Mist said, “You do recall that the Deliverer was the grandson of the man who created the Unborn?”
“I do.”
Maybe he wished that he did not.
Maybe Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i had begun to wish that he had not allowed himself to be seduced away from his quiet life as commander of the Demonstration Legion.
“You would. You’re thorough. So, Lord Ssu-ma. What shall we do with this gift? What do you suppose the Deliverer’s grandfather had in mind?”
“I couldn’t guess his motives, Illustrious. Surely the killer will know nothing useful, and I doubt that the Empire Destroyer would expect us to use his skills.”
“Could we be expected to turn him over to Ragnarson?” “I doubt that.”
“Then put him into an empty cell. But let me have a look at him first. Maybe I’m supposed to recognize him.”
She did not.
The captive was a gaunt, leathery man of advancing years who did not seem noteworthy at all. He was empty and maybe a little mad after his long flight from Tamerice.
Mist directed that he be cleaned up. She did not want parasites colonizing her tower.
…
In moments when he surfaced from grief Ragnarson realized that something was happening elsewhere in the tower. He heard what sounded like construction racket.
He passed several days in communion with despair. He dwelt, to the point of obsession, on what a different world it would be had he just not led his army through the Savernake Gap.
How many lives lost or ruined because of one fit of pride? And the full toll had yet to be paid. Sherilee was just the latest charge.
“How are you feeling?”
Bragi started. He had not heard Mist come in.
“Better than before. How long have I been feeling sorry for myself?”
“Five days.”
“You’ve been hanging around that long?”
“No. I’ve been attending my duties outside. Other duties brought me back. I thought I’d look in. You seem changed.”
In a voice edged with wonder, Ragnarson said, “I think you’re right. I feel different. I’m not all boiling inside. It’s confusing, but I seem to have been stricken by clarity.”
“Interesting.”
“It’s almost like waking up after a long fever.”
Mist considered him critically. “I hope so. You haven’t been you for a long time.”
Ragnarson paced. This was not his caged animal in a rage pacing. This was slow and thoughtful. “I’m probably not myself now, either. Do people get struck sane by tragedy?”
“Worthy thought. We’ll watch for a relapse. But do try to cling to the state you’re in now.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Unfortunately, you aren’t the reason for my being here. I just stopped to say hello.”
“Well, thank you for that.”
…
Mist went to the room that Shih-ka’i had remodeled. She looked around. “It looks good. Is that window big enough?”
Shih-ka’i replied, “It is. You aren’t a large woman.”
She snorted. A statement of fact, yes, but she was vain enough to take offense. She knew, though, that the pig farmer’s son would not understand even if she did explain.
She asked, “Do you suppose he’s watching?”
“I would be if I had dropped that man here and right away you started remodeling.”
Mist heard an odd inflection there. “You have something on your mind?”
“I do. But it’s not germane. We have this project on the table. Shall we begin?”
Mist made another circuit of the room, which resembled Ragnarson’s, several levels below. It now had a larger window. She saw nothing to discourage her. “Have we unraveled the mystery of the attack on the tower yet?”
“No. All paths lead to dead ends.”
“Michael Trebilcock, then.”
“Every prisoner here was high value and most had friends a lot closer than Kavelin.”
“Could there be another raid while I’m involved in this?” “I don’t know about that. I do know that an assault will not succeed.” Mist stared at the expanded window. Was she ready emotionally? “My father and his brother made transfers without a receiving unit.
Do you have any idea how they did that?”
The inquiry took Shih-ka’i by surprise. “Illustrious? Is that true? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“I don’t know why it came to mind. I’ve never heard anything like that, either. But I just realized, both of them got into Varthlokkur’s fortress in the Dragon’s Teeth, then got themselves trapped and killed.
How did they get there?”
“Is that true?”
Mist paused. Was it true? She had the story from several sources, none quite agreeing. Some claimed to have been there. None told her what really happened back when.
“I suppose I’ll have to ask. Bring out the board.”
…
Varthlokkur chuckled. So. The woman had been playing him with all the hustle and bustle. Though, of course, that had been in support of this.
“Nepanthe. Come look.”
Smyrena on her shoulder, Nepanthe came. She peered into the globe Varthlokkur was using. She saw Mist beside a large blackboard, smiling. Mist was dressed in masculine travel clothes. The board proclaimed, I am ready to come see my children in bold chalk lettering.
Nepanthe asked, “Are you going to let her?”
“What do you think? Can we trust her not to do something unpleasant?”
Nepanthe considered. “She’ll behave as long as the children are with us.”
“I imagine you’re right. So. Start getting ready but don’t tell them. She could change her mind. I don’t want their hearts broken.”
Nepanthe put her arms around him, from behind, and kissed him on the right cheek.
He blushed. She did not notice.
He had longed for that sort of spontaneous affection across the ages.
Nepanthe went away.
Varthlokkur summoned the Unborn.
…
Ragnarson wakened needing to use the garderobe. He did that more frequently lately. But that was a problem for old men. He was not old. Not yet. No.
There was a moon out tonight. He lined it up so he could see it. It was living proof that there was a reality beyond his prison.
Something the color of freshly watered blood occluded the moon. Ragnarson started. What the hell?
That?
Eyes old in evil stared for several seconds. Then the Unborn left.
Ragnarson’s heart hammered. That had been a shock. What did it mean? Was a rescue under way?
Nothing came of it. It was just something to haunt his thoughts. When he wakened next morning he was no longer sure the monster had not been a nightmare.
…
The Unborn could do nothing but execute its orders. Varthlokkur had made sure of that when he bound the monster. But the evil in the beast would express itself.
It tried tormenting the Empress, traveling to Fangdred, by dropping her, then catching her after a thousand feet of freefall. But she was no fun. She did not scream after the first surprise.
Radeachar never felt the magic being woven. It discovered the truth the third time it tried a drop. The woman plunged in silence. There was no pleasure in that.
There was pain aplenty, though. The farther she fell the worse that became.
Radeachar was not capable of complex thought. It did possess a strong drive toward self-preservation. That kicked in fast. Thereafter it concentrated on completing its task as quick as could be.
…
Fangdred boasted a small courtyard behind its gate. In the lowlands the world was easing into summer but winter hung on doggedly in the Dragon’s Teeth. Ice rimed Fangdred’s grey walls, inside and out. Black ice patched the grey pavements of the court. Mist slipped almost as soon as the Unborn set her down. She cursed. That inelegance was not flattering.
She grumbled about the cold, too. She had not anticipated the difference in weather, nor the impact of the increased altitude.
Varthlokkur, Nepanthe, Scalza, and Ekaterina came out to meet her. The children stared as though she was some fabulous beast. They did not run to her. In fact, Ekaterina retreated behind Nepanthe, peeked around with one eye, as though she was a shy four.