She had not taken stock of the full tragedy yet. There had been damage to the transfer portals despite Lein’s heroic stand. That may have been the thrust of the attack.
Nine attackers had died trying to ruin them.
The raid seemed too sophisticated for local malcontents.
Her mind made a grand leap. Somewhere amongst the Tervola was a man who wanted to bring her down.
Phsaw! Of course there was. But no Tervola would recruit, arm, and inform a band of guerrillas. It would be beneath his dignity. Nor would any Tervola believe that cat’s-paws like these stood a chance against her.
Again, she was not supposed to have been here. The attack must have had another point.
She bullied the surviving staff into securing the tower, starting with the ladder and door. A census of prisoners followed.
There had been no escapes. Evidently, liberation had not been the intent. Three prisoners were dead. Another prisoner had been mauled. Three remained undisturbed, including Ragnarson, who had remained unaware of the attack.
Mist focused on the transfer chamber.
Her paranoia did not fade because she was occupied. She considered the possibility that Varthlokkur was behind the assault.
Unlikely, though. Varthlokkur would be direct. He would send his familiar monster.
The raiders had had a close knowledge of the inside of the tower but had lacked real-time intelligence. They had not been ready for her.
She moved to the door of the staging chamber. “Bring the dead raiders to me here! Without damaging them!”
None had gotten away and none had been taken alive. But the dead had not been dead for long. Some could still bear witness.
First, though, she had to make contact with her headquarters.
…
Ragnarson heard a click. He faced the door, uneasy. Neither breakfast nor lunch had come. Mist must be messing with him.
The Empress came in carrying a tray. He stifled a rude remark. She did not look healthy. “Are you all right?”
“No. I just spent three hours talking to the dead.”
“What happened?” That she was still here and bringing him food told him it was something bad.
“Persons as yet unidentified may be aware of your survival.”
“What?” Was she frazzled enough to give something away?
“There was an attack on the tower. By local people. Those I could make talk hoped news that our portals were out would encourage a general uprising. But there were hints that they wanted to free the prisoners held here, too. They expected to suffer heavy casualties. Someone here must have been worth it.”
“Me?”
“Maybe. There were other prisoners. Some of those got killed.”
“You didn’t take any of the raiders alive.” Which explained her remark about talking to the dead.
“No. And I didn’t get to the dead fast enough to squeeze out everything I wanted. But I can’t help thinking some clever soul with a different agenda conned some malcontents. I don’t know that. It’s intuition. Maybe somebody wanted to get you out.”
Michael Trebilcock?
He did not say the name. But no one else they knew had the connections. Or the gall.
“Trebilcock does seem plausible,” she said. “Or maybe just someone who enjoys a good framing.”
“Old Meddler? Why would he sink to that low a level?”
“For the drama?”
“With all the grand drama in this world, he wants to stir up skirmishes?”
“The drama is fading. The war with Matayanga is guttering. I intend to avoid war afterward. It will take Shinsan a generation or two to recover. The Tervola see that. Whatever their feelings toward me, they want to nurture the Empire first. Even dedicated old troublemakers want a healing time.”
“So you’re getting comfortable.”
“Never while I’m a woman trying to control cruel men awed by nothing but superior power. My point is, Shinsan is headed for a time of peace. The whole world is exhausted. There was a battle in Hammad al Nakir recently. Yasmid routed Megelin. She could not follow up. Magden Norath is in Al Rhemish. He could become a tool of the Meddler again. Kavelin is chaotic and getting more so. If the Meddler was behind the raid here his intent might have been to inject you into that chaos to see the fur and blood fly.”
“You said you were thinking that way yourself.”
“I was. Because of my fondness for you and my fondness for Kavelin, which was my home for so long. And because it would be useful to me, as Empress, to have a stable, reliable, friendly monarch there.”
“You walked out.”
“I did. You’re no longer the Bragi Ragnarson who built Kavelin. You wouldn’t go back and make things right. You would work the Meddler’s mischief.”
Ragnarson started pacing. He said nothing. He did not trust himself to control his rage.
“As you will.” Mist moved to the exit. “Do try to use this time more fruitfully. This has to be a life sentence only if you insist.”
Ragnarson’s lips pulled back in a snarl.
…
Nepanthe, with Smyrena in her lap, leaned against her husband. “Why is Bragi that way?” The baby cooed and kicked. “What happened to him?”
Varthlokkur knew a broader question was being asked. Identical stubbornness, on his part, had caused the breach with Ragnarson. That rift underlay all the evil that had befallen Kavelin since. “‘And the Wicked flee where none do pursue.’”
“What?”
“A not quite apposite quotation from a forgotten book. As to the question, I don’t know why Bragi changed. There’s always a temptation to think such shifts are sparked externally.”
“Somebody cast a spell.”
“Possibly. But it’s also possible that massive bad cess just twisted his mind.”
Smyrena needed burping. Nepanthe moved the infant to her shoulder. She gave Varthlokkur a hard look as she did.
He said, “When you’re the one behaving badly you blame outside forces. Unless you’re emotionally invested in being too strong-willed to be influenced.”
“You’d then have an adventure justifying yourself.”
“You would.” The wizard leaned in for a better view of what Ragnarson would do now that he was alone.
Nepanthe said, “Ethrian had a good day. I think he’s starting to get better.”
“Excellent. Excellent.”
“I wish we could resurrect that Sahmaman. He really loved her.”
“I’m sure he did. Her behavior showed that she loved him, too. But we can’t ignore one iron truth. The real Sahmaman died thousands of years ago. We saw a memory given flesh by godlike power.” “I know. I’m wishful-thinking. I just want Ethrian to heal.”
“I understand.” The wizard would not dismay her by saying that the boy would never escape his raging insanity.
Chapter Five:
Year 1017 AFE:
Spring Threatening
The Queen’s liaison with the commander of her bodyguard was an open secret. Everyone inside Castle Krief knew. Everyone gossiped and almost everyone pretended complete ignorance to outsiders. Unaware, Inger and Josiah Gales kept going through the motions of a strictly professional relationship.
Inger asked, “Is it time for Dane?”
Gales, never entirely committed to anyone, said, “He could give up and go home. Family interests have suffered. Money is running short. Desertions and ambushes have his force down to three hundred.”
“I admire your desire to keep faith with Dane. He doesn’t deserve you. Tell his soldiers they could come here. I’d like more Itaskians around me.”
…
Dane of Greyfells was not well. He was pallid in the extreme. Any movement caused pain. Gales had been cautioned against taking notice. He expressed strong gratitude when offered a chair beside the Duke, in front of the fire.
“This is so much better than Castle Krief. Inger won’t waste fuel on heating.” Countless economies were under way. The Crown had a very limited income.
“What news, Josiah? Is there any hope? If not, I should cut my losses. Go home with my tail tucked, to jeers and mockery. I cast the dice but they didn’t love me.”