Reap The East Wind

14 Year 1016 afe

The Seed of Doom

D AYS HAD PASSED. Varthlokkur was at Mist's home, making certain neither she nor her new subjects had left Kavelin any unwanted gifts. The King walked in. The wizard was surprised.

"Found anything?" Bragi asked.

"Couple of inactive portals. Nothing else."

"Have to leave one working so she can drop in on her kids. Can you fix it so a gang of Tervola don't come tumbling through?"

"I've been considering using a demon guard."

The King made a face.

"I have a particular one in mind. A bureaucratic type. He'll throw anyone but Mist into stasis and defer to higher authority."

The King chuckled. "Come on. Be serious."

"I am. The creature exists."

"What about the others?"

"I shut them down. Radeachar is out looking for any that might be hidden away from the house."

"What about Maisak?"

"It's clean. We went through it last night. Found four."

"Think she was planning something?"

Varthlokkur shrugged. "My guess is, she used them for communication while she was getting her plot together. Not that she wouldn't take advantage of them later if we overlooked them."

"How's the baby?"

"Perfect. And Nepanthe is up walking around. We decided to call her Smyrena."

"That's an odd name."

"Not so much so in the old days. It was my mother's name. Nepanthe's idea."

"What about Ethrian? Caught anything new?"

Varthlokkur felt the unreasoning anger beginning to rise within him. He clamped down on it, growled, "No. I told you I don't want to talk about it. Let sleeping dogs lie. I think I've finally gotten Nepanthe off the damned subject."

"I got a problem you can maybe help with. Mist's kids."

"Nepanthe was talking about them this morning. They're her brother's kids. We'll take them off your hands as soon as she can cope with them." He had no enthusiasm for the task. He suspected he was too old and set in his ways to father Smyrena properly, let alone to foster a band of stepnephews.

"What are your plans? I'm pretty well through this crisis."

"But this wasn't the crisis you summoned me for. My friend, you played a little game with your eastern obsession and won. That's over. Now you have to come back and face your real problems. And you've got big ones. You've been using Mist's coup to distract yourself."

"Michael and I can handle Kavelin. My big worry is still Shinsan."

Then you're a fool, Varthlokkur thought, but didn't say it. "I doubt it. Well, I'm done here. I'll get back to Nepanthe. Seeing as you don't need me anymore, she'll want to get ready to travel. She'll want to make long lists of things we just have to drag along with us." He got out before the King irritated him more than he had already.

He thought he'd better stall Nepanthe for a week or two. It shouldn't take Michael that long to show the King how much trouble he really had.

"He's having dinner with the Queen," Dahl Haas said. "I can't disturb him. I thought you went back to Shinsan last week."

"I did. And now I'm back here. And if you don't take that message to the King right now I'm going to bless you with a spell that'll leave you sterile and impotent. Do I make myself clear?" Mist was tired and frightened and angry.

"All right. On your head be his wrath."

"You let me worry about the wrath. Just drag that note upstairs."

Haas returned in five minutes. "All right. He says come on up."

Mist turned away from the mirror where she had been considering herself. She looked older by a decade. She'd had very little sleep for a week. As she followed the King's adjutant through the halls, her legs felt twice their normal weight.

Haas showed her into the Queen's sitting room. The King met her there. "Through here. Been rough?" he asked, leading her through the apartment to a dining room. "It may not be polite for me to say so, but you look awful."

"Hello, Inger."

"Hello, Mist."

There seemed to be a mild frost. Mist shrugged, told Bragi, "I feel awful. Could you spare a meal for a tired old woman? I've been eating on the run since I left. Haven't had anything since yesterday."

Inger said, "Of course." Though she'd never gotten along with Mist, suddenly she was all solicitude. She gestured. One of her women departed.

Mist sagged into a chair. She noted the quick change but was too wrapped up in her misery to care. "I'm exhausted."

The King frowned. "Trouble? What the hell are you doing back? They didn't throw you out already, did they?"

"No. Not yet. No. I came to beg for help. Again."

