Wolf mumbled, “I don’t know, Your Grace.” He tried to explain why he had come instead of Gales.
“Ah. Possibilities suggest themselves. Gales either stepped out of the equation deliberately, was ordered out by Inger, or was removed by someone else. That seems most likely. So. Why? To get rid of Gales? Or to move Nathan up a notch?”
The sorcerer said, “That is a pathetically long stretch.”
“Meaning?”
“I believe in the malicious mischief theory of providence. My hypothesis? Gales went out drinking and got mugged, or killed, by somebody who didn’t know who he was.”
“A twist on ‘It’s not conspiracy if it can be explained by stupidity’?”
“Exactly.”
Greyfells stared at Wolf. “Nathan has done well, Babeltausque. Remove the curse.”
Wolf frowned, confused, as he slid away into sleep.
The sorcerer frowned, too, but his scowl was born of irritation.
Nathan Wolf had offended Babeltausque years ago, without knowing it. He never did figure out why the whole world suddenly found him repugnant.
The sorcerer was not happy but he carried out his Duke’s will. He had too grand an idea of his own worth. He would not have survived with the Greyfells family if they had been able to attract a man with more talent and a better character.
Babeltausque schemed, but only in small-minded, personal ways. He did not put his employer at risk.
Dane of Greyfells appreciated that. “Babeltausque, you’ve served my family long and well. We should show our appreciation more fully. Do you have secret aspirations that we could make come true?”
The sorcerer was startled. He squinted at the Duke. Was he being set up for torment? The man was capable of amusing himself by baiting a dog.
Yet he could not keep from blurting, “I do, Lord. But I dare not state it. Punishment would be swift and harsh.”
“Come, now.” The Duke assumed his sorcerer had a secret vice. The breed had that reputation. And Dane of Greyfells had vices he dared indulge only rarely. “Go on. I guarantee your safety. And no one else will know.”
“Lord, I was obsessed with your half-sister Mayenne before we left Itaskia.” He cringed, anticipating a blow.
“Well. You can surprise me. I expected something darker. She’s a little young, though, isn’t she?”
“She’s almost fourteen.” Too old for the sorcerer’s taste, now, but so delectable…
Mayenne was one of a dozen children the previous Duke had fathered on the far side of the blanket. He had been fond enough of this one’s mother to acknowledge her and her sisters.
The Duke was amused. “Babeltausque, I’m glad you spoke up. This can be arranged.” Sudden cruelty edged his voice. “The little bitch needs to learn her place.” She had resisted his own advances more than once. She deserved to be thrown to a beast like Babeltausque.
The sorcerer continued to look amazed.
How his fortunes had turned!
…
Nathan Wolf, on crutches, made the rounds of the Duke’s soldiers, telling them what Inger wanted them to hear-with the Duke’s blessing. A band of three were allowed to slip away. Two days later an eight-man group moved out. Both groups consisted of genuine deserters.
A third band, twenty-six strong, were not the real thing. They included the Duke disguised as an archer and the sorcerer as a muleteer. The archer’s guise suited the Duke. He was skilled with the longbow.
Six miles east of Breitbarth an outrider discovered human remains as vultures and ravens made a getaway. Flies were dense despite the season. There had been several days of warm weather. Maggots were at work. The ravens did not go far. They clustered in nearby trees and cursed.
The remains could still be recognized. They were the men who had deserted first. They had been attacked by archers.
“Bandits?” Greyfells asked the air.
“Hard to tell, Your Grace,” a soldier replied. “The broken arrows are the Marena Dimura type.”
Babeltausque, unhappy about being in the field, said, “It hardly matters now.”
“True enough,” the Duke admitted. “Sorcerer, here is where you earn your sweet cunny. Make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”
Babeltausque soon had his chance. “We’re being stalked. Four men. In the woods to our left. A dozen more are hiding up ahead, in the brush around that lone chestnut.”
Greyfells had been looking forward to this. His troops were all afoot. Each carried a strung bow with an arrow laid across. “The finer you determine where they are the happier I’ll be.”
“Keep moving like you’re ready for trouble but don’t really expect it. I’ll give you my best.” He would. He had a reason to live.
Greyfells halted at the extreme range of the short bow favored by the Marena Dimura. He laid flights of arrows into the ambush area. Shrieks and curses responded.
The frustrated ambushers rose to loose their own shafts. That made the Itaskians’ work easier.
Those ambushers still able to do so ran.
The Itaskians found eight wounded men. They recovered their arrows, left seven dead to their more fortunate brothers. They took one youth along for questioning. His wound was not life-threatening. He was not nearly as tough as he imagined.
Watching Babeltausque booby-trap corpses, Greyfells said, “Sorcerer, I’m developing a whole new appreciation of you. I may give you all of my bastard sisters.”
“Mayenne will be sufficient, Your Grace.” Then greed reared up. “Though Jondelle would make Mayenne a fine companion.”
Greyfells laughed. “Wicked man. But be cautious with Jondelle. She is insane.”
The party smashed three more ambushes. Babeltausque’s stock soared. Years of maltreatment and disdain went by the wayside. Soldiers tended to give respect to those who saved their asses.
Babeltausque was no empire destroyer but he was handy on the killing ground. That carried plenty of weight with the sloggers.
The prisoner was worthless. He had no idea why the forest people were active again. He did what his father told him.
The Itaskians left him alive but in horrible pain. Whoever tried to help would regret his empathy. Babeltausque included a nasty booby trap.
…
Twelve days. Still no sign of Josiah. And no word from Wolf. Things were falling apart. Gales’s disappearance had shaken the garrison. He had been more important than Inger had imagined. Once they suspected that the Colonel was not coming back the native garrison began to evaporate. Changes for the worse were evident daily. Those regiments that had remained loyal soon became paper tigers.
The vanishing soldiers were not shifting allegiance. They were just leaving.
Inger had no reliable intelligence about what was going on outside Vorgreberg. It did seem that the pretender’s soldiers were deserting, too.
The nobility began abandoning Vorgreberg, finding excuses to return to their holdings. They did not want to get crushed in the coming collapse.
Inger knew she needed to make a show of strength. But she had none to show. Her enemies had brought her to the brink by walking away or by ignoring her.
Then came the six deserters from Damhorst, four of them injured. They had lost one on the way. They had hurt the bandits back.
Bandits. There had been no banditry when Bragi was king.
The lead sergeant informed Inger that, “The Duke and a bigger band are behind us. He means to disguise himself as an archer. The sorcerer will be with him.”
“Whitcomb Innsman, isn’t it?”
“Your Majesty’s memory is excellent. It’s been years.”
“It is good. This time, though, I was told before you came in. I need to know my cousin’s real situation. What did he leave behind? Can he count on help if I ambush him?”
That startled the soldier. Evidently no one had considered the possibility that she would try to turn things around herself.
Excellent.
“Innsman, your situation won’t improve much here.”
“It’ll be better than it was.” He described increasingly erratic and ugly behavior by the Duke. Nothing was ever his fault. He was not well, and had become a monster toward those Kaveliners within his power. He abused their younger teen daughters.