Reap The East Wind

7 Year 1016 afe

Conspiracies

M IST WAS ABOUT to retire when a nervous servant announced that the King wanted to see her. "He's here?" she asked, startled.

"We had him wait in the library, My Lady." The woman's tone conveyed a plea for understanding. The monarch could not be told to come back when his visit would be more convenient. Astounding enough that he should just drop in off the street, though this King was uniquely plebeian in his habits.

"What does he want?"

"He wouldn't say, My Lady."

Moths gamboled about in Mist's stomach. This had a bad smell. "Tell him I'll be right down. See if he'll take some brandy."

"Certainly, My Lady. Shall I waken Marta?"

"I'll dress myself." She took her time, composing herself by chanting verses from the Soldier's Ritual used by the warriors of her homeland. She did not leave her bedchamber till she was convinced that she was in complete self-control.

"You're out late," she observed as she entered the library. A tic of irritation pulled at one eye. Her warmth sounded false in her own ears.

The King scanned her quickly, his gaze impersonal. He was unimpressed by her beauty. She always felt inadequate in his presence: felt like she had a great hairy mole on the end of her nose or a livid scar across her cheek. He and Michael Trebilcock and Varthlokkur were all immune to her carefully crafted looks. Weird and frightening that so many such men should surround her, making treacherous the ground on which she was accustomed to operate, leaving her uncertain and inclined to become flustered...

"I was over at my house. I wanted to see you. Thought I'd save a trip and do it now."

"You look exhausted."

"I had a rough day. Excuse my manners. They may not be what they should."

Her preparations were inadequate. Already she was growing flustered. She gobbled, "What's on your mind?" and was immediately dismayed. She hadn't wanted to be so direct.

"Just call me curious about what you and Aral are up to."

Damn, she thought. She managed to mask her surprise. "Up to? What do you mean?"

"Let's say I've noticed the coming together of what appear to be the elements of a ‘situation.' I always try to be reasonable. Thought I'd give you a chance to explain before I got excited."

"So?" The moths were back. Brandishing tusks dripping venom. Suddenly, she understood why Varthlokkur was in town. If Bragi thought he needed his back covered, he was sure...

"These are the ingredients: One exiled Princess of Shinsan, minus the tempering influence of a good man who fell at Palmisano. One young merchant of considerable wealth and influence, perhaps bedazzled. From the staff of Lord Hsung's Western Army, Tervola who remain secret supporters of the Princess in exile."

Mist held her breath. How could he know that? That damned Trebilcock! He really did have somebody inside Lord Hsung's headquarters. She'd hoped she was wrong about that.

"Interestingly enough, these ingredients have come together just when my spies tell me Shinsan has been caught with what looks like an explosive crisis on its Matayangan frontier."

Gods! Did he know everything? Did Trebilcock have an agent here in the house?

"A handy distraction," the King continued. "Now, if you were me, wouldn't all those things make you wonder?"

He spoke with an odd formality. Rather like a magistrate, she thought. His voice was tight. His gaze wandered nervously, but she was too distracted to seize and use his discomfort. She drifted away inside herself, trying to select a response which would not compromise her ambitions. Finally, "You're right. I was approached by people inside Shinsan. By a traditionalist faction opposed to Lord Kuo's penchant for change, and disturbed by the empire's increasing instability. I'm the last living descendant of the founder, Tuan Hua. I was shaped during the Dual Principiate of the Princes Thaumaturge. They think I could reimpose old-fashioned stability and values, given a chance. So far it's just been talk. I don't think anything will come of it."

"Why not?"

"I've been approached before. These groups never have enough power or influence. And what they really want, instead of what they say they want, is a figurehead. A legitimate pretender who can assume their sins after they're in power. A scapegoat, really." Was he listening? Accepting? His face remained as impassive as a gambler's.

"And you wouldn't settle for that."

"No. You know me that well."

The King steepled his fingers under his nose. For a moment he seemed to be praying. "Where does Aral fit?"

