“Settle down. Relax. Sleep if you have to. We’re safe. Its dark out. We can’t go anywhere now, anyway.” There would be no more transfers. They were on foot for now.
Babeltausque settled beside Carrie, snuggled in for the warmth, physical and emotional. He slid the sword across to its owner. It was in bad shape. The nicks might never get polished out. Carrie teased, “I saw you lick your chops when you saw those boobies.”
“I can’t help being alive. But your sweet booblets are the only ones for me.”
“It’s all right. They’re so excellent I’d want to get my hands on them myself if I was that kind of girl.”
Babeltausque looked at the mystery woman. “Who are you?” As though she might understand. Hell, she might. Tang Shan did.
He was sure she was the presence he had felt in the transfer stream.
…
Ragnarson joined the crowd looking over Scalza’s shoulders. People babbled in several languages. Old Meddler had found some way to get at the Karkha Tower through the transfer stream. That was unexpected. The Tower was lost, no doubt about it. Those who had not gotten out quickly had become part of the red layer now coating everything inside the transfer chamber.
The Star Rider sent a demon through, somehow, though that should not have been possible. It killed everyone, opened the way for its master, who made adjustments to a freight portal and brought an iron statue through. But not the Windmjirnerhorn. Passage through the transfer stream would destroy that.
Old Meddler had to do without while his winged mount made the long real-world journey from the farthest east.
Mist said, “Lord Yuan, it’s gone well enough, so far, despite the surprises. Dare I hope that something there might nail him?”
“No, Illustrious. But he won’t be able to transfer out.”
“Then with Varthlokkur’s help we might be able to smash the place with him inside. Where is Varthlokkur?”
Scalza said, “Almost here, Mother. But he won’t be much help till he and the Unborn recuperate.”
Ragnarson glanced at Mist’s daughter. She seemed unhappy about the Unborn’s situation.
Lord Yuan refused to be distressed by the disaster. He said, “Let’s locate those who managed to get away.”
Scalza snapped, “Want to tell me where to look?”
Lord Yuan did have suggestions. He knew exactly where each Karkha Tower portal should have taken someone before having been sabotaged by his lost technicians. He was quite proud of his “children.”
He did admit, “This will take time. The strange couple wanted to go to Kavelin. But…”
The boy said, “I checked our old house, Mother. They didn’t go there.”
Ragnarson lost interest. He joined Haroun and Yasmid against a wall. Haroun had withdrawn completely. Yasmid was almost as remote. Their hosts had no interest in Hammad al Nakir anymore. Anything could have happened there.
The same was true for Kavelin.
It was all about Old Meddler, now, and only about Old Meddler.
Haroun asked, “Have we been hornswoggled?”
“Huh?” Bragi could not recall his friend ever using that word before. “How so?”
“Were we collected just to get us out of the way of the Dread Empire’s grand design?”
“Not intentionally. This is real.” The effect might be the same, though, if Old Meddler miraculously lost the round. “She’s probably just gotten everything from us that she wanted.”
Yasmid stirred but said nothing. She clung to Haroun constantly now. She had nothing more to do with her father. Ragnarson had not seen El Murid for days. His handlers kept him isolated somewhere, safe from the specialists responsible for Ethrian and the Old Man. Curious, that. If the Disciple had given Mist anything useful Ragnarson had missed the transaction. The only positive contribution El Murid made anymore was to stay the hell out of the way.
He could shut the hell up, too.
Everyone else would happily deal with God’s concerns once they met Him face to face-including the Disciple’s presumptive heiress.
“You going to fight when he shows?” Ragnarson asked.
Haroun gave him a look that asked if he was stupid. “The choice is between dying fighting and dying whimpering.” He was not happy about being caught in those jaws.
“Ideas?”
“None. But I have an advantage. I know he’s coming. I didn’t have that with Magden Norath. And he won’t be expecting me.”
Ragnarson did a slow turn, ended up staring at Mist as she bent over Scalza. “He doesn’t know about most of us.” How deliberately had that woman worked to make this come together the way it had?
She sensed his regard, turned, frowning slightly. He shifted his attention back to Haroun. His thoughts had begun to drift away from business. “I need to make peace with Inger.”
Bin Yousif was as monogamous as any creature that ever lived but he understood. “At your time of life? That would be smart. Not to mention an act of political wisdom.”
“Yeah.” He glanced at Mist. The charge had gone neutral but the curve of her behind still reminded him of Sherilee. He shivered. “There a cold breeze in here?”
“Actually, yes.”
Varthlokkur had brought it. The man appeared to have aged two decades. He was exhausted. He had failed to close the door behind him.
Mist’s daughter touched Nepanthe’s boy lightly, then made a quick departure. No one paid any heed.
Wen-chin and the Old Man gave up their seats at the shogi table. The wizard collapsed into a chair. Mist settled opposite him. He eyed the Winterstorm, noting that it had been altered but showed no excitement about that. Mist said something that probably explained.
Haroun asked, “You going to go eavesdrop?”
“They won’t use a language I understand. They’ll let me know what they want me to know when they figure I need to know it.”
“Hell of a way to run things.”
Ragnarson responded with a sarcastic snort. “It’s the way we all run things. Transparency is against the rules.”
Haroun actually chuckled. Yasmid smiled. Both were responses more positive than most Ragnarson had heard lately. He told no one in particular, “It can’t be long, now. Even if I don’t really get what’s going on.”
“You aren’t out in the wilderness by yourself, my friend. I’ll bet nobody involved in this really knows.”
Yasmid whispered, “God Himself must be confused. No two of His creatures are pulling in the same direction.”
Haroun did the bizarre. He demonstrated affection publicly by kissing his wife’s cheek. “Precisely the truth, heart of my heart.” His expression dared his friend to even note such remarkable behavior.
Ragnarson winked.
Chapter Thirty:
Year 1019 AFE:
New Year Begun
K risten watched the boys play. Fulk had a snobbish streak. He tried to lord it over his nephew. Bragi would not have it. He protested with punches. Fulk’s streak was fading.
Still, they got on better than did their mothers.
The women shared a small room with the boys and a maid whose principal task was to referee. Josiah Gales, Nathan Wolf, and others came and went as they dealt with routine business.
Kristen felt awkward but knew this was more so for Inger. Inger sprang from a rough and tumble political tradition. No doubt she was still trying to come up with ways to twist things to her advantage.
Kristen saw no chance of that-unless Fulk fathered a potential heir. Bragi’s succession solution had broad support. Even the Estates had signed on-with limited enthusiasm. Ozora Mundwiller had decreed that the tapestry of tomorrow would be woven in accordance with the King’s will. Sedlmayr and its commercial allies would guarantee that. The monarchs of several neighboring kingdoms had recognized the arrangement formally, too, perhaps made nervous by the interest the eastern Empress had shown toward this side of the Mountains of M’Hand.