Kristen and Inger also suspected the influence of Michael Trebilcock. Whenever anything not easily explained took place Michael usually got the blame-mainly in situations likely to produce a net positive result.
Old Meddler or assorted devils and witches got blamed when a worse tomorrow seemed likely.
Kristen read the letter Inger had brought, for the third time. Not a word had changed. She had to speak to its contents eventually, though there was little enough to say. “This does prove that Liakopulos survived.”
Inger grunted. She was not happy. She had the Greyfells taint, which meant that she resented having any option denied her. “Any thoughts?”
“Not much to think, is there? We just need to not act like brats.”
The letter was from General Liakopulos, supported by the old men of High Crag. The Mercenaries’ Guild meant to guarantee Kavelin’s succession, as established by King Bragi, who was still a Guild member. He had left the Guild but the Guild had not left him.
“No choice,” Kristen said. “Liakopulos was as much the King’s man as his Guild status let him be.”
Inger muttered something that included several virulent Itaskian swearwords. In a more composed voice, she continued, “I imagine the old men are concerned about Shinsan’s ambitions, too.”
“Maybe they know something.”
“They know history.”
Kristen read the general’s letter again. It was not ambiguous. “It is what it is. Fussing won’t change it. It sets limits on how the tapestry of tomorrow can be woven.”
“I just hate… Forget it. You’re right. We’ve been told. Only Bragi can change it.” Inger put her embroidery aside, rose, paced, eventually wondered, “When will she send them back? She said she would.”
Mist had made no demands other than to ask that her lifeguard be treated well. He had a family. They looked forward to his homecoming.
Inger was concerned more about her sorcerer than her husband. Without Babeltausque or money she was just an impoverished noble who had not yet abandoned her airs.
Having others acknowledge her status meant everything to Inger.
She had a full ration of the Greyfells inferiority complex.
“She’s probably too busy staying alive.”
“Understatement. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Of course she’s busy! That happens when you’re dim enough to try to play on the same field as… Ah! You almost got me to say it. That would be one way to get around those dire warnings about what will happen if…”
Kristen did not argue. There was no point. Inger was stressed. She would be who and what she was, only more so.
Inger punched herself in the forehead. “Stupid! Why do I go all whack job when it’s time to be sensible?”
“Suppose we get Ozora back?”
Inger stopped pacing. “Are you serious?”
“If she was here, neither of us would mouth off without thinking first. That dragon would lean on us so hard…”
“I couldn’t take it. The pressure would build up and I’d do something stupider than anything Dane would try. What I’ll do, though, is ask myself, ‘What would Ozora do?’ when I butt heads with something really tough.”
“I’ll try that, too. What about your cousin? Is it really safe to send him home?”
Inger shrugged. “His time in the cellar won’t have changed him much but he might’ve grasped the fact that he has to at least fake it to survive. Plus the family needs somebody in Itaskia. Their problems are so awful, he won’t ever have time to bother us again.”
“That makes sense.” And, she was sure, Greyfells would get his own unambiguous communique from High Crag. “I’ve had a letter myself. From Abaca Enigara.”
Kristen watched Inger think, realize, harden, but consider, What would Ozora do? before she asked, “Would that be the Colonel’s daughter?”
“That would. Being a girl, custom won’t allow it officially, but, practically, she’s chief of chiefs of the Marena Dimura now. Some good soul let her know all about the Thingmeet. She wants to follow the path her father tried to blaze.”
Inger drew on Ozora again before she suppressed her prejudices enough to observe, “This poor hagridden kingdom. I pity it if Bragi and Michael don’t come back.”
“Really? My whole life women have been telling me how much better the world would run if the girls were in charge.”
“Pardon my cynicism. Show me a couple of examples.”
Kristen shook her head. The only women she knew of, who had gotten famous, had been really serious kickers of ass.
…
Babeltausque found himself second-in-command to his thirteen-yearold girlfriend, who could be precisely decisive even when she had no clue. She was one of those people who got things done.
“Lein She, we need firewood.” In seconds she had determined that the Candidate was the line officer while Tang Shan was only a senior technical specialist. “Send someone to find some. Then we’ll inventory our resources, including skills, before our ability to communicate goes away.”
It might. The easterners were becoming harder to follow. “Keeping warm is our main project for now.”
Dawn came. They watched it from the portico of what seemed to be a temple. The world sprawled below was grey and white with tufts of brown weed showing through crusty old snow.
Carrie said, “Let’s figure out where we are. And find something to eat. I’m really hungry.” Fire was no problem. A forest lay at the foot of the hill. The easterners had tramped a path already.
Tang Shan spoke slowly. The sorcerer said, “I can’t follow him anymore.”
“What he said last night. He’s been here before. Only now he says if we head straight south we’ll come to a road.”
“You still understand him?”
“You have to listen hard.”
Tang Shan said something more.
Babeltausque listened hard. This time he caught a few words. Something about small game. Rabbit and bird tracks marred the snow. The crust had weathered till those were featureless depressions, but they did suggest that a clever hunter need not starve. “I can help with food.”
“We’re going to get cold,” Carrie said. “Them worse than us. They’re not used to our kind of winter. But we can’t stay here-unless we want to make it to spring by eating each other.”
Babeltausque asked, “Why do you say things like that?”
“Gallows humor? All right. It wasn’t funny. But it was true. If there’s a road we need to find it and let it take us somewhere warm.”
The sorcerer could not argue with that. “Let’s get out of the wind and get a plan worked out.” Carrie was right about them going to get cold. They had barely enough clothing amongst them to preserve the new girl’s modesty and their own. And they would have to help the woman travel. She did not do well on one foot.
She was a strange one. The oddest things amazed her.
Carrie said, “Bee Boss, we could outfit you and send you for help while the rest of us stay by the fire.”
Him because he was most likely to get serious attention, of course.
“Wouldn’t work. This place can’t be found from outside, remember?”
“Are we sure this is the place where the King came back?”
“You heard Tang Shan. And how many secret temples, with transfer portals in them, can there be near Vorgreberg? So we all have to go and we all have to be miserable and I really, really hate that. I really don’t like winter. And right now it feels cold enough to cause frostbite.”
The easterners kept whispering amongst themselves. Near as Babeltausque could tell they were trying to follow what he and Carrie were saying. He and she spoke deliberately, for their benefit, and for that of the woman, who seemed able to read moods well, if not follow their actual speech. Tang Shan focused on Carrie intensely, working hard to maintain communication. Survival might depend upon it. She reported, “He says they can create a heat exchange bubble big enough to keep three people warm. We can take turns.”
“That should help.” He had no idea what a heat exchange bubble might be. Definitely not something within his own skill set. Food he could help with. He could call game to the slaughter if he could see the animal before he started the draw. “How far to that road?”