"He's a merchant. The trading climate would improve if a friend of Kavelin ruled Shinsan. He's been trying to assemble financial backing for a coup. I haven't had the heart to shatter his hopes."

The King examined the spines of her books. She hoped she sounded plausible. She had rehearsed for this interview countless times, knowing it to be inevitable, but it had come early. All her planning had toppled around her. She could not recall her lines. She could but tell most of the truth and hope that it would be enough.

He took a deep breath, decided not to say whatever was in his mind. She was sure he had been about to bring up his secretary's embassy to Lord Hsung. Were it as successful as it sounded likely to be, it would rob her of all hope of enlisting the support of Kavelin's mercantile community. Her only real option was to sabotage Prataxis's efforts. She hadn't yet crossed that bridge. And now she knew she didn't dare. Surely he'd just caught a glimmer of the possibilities. If anything happened now, the blame would be laid at her feet.

He was playing his old, old game of giving the villain all the rope he wanted.

"Sounds good," he said at last. "Kavelin would benefit. Assuming Shinsan's historical inertia could be altered. Otherwise what damned difference does it make who's in power?"

What? He wasn't going to raise hell? He was going to agree with her? Despite Prataxis? She let him sit through an extended silence while she marshalled her composure. He didn't seem to notice. She asked, "What are you saying?"

"That I wouldn't be averse to a scheme. But I'm not too excited about you involving my people without you and me having an understanding up front. Also, right now you are one of my people. You're Chatelaine of Maisak. My first line of defense against Shinsan. We have here what Derel would call a potential conflict of interest. I wouldn't want to find myself worried about my hold on the Savernake Gap."

Mist's heart fluttered. How could he know so much? Did he? Was he shooting in the dark? Was he giving her more rope? Using his well-known obsession with the eastern peril as a tool? "I see. You want guarantees. What did you have in mind?"

The King smiled thinly.

She had made a tactical error. He had been fishing this time. And he'd caught her. Damn! Why did he have to be so astute?

"Not now. Not here," he said. "We both need time to think it over. And I'll want witnesses. Varthlokkur and the Unborn should do."

She pretended amusement. "You don't trust anybody, do you?"

"Not now. Not anymore. Why should I? Your scheme is only one of my problems. I mean to walk light and careful till it's all under control."

She laughed a genuine laugh. Her confidence began to return. He responded with a smile. She said, "You should have been born an easterner. You would've made a great Tervola."

"Maybe. My mother was a witch."

She had heard it before, of course, but still she was startled. Was that it? Was he doing a little magical snooping? Perhaps with Varthlokkur showing the way? She started to ask, was interrupted by a servant who said, "My Lady, there's a gentleman here looking for His Majesty."

Mist looked at Bragi. He shrugged. "Send him in," she said.

The King's adjutant bustled in. "Sire, I've been looking all over. We need you back at the palace." The man looked grim.

"What is it, Dahl?"

"An emergency, sire. Please?" The young officer gave Mist a glance so melodramatic she was tempted to laugh.

"We'll talk later," the King told her. His look said as much as all of his conversation.

She would have to walk very carefully for a while. Matters had reached a stage too delicate for risk-taking. All her fault, of course. She had gotten too eager, had begun looking too far ahead, to deal properly with all the little things cropping up now. "Overconfidence, get thee behind me," she murmured.

The hour was late. The King and Varthlokkur were seated on steps in a dark and otherwise deserted courtyard. Neither man was wholly awake or alert. Ostensibly, they had come out to watch a spectacular meteor shower. "There goes a big one," the wizard said. "All the way down past the wall."

"I saw one one time that broke up in about twenty pieces. Really something. There's another one." After a few seconds, "I saw Mist. She was too evasive. Made me more suspicious."

"So?"

"So she's into some scheme to get her throne back. In a lot deeper than she'll admit."

"And?"

"Damnit, you're not contributing a whole lot here."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Give me a guess. Am I wrong? Is she really involved in something?"

"Hell, you know the answer to that. Why ask? Of course she is. Once you attain a throne, you don't give it up without a fight. Consider her viewpoint. There isn't much here for her since Valther was killed. Her children, of course, but she isn't the maternal sort. She once had something big in Shinsan. Now she wants it back."

