Unlike most of Radeachar’s clients, bin Yousif enjoyed the aerial view. He was less comfortable inside Fangdred, with all those people, few of whom he knew and some of whom had put the hell into the last few years of his life.
Wandering through the castle, followed by the whelp of the grand she-king of the east, barked at if he thought about touching something, Haroun decided that he really wanted to get on to the next phase of this scheme. Unless he was clever enough to slip out and vanish.
Even after having been briefed he did not completely understand. These crazies wanted to eliminate the perpetual world plague sometimes called the Old Meddler. Laudable ambition, but one that stood no chance of attainment. Might as well aspire to resurrect Ilkazar in all its cruel glory, or to throw a saddle on a whirlwind.
The wizard had let fall the fact that it was hard to track Haroun inside Hammad al Nakir. He just might make sure that was even harder once he got back there.
He thought he would be headed there soon. These people did not show much of their hands but he had no need to see much to penetrate their thinking. He knew how such minds worked. He had one himself.
He might even see Yasmid again.
He looked forward to that.
…
Inger indulged in a quick final consultation with Josiah, Nathan, and Babeltausque. That morning, early, the news was uniformly bright. Virulent factions had yet to develop. Delegates were paying for what they wanted. Taxes were being collected. The locals yielded theirs up with smiles. Prosperity threatened. Indications were, most of those gathered for the Thingmeet really did want to abort any return of the chaos that had prevailed after the disappearance of the King.
“Stop fussing,” Josiah told her. “You’ll do fine. Just step out and tell them what you told me. They’ll give you your say.”
She eyed Fulk, half-asleep in his little chair, dressed in clothes that had been fashionable when Gaia-Lange wore them long ago. There had been no money for anything new.
Josiah went on being reassuring. “I’ll be with him. He doesn’t have to do anything but show himself. If nobody makes a fuss he won’t get distressed and suffer an attack. How is he now?” The Colonel looked hard at Doctor Wachtel.
“You are correct, Colonel. I gave him his medication.”
The old man kept answering his calling despite the stress of being a known foe lurking near Fulk and Inger. Inger firmly believed him incapable of violence. She was correct. Wachtel would do no physical harm to forward his politics.
Gales dropped to a knee before Fulk, made tiny adjustments to the boy’s ruff. “Remember what to do?”
The boy nodded. He was a little scared and a lot nervous, but serious and determined as only a small child can be.
“Good. So. People. Let’s do it.”
Babeltausque went first, as an intimidator. The rumble of a hundred conversations began to diminish.
Nathan slipped away to circulate and eavesdrop.
Out Fulk went, followed by Gales, then by Inger. The boy took his position, in view of everyone. He did not show the distress that Josiah had feared-in part because his eyes were not good. He could not make out most of the faces turned his way.
Inger stepped to the rostrum, released a small, near-whimper. Her vision was excellent. She saw every face just fine. Many belonged to men who wished her ill fortune. She began her speech disconnected from its content and intent as she tried to execute Babeltausque’s advice about meeting the eyes of every audience member at least once.
She did fine till she came to the delegation from Sedlmayr.
Her jaw locked.
Her body froze.
She could get out nothing but an inarticulate sort of squeak. That went on and on and on.
A grumble began, delegates asking what had happened.
Gales needed half a minute to get it. His eyes were not prepared to see the impossible.
Ozora Mundwiller donned a hard, cold, smug smile. She held two pair, kings and knaves. Two Bragis, plus Michael Trebilcock and Aral Dantice. Not to mention a selection of queens.
Babeltausque could not tear his gaze away from the Heltkler girl.
How had those people gotten in unnoticed? Though there were few guards, none of them instructed to look out for dead kings, somebody should have noticed something.
The noise kept growing because Inger kept staring, ashen, a mouse frozen by the stare of a viper. Fulk began to get scared. Gales oozed a step nearer Babeltausque. “We’re in the deep shit now but don’t do anything unless we’re attacked.”
Babeltausque recognized only that one face. He felt the tension of the moment, though. Things were not going according to plan. Perilously not. “Got you. But we need to do something.”
A tall man left the Sedlmayrese. He shed a massive travel duster and the limp and slouch that had helped conceal his identity. Eyes on Inger, he came forward. Others began to recognize him. By the time he joined his wife pandemonium shook the Thing hall.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Late Autumn, Year 1018 AFE:
Desert of Despair
M egelin’s favored henchmen were the twin functionaries Mizr and Misr the Fatherless, which they preferred to abd-Megelin, or servant-of-Megelin. Lesser Royalist lights had begun to distance themselves, softly and cautiously. Rumor said the twins were older than Al Rhemish itself. They had changed names and faith as often as the city had. They were archetypically venal, with a knack for charming anyone close by. For no rational reason Megelin trusted them above all the other blackhearts around him.
Megelin’s current favor was, largely, extorted. Mizr had bumbled in while the king was conferring with a being commonly considered mythical. The twins were not harsh in their demands, though, because Megelin’s friend was without pity or remorse. There was no escaping his farseeing eye or far-reaching wrath.
It took only a few words from that entity to convince the twins that they ought to become extensions of the will of King Megelin. Naturally, both kept their fingers crossed while their oaths were being extorted.
Misr and Mizr were there again when the entity came demanding details of events the night the monster Radeachar visited.
What little Megelin had to report he had gathered only because he feared that he might be asked. He did not himself care what happened on the old men side of town.
Even the stupid understood that the monster had wanted to be noticed. Even the dim knew which puppeteer dangled the Unborn. What even the brilliant could not fathom was, why Al Rhemish?
Megelin suggested, “It was all about confusion. Meant to cause exactly the disorders we’re beginning to see now.”
“Layers,” the ancient mused. “There will be layers, more and deeper, some planned minutely, some improvised, some coming to life despite never having been foreseen. What else happened that night?”
Megelin’s seekers had found nothing more solid than a thin rumor that his father had been seen over where the antique soldiers still hung on, consuming resources and informing the world of all the better ways they would do things if they were still in charge.
This rumor meant no more than scores just like it heard almost every day. Hammad al Nakir was nostalgic. Hammad al Nakir had forgotten the bad times. Hammad al Nakir wanted its old king back. Hammad al Nakir was trying to conjure him back from the realm of the dead.
“Fantasy or not, pursue that,” the Star Rider ordered. “We need to know what that sorcerer was doing while his familiar was entertaining idiots.”
The world shifted into an instant of total disorientation. Megelin and the twins were unsure why. The Star Rider’s admonition became a driving, throbbing obsession. They began to torment already touchy subjects more vigorously, trying to ferret out facts they might not recognize if they found them. They made plenty of new enemies.