“That’s weird. That’s the third time this winter.”
“It does happen. Once in a winter, one year out of ten. We haven’t gotten unusual amounts of snow.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ve been slow catching on. But I get it, now. Varthlokkur doesn’t want us raiding in the vicinity of Vorgreberg.”
“He’s taking Inger’s side?”
“No. He’s keeping me from doing something desperate.”
“Why would you?”
“Because I’m dying. Because I want so badly to see things settled before I go. Because I am the glue.”
Kristen did not argue. Neither did she spout upbeat nonsense. This was grim news. “I see.”
“Again, I apologize for dragging you in when I couldn’t keep my promises. I wouldn’t have done it had I known then what I know now.”
“I do have to ask if you’re sure.”
“I am. This is in the blood. I deceived myself in thinking that it wouldn’t get me, I suppose. Putting a shine on it, I can say that I’ve gotten four years more than my father did.”
“Oh.”
“So what shall we do, girl? You don’t have to tell me now but you’ll need to decide within ten days. I’ll beat back the darkness as long as I can but that won’t be long. And once I go, everything else comes apart.”
Because he was the glue. And there was no one to replace him. “Credence, there may be a positive possibility yet.”
“I could use one. Please explain.”
“The interest shown by the sorcerer.”
“You think he knows about my problem?”
Had he not said so himself? “Nothing escapes him.”
“Perhaps.”
“As you say, you are the glue. Attract his attention. Show him that you know he’s interfering. He might make contact. Then you can get his views on what you should be doing.”
Abaca’s face darkened.
“I don’t mean ask him to give orders. Find out what’s going on in the rest of the world. He knows more than you do. There might be a powerful strategic reason for avoiding hostilities. Maybe Inger’s regiments have begun to have a change of heart.”
Abaca grunted. “I’ll think about that. You think about what’s best for you and yours. We can still get you out of the country and back into hiding.”
Kristen and Dahl made the slow walk to their own cabin. Dahl asked no questions while they were in the open.
…
The fugitive spent four days looking for a way to cross the Roe River without being noticed. There were no bridges this far south.
Something dramatic had happened upstream. The water was high, filthier than usual, clotted with debris and the occasional rotting carcass with feeding birds aboard. The current was not swift but it was there. The flood was too wide to swim and dangerous in more than the obvious ways. There was a shark in the Sea of Kotsum that did not mind the absence of salt in the river.
A boat was his only option. That was a problem. There was little westbound traffic. That was all military. He did not feel daring enough to ferry over with Shinsan’s couriers.
Hiring a rowboat might work. But with the river in flood no boatman would hazard a night crossing. He would be sighted by day. Someone would ask questions.
He could kill the oarsman on the other side but that would cause excitement, too.
He went back to the swimming option. Suppose he made a float, then crossed on a clear night, steering by the stars?
No. Sharks or no sharks, that was begging for disaster.
Almost despairing, he decided to take the long way. That might take weeks but he was not pressed for time. No one was waiting. He had been dead for a long time.
He headed north.
Eventually there would be a city. It would boast a bridge. There would be traffic and confusion. A foreigner would not be unusual. He could hire on with a caravan. And he could enjoy some real food for a change.
His fourth day headed north, working back eastward in search of a ford across a small tributary, he stumbled onto a coracle hidden in the undergrowth. There was no one around. The coracle was neither booby-trapped nor cursed. It was just a tool belonging to someone with a penchant for going unnoticed. A gift from God.
…
Nepanthe stepped back from behind Varthlokkur’s right shoulder. “That was cleverly done.”
“I thought so myself.”
“I’m going to go bake sweet cakes for the kids.”
The wizard grunted. “You do that.” He wondered how indifferent a mother Mist could be. She had not yet, insofar as he could tell, made the least effort to find her children or to determine their welfare.
It was possible, of course, that she knew they were with their aunt and were, therefore, already as safe as they could be in this dark world.
Chapter Four:
1017 AFE:
Dread Realm
The Empress and two bodyguards left portals in the transfer staging chamber of a tower once owned by the Karkha family of Throyes. The duty section had received a warning only minutes earlier. Men were still scurrying around, trying to make the place more presentable. Officer in Charge, Candidate Lein She, was still fumbling with his laces. He had had no time to don his mask.
Mist’s bodyguards made their disapproval obvious.
Mist had no such sentiments. It was unreasonable to expect the tower and garrison to be drill ground perfect at short notice.
She conversed briefly with a portal attendant while the Candidate pulled himself together. “No visitors? Not even a random attempt to come through, or to make contact?” She examined the transfer log. Only Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i had visited since the tower became the place where special prisoners were held.
The Karkha no longer existed. Their tower, which rose without outer defenses, could be accessed only by a ladder that had to be lowered from a doorway two stories above the street. It was invulnerable to the normal city threats: riots, jealous rivals, and local politics. It was not designed to withstand military operations.
Lein She had himself together. The Empress said, “Good evening, Candidate. Your logs appear to be in order.”
“Thank you, O Celestial.”
Mist was taken aback. Was he making mock? No one had used that title since her father and his twin, the Princes Thaumaturge, had overcome their father. Celestial had been one of Tuan Hoa’s many titles. “I’m not my grandfather, Candidate. Relax. I’m just here to see the prisoner.”
“Uh… Which one… Great One?”
“You’re holding more than one?”
“Seven. All politicals.”
“The westerner.”
“This way. I’ll have refreshments brought.”
She ignored a temptation to be malicious. “Tea and rice cakes. Then show these two to the kitchen. Feed them lots of meat.”
Legionary discipline triumphed all round. No one questioned her decision to see the prisoner alone. But, then, no one thought the Empress might need help.
…
Ragnarson believed he understood the caged tiger’s mood. In the main, it would be rage.
It had been a while since he had been installed here, wherever here might be. He had fallen asleep in a place where they had healed his war wounds. He had awakened here with no sense of time having passed. The few keepers he saw were strangers uninterested in chatting.
He was not uncomfortable. His cell was an oval room thirty feet on its long axis, twenty on that with the one flattened side. There were three tiny windows. Each overlooked an unfamiliar city. The windows faced north, south, and east. There was no window in the flat west wall. Each window boasted thin bars and a vigorous sorcery that kept out all odor and noise. He thought he was about eighty feet above street level in an area that was sealed off.
Only once had he seen anyone down there, and that had been one of the Tervola.
The room was furnished sparsely but not cheaply. He had a bed, large and comfortable. He had a table for eating, chairs, several quality rugs, and another table where he could sit and read or write. That came equipped with several books, a stock of pens, paper, and ink in three colors. His captors allowed him a penknife.