"She's vulnerable, though. Through the children."

"Aren't we all." The wizard turned bitter. "They're hostages to fortune."

"Can she make the comeback?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't know what's happening in Shinsan's politics. And I don't want to know. I just want to ignore them, and have them ignore me."

"But they won't."

"No. They won't. Not forever."

They watched shooting stars for a while. Then Varthlokkur said, "It won't matter if she does win, you know. Shinsan is Shinsan."

"You don't think she'd change anything?"

"She couldn't if she wanted. She wouldn't be allowed. You and I and Kavelin have earned their special attention. Someday they'll come again."

"Look at that one! Almost like a comet for a second."

"Uhm." Musingly, the wizard continued, "It should be a while coming. They've had some bad years, and they're staring trouble in the eye in Matayanga. They haven't fully pacified the territories they occupied during the war. Right now they're hoping like the one-legged whore the day the fleet came in."

Bragi chuckled and looked the wizard askance. That was not a Varthlokkur figure of speech. "If they'll give me a decade, or even another year, I'll be grateful. I'll take it and be happy because I don't think we can turn them back again. I think having Mist in charge might set the day of reckoning back a little, and soften the blow when it falls."

"It's your choice. Just don't forget O Shing."

"O Shing?" O Shing was the prince who had overthrown Mist and driven her out of the empire, only to be overthrown himself.

"He didn't want to come west. He fought it all the way. And that's why he's no longer with us."

"I know. But the people who pushed him out are gone now too. Holy ... ! Did you see the size of that one? All right. I'll take a few days to poke around and to think about it. Then I'll get Gjerdrum and you and a couple others together and we'll decide whether we should help her. And if we do, how visible our help should be."

"It's your choice, as I say, but you're just asking for grief if you do it. You have problems enough at home. Problems more deserving of your attention. Also, watch who you include in your ‘we.' I have no intention of getting involved with the Dread Empire again. Unless they come after me first."

"Pardon me for jumping to conclusions. I thought it might be a way for you to make contacts who could check out your Ethrian questions for you."

The wizard stiffened. He turned slowly, gazed at the King. After a moment, he nodded and said, "Maybe it would, at that."

Three men had gathered in Mist's library. Two leaned over her silver divining bowl. Her bowl did not contain the common water. She was wealthy. She could afford the far more expensive and reliable quicksilver coveted by every seer.

Aral Dantice shifted restlessly, nervous as a youth on the brink of losing his virginity. Mist watched him as closely as she did her bowl. She had made a mistake, telling him how much the King suspected. He had the Michael Trebilcock shakes. If this went the wrong way, he might crack... She did not want to think about that. Heroic measures might be required.

Cham Mundwiller filled the air with clouds from his pipe. The third man occupied a chair against one wall. His eyes were halfway closed. Neither his stance nor expression betrayed any emotion. He was as patient as a snake.

His coloring and mien matched Mist's. His clothing was western. He seemed uncomfortable with it. Though duskier than Dantice or Mundwiller, his face had a pallid look. He was accustomed to wearing a mask.

Mist's breath caught, sounding a little gasp. The easterner's eyelids twitched. "Aral!" Mist said. "Come here."

Dantice stared down into the bowl, at four minute human shapes seated round a table. For a long time now the four had been arguing, pounding the table, pushing bits of documentary evidence at one another. Nothing seemed changed. "What?" he asked.

"It's going our way." She grinned at herself. Her voice had picked up a high, musical squeak of excitement.

"How can you tell when we can't hear what they're saying?"

"Hush. Just hush and watch."

They watched the figures argue. Suddenly, Mist leapt away from the table. She yelped happily and threw her arms around Dantice. "It's official. The King got his way. We don't have to hide and sneak anymore." She kissed him.

He responded with a vigorous male salute. Mist stepped back. Head tilted, unable to control a lopsided smile, she said, "That might be nice too, Aral."

He blushed. He stammered.

