would become a king, he would have collapsed in sad laughter.

Funny. He wasn't happier now than he had been then.

A soft, tentative tapping came from the door. „Bring it in," he mumbled. Hinges squeaked as the door opened and closed. „Put it on the table." Feet went tap-tap.

He and Mocker and Haroun. The intrepid trio. The darers of any damned foolishness. The inseparable com­ rades who hadn't trusted one another farther than a dwarf could throw a bull elephant. They had had their moments, and no other lives to worry them in their games of forfeits.

I guess that's what I really miss, he thought. The absence of pressure. The freedom from responsibility.

He hadn't heard the footsteps depart... .

He rolled, quick as a cat. His dagger sprang into his hand. He crouched, ready to spring... .

Sherilee clapped a hand to her mouth, backed toward the door.

„Hah!" he snorted. „That's hard on a man's heart, woman." He reversed the knife, flipped it. It stuck in the door-frame. „What're you doing here?"

„I brought your supper. Kris said you were hungry."

She was pale as a sheet, and shaking.

„Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Sit down. What did you bring?"

In a voice as tiny as she, Sherilee replied, „Chicken."

„Should've known. Chicken. I don't think there's a hog or cow in this whole benighted kingdom. The sheep must have died during the winter. I've eaten enough chicken to fill four coops this month."

„I could get something else." She met his eye for a second.

„No you couldn't. One trip up those stairs is enough. We haven't seen you all week."

She stared at her hands. She was wringing them. „I couldn't come right away. I had things to do."

„But now you're here."

She met his eye again, smiled nervously before tucking her lower lip between her teeth. She nodded. He stared at her while tension bred butterflies the size of vultures.

There was but one subject which was safe. „Are you hungry? I'll share, if there's enough." Talking about the weather seemed idiotic.

„Oh. All right." She lifted the cloth covering the tray. It was buried in victuals and drink.

„Kris fixed the tray. I didn't see it before."

„She has a high opinion of my appetite."

With a trace of sauciness, Sherilee suggested, „Maybe she didn't expect me to come back down."

„Maybe she didn't." He selected a drumstick, looked at her over it. She pretended an intense interest in the food.

„Am I going?" she asked, voice tiny again.

At almost the same instant, he croaked, „Are you stay­ ing?"

„The chicken would get cold."

„Yes. It would." He returned the drumstick to the tray. „Do you care?"

„No. Sometimes I like it cold."

Slowly, he extended a hand. Just as tentatively, Sherilee left the chair. Her lower lip folded in between her teeth again. She no longer avoided his eyes. She blushed as they joined hands.

He knew it would be fireworks. It would be as wild as it had been with Fiana. It might consume him. And he didn't give a damn.

The tapping at the door wouldn't stop. The voice kept insisting, „Father! Wake up!" He grunted, raised his head. Light leaked through the curtains. They'd slept that long? He yanked the fabric aside.

The east was aflame once more. The skies over the Mountains of M'Hand burned in dreadful lemons and limes, shot with savors of blood.

Gently, he disentangled himself and went to the door. „Who's there?"

„Kristen."

He opened it a crack.

She asked, „Did you see the sky?"

„Just now. It's started again." He wasn't ready for it. It meant he had to rejoin Mist. He had to abandon this idyll.

„Is this what you were waiting for?"

„Probably."

„I thought so. That's why I came up."

„Any word from Mist?"

„Not yet."

„I'll get dressed." He got started. „What're you doing up, this time of night?"

„Couldn't sleep. Conscience, I guess."

So. Her teasing and matchmaking had stopped being a game. „Let the sinner atone for his sins. El Murid said that. He did produce a few gems."

She understood. He donned the light mail shirt he almost always wore, thinking, Kris reads me as easy as Elana did. Is there a little witch in her blood? Ragnar was lucky to have her.

He strapped on his sword. He was ready.

He looked down at delicate features shifting under the terrible lemon light. He bent, kissed Sherilee lightly, mur­ mured, „It was more marvelous than I expected, Little Bit." He glanced out the window. Bloody lightning sabred a background of yellow and green. „But what have I given you?" He touched her hair, turned away.

He stepped into the hallway. „Anybody else up?"

„It's a cemetery." They went downstairs quietly. Kristen was right. Not a soul was stirring. She followed him onto the porch. „Don't worry about Sherry. All right? She did what she wanted."

„What do you mean?"

„I know you. You've got the morning after guilts. Taking advantage of the poor girl. Like that. Don't. Concentrate on what you're doing. And come back when you can. She'll be waiting." And, as Ragnarson stepped into the lane, she murmured, „She's got what she wants, Father. And how I envy her."

She went inside wondering how she meant that.

