Mist looked to Lord Ssu-ma, who had done his best to remain invisible. He had nothing to contribute now.
Mist said, “We will take time to enjoy the sunset. I’m told the wondrous colors are by grace of the wars with Matayanga and the Deliverer.”
“A sky painted with the dust of souls,” Ragnarson observed. “Don’t attribute that to me. Derel Prataxis said it.”
Mist did not believe him, but why argue? “Those wars are over. Their horrors have been sucked down into the quicksand of time. If gaudy sunsets are their memorial, let the survivors enjoy them.”
Ragnarson grumbled, “Aren’t we deep into a philosophical pocket of night.”
Mist said, “Time to go back to your quarters. The trip should be easier this time.”
“Harsh.”
“And I have to get back to being mistress of this mad empire.”
…
Ragnarson settled for the night feeling renewed and too excited to sleep. He obsessed over the wonderful trivia he had seen. His happiest recollection was of lightning bugs in their courtship dances. He was amazed that they had fireflies in the east, too.
…
Shih-ka’i asked, “Did we gain anything tonight?”
“Nothing knowledgewise. He did demonstrate a renewed ability to master his emotions.”
“For what that is worth.”
“You are a sour one lately.”
“That I cannot deny, Illustrious.”
“What do you need? A new war in which to shine? I can’t give you one for a generation.”
“Illustrious, I prefer the struggle for peace. Sadly, we don’t live in a world where such thinking is practical.”
“What do you want, Shih-ka’i?”
Lord Ssu-ma marshaled his courage. “A suite here. In this tower.” “For your own hideaway? Or for an enemy you want bound without hope?”
“There is someone I want to install in a place that respects his standing while assuring an absence of contact with the world.”
“You make it sound deliciously mysterious.”
Shih-ka’i shrugged. “The reality is quite banal.”
“Make it happen quickly. We have the final peace terms to dictate to Matayanga.”
“I’ll be there when you need me.”
…
Shih-ka’i transferred to the island, he hoped for the last time. Though Ehelebe never much impacted his life he traversed the installation as though it had been the scene of significant childhood events. As though he wanted to reinforce memories of places he would never see again. He did little things as he wandered about.
He found Kuo Wen-chin and the crazy man making breakfast. The island was that far east. Kuo was pleased to see him.
“I know it hasn’t been but it seems like a long time since you visited.” Kuo eyed Shih-ka’i expectantly.
“I haven’t yet dropped your name into conversation but I have been given permission to use a particular piece of property as I see fit.” He explained.
“I would be a prisoner in that tower instead of here.”
“It’s the best you can expect.”
Kuo smiled a tired smile.
“Somewhat less than optimal for you,” Shih-ka’i said. “The food will be better.”
“And what would be the attitude of the Empress toward Kuo Wenchin these days?”
“She has none. She never mentions you.”
Both Tervola glanced at the old man. Though he moved slowly he did his share. He hummed as he began clearing away. The tune was catchy but unfamiliar.
Kuo said, “I can’t abandon him.”
“Uhm?”
“He’s better than he was but he’s not ready to take care of himself.”
“I wouldn’t leave him. He may be a link to the history of this place.” Shih-ka’i paused briefly. “Magden Norath is dead. A serendipitous thing. This was his headquarters, once.”
The old man ceased humming. “Ehelebe,” he said, then got lost in his own mind again.
“I can’t divine the past,” Kuo said. “I’m sure there is interesting historical stuff to be found here. If I could. Unfortunately, a clever man might use the same tools to manage long distance communications.”
Shih-ka’i replied, “You would know better than I. I’m not the technical sort.”
“I’ll move if my friend comes, too.”
“Definitely not a problem.”
“On the other hand, permitted the tools, I could make a career of exploring this island’s yesterdays.”
“We might consider that after the Empire relaxes and persons of stature have become less paranoid about what ancient sorceries potential rivals might be unearthing.”
Kuo Wen-chin sighed. “I understand. I don’t like it, but my likes are irrelevant. It isn’t just Norath and Ehelebe, either. This place is ages older than that. This may have been the Star Rider’s base before the Pracchia betrayed it and the Deliverer drew attention to it.”
The old man, moving glacially, twitched or winced each time Kuo said a name. Neither Tervola missed that. And neither believed the old guy understood why he responded that way.
Shih-ka’i said, “I do think it’s a good idea to keep him close.”
“Yes. I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“We should disguise you. The transfer operators might recognize you.”
Kuo said, “I’ll be a bodyguard. The old man can be a prize we’re moving for safekeeping.”
…
The timing was coincidental but the Star Rider visited the eastern island shortly after its evacuation. He had not been there since the flight of the prisoner Ethrian, who had become the Deliverer. He expected the place to have been abandoned. The evidence argued otherwise.
Use by the Dread Empire was clear. The fortress reeked of Tervola. It was an excellent place to operate quietly. They would be back.
Old Meddler’s nerves had not yet recovered from the shock of Norath’s murder. Inimical anarchy lurked in every shadow, lately. Experience left him confident that his jumpiness was justified. Ahead lay an age where all the survivors would hammer their imaginations for inventive ways to kill him.
He rested briefly, then cleared out before he stumbled into any of the booby traps certain to be cleverly disguised.
…
Mist reviewed the current status of the portals installed inside Kavelin over the decades. Technicians tended to be apolitical and kept good records. But search results were not encouraging.
The chief of technical research told her, “Those people were quite skilled at finding and destroying portals once you left.”
“I know that, Lord Yuan. Portals that aren’t there now don’t interest me. How many survived? Must I have new ones smuggled in?”
“Several remain but we’ve only just started trying to reconnect with them. I have my cleverest man, Tang Shan, doing the work.”
“Where would they be?”
“One is in the caverns behind Maisak. One is in the attic of the house you occupied in exile.”
“I can’t see them not finding that.”
“It was a bolt hole type carefully disguised.”
“And the others?”
“One more, in the mausoleum of Queen Fiana. It was a sleeper, never activated.”
“How grotesque. I want the exact status of each by the end of the day.”
“As you will, Illustrious.”
…
Varthlokkur had spent several interesting hours with Ethrian. He did so most mornings, now. This particular morning the boy had sustained his half of a simple conversation. He had asked about Sahmaman no more than a dozen times and appeared to get it when Varthlokkur explained.
But he did not retain the information.
The wizard had gotten the boy to practice writing lists of nouns using a charcoal pencil.
Impatient Scalza demanded, “How soon can we go to the Wind Tower? I want to use my scrying bowl.”
The boy had blood power. It would be amazing if he did not, with his antecedents. He had learned to manage the scrying bowl in two lessons. With it he did more than spy on his mother. Varthlokkur had given him a watch list of interesting operators to follow.
Scalza was of an age where peeping tom efforts were an attraction, too.
Varthlokkur hoped the boy never caught his mother sporting, though he suspected that Mist had lost interest after Valther’s demise.