Mundwiller exhaled a blue cloud and smiled knowingly. Aral turned redder still.

The third man saved him. He rose, stared into the bowl. His face remained arctically cool. He nodded once, returned to his chair. "It's good."

Dantice shuddered. Mist smiled, mildly amused. Lord Ch'ien Kao E always got that reaction when first he spoke. His throat had been injured long ago. He retained just a ghost of a voice, a dry husk that grated like salt in a raw wound.

Mist asked, "What troubles you, Lord Ch'ien?"

The man steepled thin fingers before his narrow chin. "The move suggests acceptance of the inevitable. It suggests that your King is well aware of what we're doing. It suggests that our secrets aren't nearly as secure as they should be." His obsidian eyes met theirs in turn.

I'm losing control, Mist thought. If I don't grab it back I'll soon be a spectator in this game.

"There haven't been any leaks at this end," Aral declared. He met that snakelike gaze without wavering. He was not intimidated by Ch'ien Kao E the man, only by what the man symbolized. He had met Tervola during the Great Eastern Wars. Aral Dantice, the caravan outfitter's son, was still alive.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Wait. I do know one roundabout way for there to be a leak. Through my friend Michael Trebilcock. It's more circumstantial than deliberate. We share a few couriers."

"Smugglers."

Aral bowed slightly. "Sometimes they tell me what they think Michael is doing. I imagine they tell him what they think I'm up to. Lately, they've hinted that he may have developed an agent inside Lord Hsung's headquarters. It looks like he has. The King's actions make me think that agent might be aware of us."

Damn your eyes, Aral, Mist thought. Why did you have to tell him that?

"I see." Kao E turned her way. His reptilian eyes narrowed. "Princess?"

"You have some idea whom such a man might be?"

"I believe so."

"Does a weak link matter at this point?"

"Trebilcock obtained leverage. A lever is a tool any hand may wield."

She nodded. "Too true. Speak to him. Find out what the leverage was, and the extent of the compromise. Use your own judgment afterward."

"As you wish, Princess."

Dantice got a cold, pale look. He stared at the bookshelves, shuddered.

Cham Mundwiller sucked on his pipe and said nothing. His face remained a mask of stone.

Mist glared at Aral and tried to force a thought into his mind. This isn't a game, Aral. We're playing for an empire.

"Where is this Trebilcock?" Kao E asked. "His testimony might be enlightening."

"Nobody knows," Aral replied. "He disappeared a while back. Somebody attacked General Liakopulos one night. Hurt him bad. Next day Michael was gone. Nobody knows if there's a connection."

That was the night the King visited me, Mist reflected. The night that Haas creature dragged him away, acting like he thought I was the villain of the day. "I've looked for him," she said. "I like to keep track of him. He's a dangerous man. I can't find a trace." She frowned at Aral, who could not conceal his distress. She wondered how he had become professionally successful with so little aptitude for conspiracy.

Aral asked, "Do you think he's dead? That maybe he found something and it was too much for him to handle?"

Not a good conspirator at all. He let his concern for his friend distract him completely.

"I wouldn't know, Aral. Lord Ch'ien, don't interfere with Trebilcock. The King and Varthlokkur are much too fond of him."

Kao E rose, nodded. "As you will. I'd best return. I do have my duties. And I have to relay the news to our friends."

"By all means," Mist said, concealing her delight at his going.

Kao E strode toward one comer of the room. He vanished as he was about to collide with the bookshelves. A column of air coruscated momentarily.

"That's one spooky critter," Aral said. "I don't like him at all."

"Don't let him put you off," Mist replied. "He's stuck with me a long time. He's one of the few Tervola I trust."

"You know your own people." And, "What he is to you and what he is to me aren't necessarily the same thing. He probably thinks of me as a useful trained dog."

Mist turned quickly, hoping he missed her surprise. That was exactly the way Lord Ch'ien would view a western collaborator. "Master Mundwiller. You haven't said a word since you got here."

Mundwiller looked down at the silver bowl. The scene therein continued, mouse-sized players arguing in silence. He harrumphed. "I'll say good-bye, then. I'm not needed here." His eyes twinkled.