The lane was awakening. People were gathering to watch the skyshow. Ragnarson watched over his shoulder, awed. He almost annihilated Derel Prataxis in their collision.

„Sire. Good. The Chatelaine sent me. You've seen it, then?"

„I could miss it, Derel? It's flashier than last week. I keep wondering why the earth isn't shaking. Is this it? Is Kuo out of hiding?"

„So she says." Prataxis glanced round furtively.

„Expecting spies in the bushes?"

„Colonel Abaca alerted the attack teams, Sire. They'll muster in the park."

„Fine. Has she regained contact with her people in Kuo's outfit?"

„You'll have to ask her, Sire. I know she contacted Eastern Army briefly."

„What's going on there?"

„I don't know, Sire. I can tell you it's worrying her, and Varthlokkur seems quite distressed."

They reached Mist's gate. Ragnarson said, „Tell Kristen to get everybody up and fed."

„I was about to suggest that, Sire."

Ragnarson joined Mist. „Is this it?"

„Lord Kuo counterattacked." She seemed ecstatic. It could have been her own pet ambush, so enthused was she.

She also had a relaxed quality that Bragi hadn't seen for days. He glanced at Aral Dantice. Aral, too, had a sleepy, satiated look. Ha!

He felt more comfortable with the woman immediately.

He did not trust anyone with total self-control. Those were the people who would turn in an instant, without remorse, for the moment's advantage. That was why he was often uncomfortable with Michael. And with Inger, who re­ mained an ice maiden till she consciously elected to let go.

„How soon do we go?"

„I'll need more information. But I think later today."

Ragnarson eased around the Tervola reconstructing Lord Kuo's counterstrike, studied the table's nether end. He had noticed Varthlokkur perched over the area and suspected the man might be ready to open up. „What's this business?"

The wizard reflected a moment before saying, „We're still not sure."

„Why so interested?"

„Northern and Eastern Armies have said they'll support Mist. But they're too busy with the Deliverer to lend any real help."

„The Deliverer?"

„He's decimated Eastern Army. Northern Army is trying to plug the gap."

Bragi risked looking at the wizard directly. „You have a special interest in the Deliverer?"

Varthlokkur nodded. His body language, usually so care­ fully controlled, screamed of an intense inner struggle.

„So?"

„It's Ethrian. He's out there somewhere."

„He's alive, then?" They were going to pretend that he had not spoken with Mist and that the wizard was not aware of the fact that he had. That was all right with him.

„Intuition says yes. I'm not sure he is. Not the Ethrian we knew."

„That's great for Nepanthe, though. First a new daughter, then her lost son found."

„If what I sense is Ethrian she won't want him back."

„Oh?" Seldom had Bragi seen the wizard so bleak. „Why is that?"

„I want to extract a promise from you. If it turns out to be what I fear, I want you to forget you heard me mention Ethrian's name. Nepanthe has had too much hurt from life already."

„But. ..."

„She doesn't need this pain. She couldn't endure seeing her child grown into a monster. I will do anything to spare her."

„But... ."

„I will do anything to spare her. Tell her about this and you forfeit my help forever."

„Take it easy, man. I don't intend telling her anything. I think you're wrong, but it's not my place to horn in."

„Sorry. I'm scared and worried. But I do mean it. I don't want her bothered."

The tenants of Kristen's house were drifting in. Some brought their breakfasts with them. A sleepy-eyed Michael Trebilcock singled Ragnarson out. „Sire?"

„What, Michael?"

„Got a note from my staff. Lord Hsung has eradicated the Throyen rebels. That's the word our contact used. Eradi­ cated. He's also interned our caravan people. Claims they were smuggling weapons to the rebels."

„Were they?"

„Not likely. Too early in the honeymoon to break the rules. He's getting ready to pull something."

„The bastard. Anything we can do about it?"

„Not much. I don't think we'd better try, either. My guess is, it's mostly a warning not to get frisky during the Matayangan crisis. He'll probably release them in a few weeks."

„Are they in trouble if we go ahead here?"

„It's too late to back down now, isn't it?"

„I suppose it is... ."

There was a disturbance at the door. Gjerdrum burst in. Indignantly, he shouted, „Sire, three men just tried to kill me! Right in front of your house."

„Are you hurt?"

„No. We got two of them. The other one ran."

„All right. Calm down. Tell it quick." He beckoned Varthlokkur. „Think the Unborn can trail the one that got away?"

„He can try."

Gjerdrum hadn't much to tell. He and a bodyguard left the house. Would-be killers charged out of the park. Two assassins went down. The bodyguard was injured. The third assassin fled.

„Which way did he go?" Varthlokkur asked.

„Toward town."

The wizard assumed an air of concentration. Ragnarson climbed into a chair. He watched the map while he waited.