"What for? You got what you wanted."

"This is something a little different. I got all the troubles, too. I can't handle this on my own."

The King settled himself opposite her. His face became more empathetic. "Go on."

"It's our problem in the east. I got a closeup look. It was worse than I expected. Lord Ssu-ma thought he was on top of things, but... Bragi, he's got his back against the wall. He's been driven back hundreds of miles to an old fortress town called Lioantung. He can't go any farther. He's going to make a stand with what's left of Northern and Eastern Armies."

Bragi looked puzzled. "So? What does that mean to me?"

"He won't just lose a battle if he loses Lioantung. He won't just lose Shinsan. The man is fighting for the world. It lives or dies with him."

"Oh, really!" Inger said. "Mist, that's just too much to swallow."

Mist ignored her. She did not like the woman. She spoke directly to the King, though she answered the Queen's predictable objection. "Bragi, Lioantung is the last obstacle between the Deliverer and the heart of the empire. The last defense of regions where people are packed together several thousand to the square mile. If Lioantung goes, there's nothing to stop the Deliverer from devouring the populations of whole provinces."

"All right. You've got me curious. Start from the beginning. I really don't know what you're talking about."

She went back and began with Lord Kuo's intuition about the eastern desert and his having sent Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka'i to take command. She meant to edit, but found everything gushing out, without any control. She told every detail she knew, up through her recent visit to Lioantung.

"Armies of dead men?" Bragi murmured. "Really?" He seemed unable to choose between horror and amusement. "And he can take over anyone they kill, too?"

"Exactly. He can even control the living if they're not protected, though it's harder. Animals, too."

"The dead rising against the living. It's a Trolledyngjan draug tale come true... Up where I was raised the old folks liked to scare us kids with tales about the dead coming down from the mountains or out of the sea to carry us off. Draugs, we called them. The walking dead. But those were just wintertime stories." He closed his eyes and looked thoughtful for half a minute. "Mist?"

"Yes?"

"You haven't said why you came to me. You've got the toughest army in the world."

"It's all tied up. And because the Deliverer is going to come after you when he's finished with Shinsan."

"Me? Me personally, or just the west in general?"

"You. Very personally."

"Why? I've put a lot of people in the ground, but none that would want to get even so bad they'd get back up again."

"A grudge, Bragi. Definitely a grudge. This dark Deliverer, this warlord of the dead, is driven by hatred. Something twisted and molded and reshaped him till all he cares about is revenge. On Shinsan. On you. Because, Bragi, the Deliverer is Ethrian. My nephew. Your godson. Nepanthe and Mocker's boy."

She expected the news to smack him like a blow from a club, and she was not disappointed. He gulped air like a fish out of water. "But... but... " He stared, unable to accept. The Queen stared at him, her face pallid, one shaky hand held at her lips. Bragi tried to say something, apparently could not.

"It's true, Bragi. I'll swear any oath you want. Something in the east saved him from the Pracchia. He's been out there all this time. That something saved him, made him an instrument of destruction and vessel of hatred, gave him immense power, then lost control. I saw him at Lioantung, Bragi. Physically he looks like you'd expect after all this time. But inside he's not Ethrian anymore. He's more like the embodiment of a natural force gone mad."

Inger croaked something. Bragi groaned. "I believe her. Look at her. She's scared silly. Now we know why Varthlokkur was so damned cranky whenever Ethrian's name came up. He knew."

Mist admitted her fear. "You're right. I'm so frightened I can't think. I just want to run... I keep wishing I'd left it in Lord Kuo's lap. I didn't bargain for this. You know what history will do to me if I can't stop Ethrian? If there is any history?"

Bragi mused, "I really do understand Varthlokkur now."

"What?"

"He knew. He's known for a long time. He's mentioned Ethrian several times since he's been here. Hinting that he might still be alive. Acting like a man wrestling his conscience. Now I know what he meant when he said he couldn't tell Nepanthe because it would destroy her." He levered himself out of his chair. "He even threatened me when I suggested she ought to know there was a chance Ethrian was alive."