Aral started to say something, thought better of it. Mist, too, found herself short on words.

Mundwiller paused at the library door. "I'll leave you with a thought. My friends and I will be more comfortable knowing you're working with the King."

"What did he mean by that?" Aral asked once the door closed.

Mist smiled. She ran her tonguetip along the edges of her perfect teeth. "I don't know. I'm not sure I care." But she did, of course. Those old moths tumbled and giggled in her stomach. She had dodged fate's hammer today. Obviously, Mundwiller had allowed himself to be drawn in only so he could apprise the King of the course of her plot. She shivered and concentrated on Aral.

He took a backward step, then retreated round the table. Sudden sweat moistened his face. He looked like a man running from a dream.

He did not escape.

Mist smiled wickedly. From this dream he would never recover. Nor would he want to. She would see to that.

Varthlokkur glanced up as the King stepped into the small room where he held his most private conferences. Bragi seemed smugly pleased. He said, "Mist will be here in a few minutes."

The woman arrived ten minutes later, ushered in by Dahl Haas. Aral Dantice ran at her heel like a faithful pup. The wizard observed through hooded eyes. Something had changed. There was a new shyness between them. He looked over at the King, who had been acting that way himself. Over a bit of fluff young enough to be his daughter. Must be something going around, he thought.

"Sit down," the King suggested. "Let's get to it. I've been cooped up in the castle all day, so I don't feel like arguing. We made a decision. You already know what it was. Now we implement it, Mist. But first, I want to know who the Tervola was and what he was doing in Kavelin without my permission."

Even Varthlokkur was startled. And a little disgusted. This young man had started with such promise. Now he had spies everywhere, like the worst tyrant.

If he was startled, Dantice was stricken. He made a sound, half belch and half mouse squeak. His eyes widened. And Mist, for one of the few times Varthlokkur could recall, was taken completely off guard.

That amused him. He enjoyed watching a colleague caught short.

"I have my resources too," the King said. "The Tervola is important to me. Call it a gesture of good faith."

Mist recovered. She spoke honestly and, Varthlokkur noted, said a few things which surprised Dantice.

The King glanced at the wizard, soliciting an opinion. Varthlokkur had detected no outright falsehood. He nodded. Bragi said, "It sounds good. Assuming Kuo isn't in on the planning from the other end. What's your timetable?"

"It's still iffy. We move when Lord Ch'ien thinks the Matayangan attack has peaked. We seize the key points of the empire. We don't bother Southern Army till the Matayangan attack ebbs. Only then do we replace Lord Kuo."

"Right. If he lets you. What if he negotiates his way out of trouble with Matayanga? If he doesn't attack?"

"The plan isn't perfect. I'd lose."

"You wouldn't try to force that war, would you?"

"No! No more than Lord Kuo is. Shinsan can't stand much more warfare."

The King glanced at Varthlokkur once more. Again he could only indicate that he believed she was telling the truth.

The King nodded. "All right, Mist. What can I contribute?"

"You're doing it. Giving us a safe springboard. The only other thing might be the loan of a few shock troops for the strike itself."

Varthlokkur studied Dantice, and in his little twitches read what his part in the plot was to have been—before the King had become involved. He was to have gathered the financing for mercenary forces meant to do the job now in the hands of royal soldiery. The lad is a fool, the wizard thought. But this is a woman who can make fools of men far wiser.

The King said, "Sir Gjerdrum, put together the forces she needs. And keep it quiet."

Varthlokkur turned to the young knight. Poor Gjerdrum. He was bitterly opposed to this venture. None of the King's arguments had swayed him the least. Yet he was going along, because it was the King's will.

He's probably right, Varthlokkur reflected. When you come right down to it, we're all going along because that's easier than arguing. And chances are Bragi is being a damned fool. He can't separate his private feelings from what is politic. If he doesn't learn soon, Kavelin is in for hard times.

Nepanthe stalked the bounds of her apartment like a thing caged. She was tormented by a diffuse, inconquerable certainty that her world had shifted around her, that suddenly she was a foreigner in her own time. Nothing seemed quite real anymore.