The splitting of Shinsan's Southern Army had allowed a long red arm to reach deep inside her. Countless Matayangans crowded that limb. Now Lord Kuo was ampu­ tating it at its root. A huge army would be cut off in hostile territory.

Ragnarson summoned Abaca. „Think they can pull it off, Credence?"

„Like the Chatelaine says, Sire, it's too early to tell. Sire," Abaca whispered, „We should be rooting for the Matayangans, shouldn't we? Maybe be doing something to help?"

„We are, in a way. We're keeping Western Army tied up. Matayanga can't win anyway. Not in any final sense. Shinsan is too damned big. All I want is to make sure what's left is friendlier."

Abaca glanced at Mist. His expression betrayed his belief that changing rulers wouldn't change anything else.

Varthlokkur said, „Radeachar is following him. He's headed toward the city. He's injured."

„Gjerdrum. Did you wound your third man?"

„I don't know. It got pretty brisk."

Ragnarson turned to Varthlokkur. „Norath didn't do much good, did he? Three failures. Someone is going to be pissed."

„Let's hope Someone does something stupid enough to give himself away."

Bragi watched the map till he grew bored with its miniscule changes. He went to watch the troops muster in the park. „Dahl, run those spectators off. Have the team sergeants over for briefing when they're ready."

The briefing killed two hours. Two hours closer to. ... to what? Solution to Ravelin's biggest problem? He wondered.

He kept recalling a dreamy-eyed face surrounded by tangled blonde hair. A night of reality hadn't murdered the fantasy. Scant minutes had done so in other, similar en­ counters. This time, he was hungrier after than before. He wanted Sherilee, wanted her bad, wanted her now. He started down the lane.

„Sire!" Prataxis shouted. „Sire, the Chatelaine wants you."

Ragnarson sighed. „Kavelin, you're a jealous bitch." He clomped up to the map room.

Mist indicated the pincers nipping the Matayangan arm. „We're going to go when the prongs are ten miles apart. About four hours. We'll need three assault teams from you. Most of the Tervola here will accompany and support you."

Her tone was imperious. Bragi found it irritating. „You ain't number one yet. You're Chatelaine of Maisak till the dust settles." He glanced at Varthlokkur, who observed blandly. Damn me, he thought. I wish I weren't dependent on him. If I lost him, the wolves would be all over me. He turned. „Credence. Want to lead a commando team?"

„I'd be delighted, Sire."

„That's two. Who takes the third?"

„Two, Sire?" Prataxis scribbled madly, occasionally curs­ ing as his overworked pen spattered ink.

„I'm taking one team."

„Sire!"

„I know the arguments, Derel. Save your breath. I'm going. Credence? Who's the best man?"

Abaca pursed his lips.

Sir Gjerdrum volunteered. Ragnarson said, „Not you. I'm taking Derel and Varthlokkur. That means you stay to keep them honest here. Not you either, General," he told Liakopulos. „Somebody has to run the army while Gjerdrum runs the country."

Gjerdrum protested, „Damn it, you do this every time... ."

„The price of being trustworthy. Be quiet. Credence?"

„Perhaps Captain Haas?" He smiled thinly.

There was little warmth between Haas and Abaca. Ragnarson suspected the Colonel wished Dahl the oppor­ tunity to prove himself incompetent.

Michael pushed past Gjerdrum and Liakopulos. „I'd be honored, Sire. Could I take my old sidekick, Aral?"

Ragnarson glimpsed a pudgy hand waving behind the others. He grinned. Finally. Baron Hardle was politically perfect. King's flanks guarded by officers from the social extremes. He liked flashy gimmicks. „Make room for the Baron, men. Baron, I accept. You take the third team."

Hardle looked nonplussed. He hadn't expected to be taken seriously.

Abaca grumbled. Ragnarson smiled. Abaca always grum­ bled.

„He's a leader, Credence. As you'll recall."

„I guess. Like it or not. He saved my ass at the Battle of the Fords. I can put up with him if he can put up with me."

Bemused, Hardle offered Abaca his hand.

Bragi exchanged glances with a triumphant Prataxis. By damn! There were tears in Derel's eyes. He understood the thoughtless symbolism. The ideal had taken root. Nordmen and Marena Dimura, shaking hands! They had no idea how far that gesture said they had come.

Ragnarson studied the Baron. He no longer seemed small and fat and ineffectual. He had a new dignity, a new air of self-worth. His class had lost much of both after, in the main, serving the wrong cause during Kavelin's civil war.

„Let's see what our friends need," Ragnarson suggested. A vision of blonde, insatiable perfection ghosted through his thoughts. He pushed her away. The question persisted. Would he taste those delights again? Or would he leave his bones in an enemy land?

The hell with Varthlokkur's divination. He was scared. The wizard guessed wrong sometimes.