Ragnarson wept then. For his wife and children, and for Rolf. Rolf had been both a true friend and a loyal follower. No one could have asked more of the man than he had given voluntarily. Again Ragnarson affirmed his determination to avenge the dead.
Then he joined Haaken.
"The first thing I need," he said, "is a plan for partial mobilization. I want to start after Oryon crosses into Altea and there's nobody left to argue with me."
Haaken commanded the Vorgreberger Guards, a heavy infantry regiment begat by the force Ragnarson had com-manded during the civil war. He was also Bragi's chief of staff.
Jarl Ahring commanded the Queen's Own Horse Guards, consisting of one "battle" of heavy cavalry and two of light. The army Ragnarson was building included another five regular regiments, each numbering six hundred to seven hundred and fifty men organized in three battles. Each regiment regularly drilled twice its number of volunteers, who could be integrated in case of mobilization. The volunteers, in turn, were responsible for training their neighbors. Counting Nordmen and retainers, Marena Dimura scouts and mountain troops, and regular garrisons and border guards. Ravelin could muster a field army of twelve thousand five hundred overnight, and be assured of a steady supply of partially trained replacements.
"How broad a mobilization?" Haaken asked.
"Just alert the ready people at first. But don't bring them in. Let them finish planting. Step up the training."
"You'll scare hell out of our neighbors."
"If they've got guilty consciences.... No. The enemy is Shinsan. Let that leak when you issue the orders. No more leaves. Training in full swing from now on. And reinforce Maisak and Karak Strabger. We've got to hold the Gap. I'll do what I can diplomatically. We'll have a first class plenipoten-tiary."
"Who?"
"Varthlokkur. If they don't listen to him, they won't listen."
"You won't get much backing. I mean, I can take your word that Shinsan is moving again. But you'll have to produce hard evidence to convince other folks."
"I'll work on it. And about two thousand other things. You know, Haroun wanted me to take over as King here. The bastard is crazy. And look what he wants to be king of. Hammad al Nakir is a hundred times bigger than Ravelin."
"Hammad al Nakir runs itself. It's got a whole different tradition."
"Could be."
They reached Valther's home. "Any news?" Bragi asked.
"Not much. Nepanthe, Ethrian, Haroun, Rolf....She couldn't find a trace. They're either shielded, or...."
"Or?"
"Dead."
"Rolf's dead. Definitely. We found him in the cemetery. He took three of them with him."
"Three of who?"
"Ones like we had at my house."
"Harish?"
"No pretense this time. But they were the same breed. What about the jewel?"
"It's not there."
"Where'd it go?"
"She doesn't know."
"It keeps piling up, and that's the best we can come up with? Nobody knows anything for sure? But I do. I'll get them if they don't get me first."
"That goes without saying," Haaken remarked sarcastically.
"Eh?"
"They knew that before they started. That's why they tried to kill you first."
"Oh. Where's Gundar? Let's see what he's got to say."
Gundar didn't tell them anything new. His description of Nepanthe's visitor fit the six dead assassins.
"Guess we can kiss her off," Haaken whispered.
"Quiet!" Bragi muttered. "This'l! give Valther a bigger stake. Maybe get some action out of him." He felt that Valther was dragging his heels. Why? His brother-in-law kidnapped, his brother murdered.... That should have been motivation enough. If Nepanthe didn't move him, Ragnarson reflected, he would have to find a new chief spy.
His paranoia had reached the point where he suspected everyone. Anyone he didn't see working as hard as he- \ irregardless of how hard they hit it when out of his sight-was somehow betraying him.
That, too, may have been part of the enemy plan. A cunning adversary operated on many levels.
SEVENTEEN: Michael's Adventure
Michael Trebilcock lay as still and patient as a cat. His ga/e never left the house across Lieneke Lane.
He had stumbled onto the foreigners while visiting his friend Aral, whose father had known his own in their younger days. Aral's father was a caravan outfitter fallen on hard times. He survived on military supply contracts given because the family had remained loyal during the rebellion.
The three had left an inn down the block, looking so much like the men Michael had seen at Ragnarson's that he had felt compelled to follow them.
His investigation had been luckless till then. Even with Aral's help he hadn't discovered anything of interest.
Everybody in Vorgreberg believed something was afoot. But anyone who knew anything was keeping quiet. There was an undercurrent of fear. Knives had flashed by moonlight; bodies had turned up in rain-damp morning gutters. Few people were interested in risking a premature visit from the Dark Lady. "Aral!" he had yelled, and they had followed the three here. One was inside. The others were out of sight, hiding. Aral Dantice was a short, wide, tough little thug, tempered in the streets during his father's hardship. He didn't look bright. Scars complimented his aura of thuggishness. His problem, his weakness, was a lack of patience. He wouldn't have taken half his scars if he had had enough self-control.
"Let's grab them," Dantice whispered. "If they're the same gang...."
"Easy. Let's find out what they're up to first." "What they're up to is no good. Let's just cut them up." "Suppose they're all right? You want to hang?" Aral was straightforward, Trebilcock thought. You always knew where he stood.
Michael didn't understand their friendship. They had little in common but curiosity and itchy feet, and the past friendship of their fathers. They were opposites in virtually everything.
But Trebilcock didn't understand himself. He was a man without direction. He didn't know why he had come to Ravelin. Friendship for Gjerdrum? Plain wanderlust? Or just his intense-need for an excuse not to take over his father's business? He had turned that over to the family accountants to manage and followed Gjerdrum to this incredibly complex little kingdom, never knowing what he was seeking.
There had been few of the adventures he had anticipated. Life had been pretty dull. But now.... It had begun to move. His blood, finally, was stirring.
Aral started to rise.
Trebilcock pulled him down. "Hey! Come on!"
"One of them just left."
Michael peered at the house. The man who had gone inside was on the porch, watching the lane. One of his henchmen was running toward town.
"Okay. Follow him. But don't bother him. Let him do whatever he wants. I'll stick to this one."
"Where should we meet?"
"They'll get together again. When they do, so will we. If they don't, I guess we'll meet at your place."
"Right." Dantice scampered along the backside of the hedge where they had hidden. He was built so low that keeping down wasn't difficult.
A woman and boy joined the man on the porch.
The fat man's wife, Michael thought. The boy must be his son.
The woman said something. She seemed nervous. The man nodded. She ducked inside, returned with a bundle. All three hastened along the lane.
Trebilcock crept along behind the hedge, waiting for the third man to act. Nepanthe seemed extremely upset, though she was accompanying the man by choice. She was sneaking away, and was afraid someone would notice.
"That dark guy must've done some fancy talking," Trebilcock muttered.