She knew why. All her lost anchors, all the missing friends and loves. She had no more family, and few friends—just no anchor left. Except her husband, and hers was a marriage of convenience, from her viewpoint. She needed a protector. She had accepted the protection of a man who wanted her. Any romance existed only in Varthlokkur's imagination.

These days she just drifted above and away from everything. Her lack of touching points ached. Sometimes she wondered if she were quite sane.

Her life was one long necklace pearled with dissatisfaction and unhappy moments. There had been good times, but those she had to struggle to remember. She had no trouble recalling the misery. Indeed, she dwelt upon it.

She paused to stare out her window. The sky was a heavy grey. More bad weather? It seemed the sun had vanished with their arrival. Did gloom follow her like a doleful hound?

"Maybe it's just being pregnant," she murmured. "I can't be this way all the time. Right now even I can't stand me." A weak, mocking smile toyed with her lips. "I have had friends."

The baby kicked. She rested her hands upon her stomach, tried to guess if she were feeling an arm or a leg. "Guess you're going to be a boy. They say boys are more active."

The baby kicked again. She gasped. It was strong. "Varth?" But he wasn't there. Out with the King again, probably. What were they up to, anyway? She still didn't know why Bragi wanted Varth here. Not really. He had his tale to tell, but he was tricky. You never knew. Even Varth might not know.

She hadn't gotten out of the apartment much, but still had sensed the deep currents twisting through Castle Krief. Servants chattered and speculated. There was trouble with the succession. Bragi had been chosen King, but his family hadn't been made hereditary custodians of Kavelin. The crown would be up for grabs if he died. Several parties wanted control of the succession.

Then there was the eastern situation, and the sporadic civil war in neighboring Hammad al Nakir, which could have considerable impact here.

And, of course, there were the traditional ethnic frictions within Kavelin itself, frictions three enlightened monarchs had been able to ameliorate only slightly.

She stared out her window and thought of her distant mountain home. She had been no more happy at Fangdred. Each day had witnessed its prayer that the outside would call them forth. Now they were free of that isolation, and she only longed to retreat to the safety of her mountain fastness.

"I must be mad. I can't even be satisfied when my prayers are answered." The baby moved again. "What are you doing in there? Jumping rope?" She tried to relax. There was surcease in sleep, sometimes.

Sleep was slow coming. Her back ached. Her legs and feet hurt. Her mind would not abandon its neurotic harping despite her efforts to silence it. And the baby would not lie still.

But sleep of a sort did come, and with it visions as disquieting as anything her mind threw up while awake.

They belonged to a family of dreams she had begun to know well. She dreamed about Ethrian, a desert, and a great, frightening shadow. Her son was calling for help. His voice was weak and remote. The shadow was amused. It lashed out at her child, inflicting intolerable torment. She reached out for Ethrian, but he couldn't tell she was there.

She had had a lot of Ethrian dreams lately, mainly when she wasn't too deeply asleep. They varied, yet always showed her son alive, trying to evade some shadowy peril.

Varth claimed it was just pregnancy doing strange things, that her dreams had no parallel in the real world. But she had been through this before, several years ago. She hadn't been pregnant then.

She believed cluster dreams reflected truth. There was great magic in dreams, though she hadn't the knowledge to interpret them. Her own touch of magic was severely diminished now she no longer had brothers. Their grasp of the Power had always required the concentration of the entire family...

Varth was no expert, either, but he should know enough to realize her dreams had significance... or did they? Suppose he was right? Suppose they were manifestations of her fears and insecurities?

She was coming out of the twilight into which she'd fallen. She wasn't chasing every will-o'-the-wisp notion. She was trying to think linearly... And she was disappointed. For an instant she'd felt she'd reached a half-open door, about to capture an unsuspected glimpse of the truth.

She heard a soft rustle, quiet footsteps. She recognized the maid's step. "I'm awake, Margo."

"Ah, Lady. I didn't want to interrupt your nap. Your husband asked me to check."