Mist looked up at him. He was pale as death. As frightened as she. He believed. Somehow, that took a huge load off her shoulders. Shared fear is softened fear, she thought, recalling one of the lessons taught young soldiers.

"Let's go talk to him," Bragi suggested.

"I will need his help too," she admitted. "And almost certainly Nepanthe's."

The King winced. "Don't expect him to cooperate. He's determined to keep it from her."

"I'll sell him. I have to."

"Be careful what you say. I've never seen him so touchy. He said he'd pull out on me if I even dropped a hint to Nepanthe."

Inger glanced up sharply, startled. A strange look entered her eyes. What the devil? Mist wondered. "Uhm," she grunted. At another time she would have incorporated that bit of intelligence into her plans. Not now, though. All she wanted now was a way out of her dilemma.

The Queen's servant brought the meal Mist had requested. She snatched the main platter and ate with her fingers as the King led her out into the castle's drafty halls. A few queries about Varthlokkur led them to the small castle library.

The wizard glanced up as they entered. He half stood, dismayed, when he saw her face. He made a sign against the evil eye.

She launched into her tale before he could speak. His dismay became despair. She could imagine the emotional storm inside him. Usually he was a man of stone.

His face hardened. "Enough, woman. The answer is no. I won't touch it. Find another way."

"But... "

"I'm not going to let Nepanthe see what he's become. She's too delicately balanced. She thinks he's dead. Leave him in his grave."

"What are you going to tell her when his dead men get to these parts?" the King demanded.

"Mist is exaggerating. His armies will fall apart."

"You are sticking your head in the sand," Mist snapped. "They've held up against the finest we could put in their way. He made mistakes in the early going. He's still a child. But he's learned. He's bottomed out. From now on he'll only get stronger. Unless the three or four people who mean most to him emotionally shatter the chains of hatred binding him."

Anger reddened the wizard's cheeks. "You speak with conviction and passion, but you don't know what you're asking. The answer has to be no."

Bragi suggested, "Then don't go yourself. Send the Unborn. Make the lie truth."

"Lie? Truth?"

"Have Radeachar kill him."

"No. Listen. You don't understand. I can't help. It's your problem, Mist. You deal with it. Bragi, I told you before, if you tell Nepanthe about this... "

"Yeah. Yeah. I know. I won't. Even though I think you're wrong. Totally, insanely wrong. I won't."

"You're behaving irrationally, Varthlokkur," Mist said.

"Try to understand. I want to protect my wife."

"You don't give her enough credit," Mist said. "She looks neurotic, but she's a lot tougher than she pretends. She's had to be."

And the King, "I don't think you're protecting her at all. I think you're protecting yourself. From your own insecurities. You're just scared of change. Change might alter your relationship... "

"Be still!" the wizard snapped. And, "Just remember what the Thing did to you the other day, with the succession. Recall how the vote went? You understand what it means?" He smiled evilly. "You can't afford to lose me now."

"Wizard, I get nasty when people try to twist my arm."

"Better get used to it."

"We've been on opposite sides before. I can live without you."

"You've been warned. Stay away from my wife." Varthlokkur shifted his gaze to Mist. She rocked under the impact of his glare. "The Deliverer is your problem, woman. Ethrian is dead."

She sagged, defeated. The King took her arm. "We're wasting our time here. He's gone goofy. Maybe the Brotherhood will help. You have friends there."

"It's not sorcery I need," Mist replied. "We have that aplenty in Shinsan. I need people who can reach Ethrian emotionally."

"We'll think of something." Over his shoulder, Bragi said, "I'll remember this, wizard."

Varthlokkur was startled by the man's intensity, but only for an instant. He slammed a book to the floor. Mist jumped. Her nerves were raw. Outside, she asked, "What now?"

She didn't like this feeling of helplessness, this having to come west to petition aid. It made her feel impotent and incompetent...

