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 celclass="underline" 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.