"Tell him to come in."

Varthlokkur seated himself on the edge of her bed, held her hands. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good. What's happening in the rest of the world?"

"The usual. They're being born, they're dying, and generally acting silly in between. Four hundred years I've watched them and they haven't changed. They keep right on doing the same stupid things."

Disappointment trickled through Nepanthe. There would be no discussing her dream while he was like this. "You're in that mood again?"

"What mood?"

"All is vanity and chasing after the wind."

"Hunh! Sometimes it's the only realistic philosophy."

He was just within the penumbra of melancholy. He would be unfit to live with if his mood deepened. But he was salvageable now, if she kept him from losing himself inside. "What set you off?" Let him roll it out. Let him look at it and get mad. That would break the chain.

"It's Bragi. He's changing. A few years ago his eyes were wide open. Nothing got by him. Nobody fooled him. And he never fooled himself."

"What are you talking about?"

"He isn't that way anymore. There are intrigues here in Kavelin. Conspiracies about to explode. And he won't see what's happening. He goes off and plays Captures or plots against Shinsan. While the real danger grows like a cancer, right behind him."

Victory! He was angry. "Why do you care? Kavelin isn't your home. And you'll outlive its troubles."

"I don't know. You're right. Since Ilkazar fell I haven't been attached to any particular place. But maybe I like what the old King, Queen Fiana, and Bragi wanted to do here. Maybe I like the promise of their dream, if it succeeds. Maybe I'm aggravated because Bragi has gotten distracted from the real issues. Maybe he's changing into somebody I don't like."

"And maybe you're misjudging him, Varth. He's tricky. You never know what he's doing. He might have his thumb on the pulse of whatever it is that's worrying you. You can't ever forget that he's got Michael Trebilcock. The way people talk, Michael is everywhere and nowhere, and not a whisper of intrigue gets past him. My maids say the nobles are scared to death of him."

"Uhm. Bragi does have good help. But what happens if he gets so weird they stop agreeing with what he does? Never mind. It's beyond my influence. I shouldn't worry. How was your day?"

He had slipped into a more pliable mood. Not a good mood, but the best she would see. "I had another dream. Ethrian was calling for help again."

Varthlokkur's face folded into a dark scowl, like a savage old thunderhead. She half expected lightning to prance across his brow.

She chose her words carefully. "I don't think this is just pregnancy and wishful thinking, Varth. There's something touching me. I'm not saying it's Ethrian. Probably it isn't. But I think you should take me seriously and try to get to the bottom of it. It might be important in some way neither of us can see right now."

"All right. I'll do that." His voice was cool, unhappy. "I'll let you know if there's anything to it." He rose. "I have to go out. I shouldn't be long."

She watched him leave. Run, she thought at his back. Get away. Why do you get so upset when I talk about Ethrian?

Several days had passed. Varthlokkur encountered the King in a hallway. Amidst the dancing shadows cast by oil lamps, they paused. Varthlokkur asked, "Any word on Michael yet?"

"Aral found a cold trail. A friend of his saw Michael in Delhagen a few days after the attack on Liakopulos."

"Strange."

"Everything is, these days. How long till Nepanthe's time?"

"Two weeks. Three."

"Nervous?"

"Very." The wizard's smile felt weak. He was beginning to worry. He was getting tied up here, and he had promised Nepanthe that he would take her home before the birthing.

"Nothing to worry about. She didn't have trouble with Ethrian."

"Do me a favor? Don't mention that name. She's got a bee in her bonnet about him lately. She's decided he's still alive. Thinks we should try finding him."

"Is he?"

"I don't know."

"A couple weeks ago you said... "

"I know what I said. This isn't the time to worry about it. We've got a baby to get born." He was surprised at himself. He was snarling. Did the possible survival of the boy so threaten him?

"I'll check back later, in case something turns up."

"It won't." He watched the King depart. The man's shoulders were stiff in a carrying-the-weight-of-the-world fashion. "My friend, you're going to have to learn to mind your own business at least some of the time." He wheeled and stalked toward his apartment.