"You and me, I guess. Maybe an aunt and a godfather can do the job. Come on. I have to tell Gjerdrum and Derel where I'm going. Old Crankwort back there was right about one thing. I've got trouble, judging by the tricks the Thing pulled while we were setting you up. I have to make sure my ass is covered while I'm gone. Otherwise I'm liable to come home and find myself out of a job."

"There's not much point to just you and me going. We represent everything Ethrian hates. I don't think anyone but his mother could reach him now."

"We'll have to try, won't we? If he's as dangerous as you say?"

"I suppose."

"How long can you wait? Maybe Varthlokkur will come around."

"Not long. Lord Ssu-ma is a stubborn man, but he can't hold out forever."

"If you have a favorite god, send up a prayer. Maybe if Varthlokkur calms down, he'll take a closer look. If things are as bad as you say. He's basically a decent sort. He has a conscience."

"Maybe. And maybe he's just a blind old fool."

Varthlokkur eased into his apartment an hour after his confrontation with Mist and the King. His hands still shook. He was scared. It had been centuries since he had flown into so towering a rage. He'd had to use old fear-fighting tricks from apprenticeship days to calm himself this much.

There was something wrong with him. Some madness smoked through his mind, twisting and knotting. It wasn't like him to lose control. Was Bragi right? Was his real problem a childish insecurity?

Could Nepanthe handle this? Was she more resilient than he believed?

Had he sold himself a false hope when he'd decided Ethrian would be defeated by sheer entropy?

He lighted a candle, sat, tried to read an old, handprinted text which claimed to be a true history of the origins of Man upon his world. The calligraphy kept sliding out of focus.

Damn! His world was falling apart. It had taken him ages to put a decent life together, and now, suddenly, the whole thing hung by a thread. Hell yes, he was insecure. And when you had fought as long as he had, you damned well deserved something good out of the rest of your life...

A shadow fell across his lap. He jumped, startled. "Nepanthe! What're you doing out of bed? You had your exercise. You should be resting... " His heart sank as he saw the look on her face. Fear hit like a hammer's blow.

She was dressed for heavy weather. She had the baby bundled and wrapped. "I need my son, Varth."

"Oh, no," he said softly. "Oh, no. Why?"

"Ethrian is alive, isn't he? You've known it all along. You've been lying to me."

"No, dear. I told you... "

"You told me lies. Lies and lies and lies. He's at a place in Shinsan called Lioantung. And you didn't want me to know."

The rage welled up again. "I told him... "

Nepanthe herself was powered by a cold anger. She weathered his outburst without flinching. "You warned who? What are you doing to me? Varth, I want to see my son. Do you hear me? Mist is here somewhere. She came to see you. I'm going back with her."

Varthlokkur ignored her. He ambled into their bedroom, stared down into Smyrena's empty cradle. After a time he went to the window. "Come, Radeachar. Come, my only friend."

"Why did you lie to me?" Nepanthe demanded. "Damnit, Varth, I'm talking to you. Answer me!"

He whirled. "Did they tell you what your son is?"

"What the hell? Who are you talking about? Tell me."

"Ragnarson and that Shinsaner bitch."

"I haven't seen either of them. What have they got to do with it? Never mind. Tell me about Ethrian. Then find Mist and tell her I'm going with her."

Anger fed upon anger. Their shouting increased in pitch and intensity. The Unborn arrived at the window and hovered there, unremarked.

"All right, damnit!" Varthlokkur suddenly shrieked. "We're going. Be it on your head, woman." He whirled, stamped out of the room muttering, "Bragi, you'll pay. You cut your own throat this time. The wolves are circling you right now. I'm just going to sit back and laugh while they pull you down."

Nepanthe watched her husband go, baffled behind her anger. What was that all about? she wondered. All that noise about Bragi and Mist. And she hadn't seen either in ages... They must have known too. They must have been keeping it from her. She never would have known had not the Queen come to see Smyrena and mentioned it in passing.

Poor Inger. Now she would get yelled at too.

The hell with them. All of them. She was going to see her son. What they liked didn't matter.